Orchid Beach

CHAPTER

7

Holly went through Hank Doherty’s safe and found three hundred dollars and change in cash, a life insurance policy and some other personal and business documents. “I think we can discount robbery as a motive,” she said to Bob Hurst, who was dusting the counter and the phone for fingerprints. “There’s cash here, and nobody bothered to look.”

“Right,” Hurst said. “I don’t hold out much hope for any relevant prints. The shotgun’s been wiped clean, which means it wasn’t suicide.”

A man carrying a medical bag entered through the front door.

“Hey, Doc,” Hurst said. “Got a job for you over there.”

“Is it Hank?” the doctor asked.

“Sure is. That there is Deputy Chief Barker,” he said, pointing a gloved hand. “Chief, this here is Dr. Fred Harper, who passes for our M.E. around here.”

Holly waved from Hank’s desk. “Hey, Dr. Harper.”

“How you do?” The doctor walked around the counter and into the office. “Jesus God,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” Hurst replied.

The doctor knelt by the body and looked it over carefully. Finally he stood up. “I don’t think I can tell you anything you don’t already know,” he said. “Not until I get a postmortem done, anyway.”

“The ambulance is here,” Hurst said. “You ready to move him?”

The doctor looked inquiringly at Holly.

“Go ahead, if you’re ready,” she said.

Two paramedics came into the building, loaded the corpse onto a stretcher and removed it to the ambulance.

“Let me know when you’re done,” Holly said to the doctor. “I’d like you to be thorough.”

“I always am,” the doctor said. “I’ll try to get it done by the close of business, but I can’t promise.” He picked up his bag and left.

“I’m about done,” Hurst said.

“When do you think it happened?” Holly asked.

“Last night, I reckon.”

“That’s what I figured, but there’s the remains of breakfast on the kitchen table. Some scrambled eggs.”

“Hank didn’t eat a lot,” Hurst replied. “That could have been last night’s supper.”

“We’ll know for sure when the doctor is done.” She indicated a chair across the desk from her. “Take a seat for a minute.”

Hurst sat down, shucking off his rubber gloves.

“Give me your take on what happened here,” she said.

Hurst sighed. “Somebody came in through the front door with a shotgun, used it on Hank and walked out. Simple as that.”

Holly nodded. “Why was the dog in the kitchen with the door closed?”

Hurst furrowed his brow. “Good point. I can’t think of any reason why Hank would shut the dog up in there.”

“Maybe Hank didn’t do it. Maybe his visitor did.”

“Why would the dog mind a visitor, a stranger?”

“Maybe it wasn’t a stranger.”

“Granted. I’ve been around Hank and the dog, though; the dog didn’t listen to anybody, unless Hank…”

“Gave his permission?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe the visitor asked Hank to shut the dog in the kitchen. Maybe the dog made the visitor nervous.”

“Maybe,” Hurst said, “but why would Hank do that? If he told Daisy to lie down and be quiet, then that’s what she did. No reason for anybody to be nervous. On the other hand, anybody who was planning to shoot Hank wouldn’t want Daisy in the room; she’d tear his throat out.”

“She’s trained that way?”

“She’s trained every which way,” Hurst said. “That’s some dog.”

“I think our perp came in through the kitchen door,” Holly said. “I think Daisy went to investigate, recognized him as somebody she knew and trusted, and as he walked in here, he shut the kitchen door behind him, trapping her in there.”

“Makes sense,” Hurst agreed.

“The front door was unlocked when I got here, and so was the back door.”

“Makes a lot of sense. Especially if it was the chief.”

“You think the chief would kill Hank Doherty?”

Hurst shook his head. “No, but it wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong about something like that. It’s his shotgun. Daisy knew and trusted him, knew he was a friend.”

“I don’t think it was the chief either,” Holly said, “but we’ve got to touch that base.”

“Right.”

“Tell me about last night.”

“I got a call at home at eleven-fourteen; I was out there at eleven-twenty. The chief was lying on his back, lit by his car’s headlights, and a man from Vero Beach was with him, trying to help. The ambulance got there at eleven twenty-three and rushed him off to the hospital. I worked the scene in a standard manner, took a tire impression from another vehicle parked in front of the chief’s car. There were some footprints, but nothing good enough for an impression. The tire was a Goodyear Eagle, common rubber, no indication of the kind of car. Hurd Wallace got there right after the ambulance left, and we walked around the scene together; didn’t find any other evidence.”

“Did you find the chief’s weapon?”

“No.”

“That’s a good report,” Holly said. “Now tell me what you think went down, based on the evidence you found.”

“Looks to me like the chief stopped a car, maybe for a traffic violation, maybe because something about it made him suspicious, and it went sour. They shot him, took his gun and went on their way.”

“Simple as that?”

“Simple as that.”

“You said ‘they’: more than one perp?”

“One, maybe two. Couldn’t tell.”

“You think he knew them?”

“It’s possible, but there’s no evidence of that.”

“When you stop somebody, what usually happens?” she asked. “Does he get out of the car?”

“Not usually. They sit there and roll down the window.”

“If you stopped a car with two men in it and both of them got out, what would you do?”

“I’d back off and tell them to put their hands on the car.”

“Wouldn’t the chief do the same?”

“Unless he knew them. I see your point.”

“There was a fight,” Holly said.

“I didn’t see any evidence of that,” Hurst said.

“The hood of the car was deeply scratched. I think the scratches were made by the chief’s handcuffs, on his belt. I think somebody hit him, knocking him onto the car, and that he fought back.”

“How do you figure that?”

“The chief had bruises on his face and torso, as from a fight. He had two broken fingernails on one hand. You don’t get broken fingernails from hitting somebody with your fist. I think he probably grabbed hold of some clothing during the struggle.”

“Why didn’t he use his gun?”

“Because he knew them and didn’t expect trouble.”

“You’re pretty sure there were two, then?”

“You knew the chief. Do you think one man could have fought with him and shot him as easily as that?”

“You’re right,” Hurst said, looking sheepish. “He was a pretty tough customer.”

“I talked with the chief at seven-thirty last night. He told me he was on the way to meet somebody.”

“Why would he have a meeting on the side of the road?” Hurst asked.

“Doesn’t make much sense, does it? Maybe he was on the way to his meeting, and somebody flagged him down—somebody he knew.”

“Could very well be,” Hurst admitted.

“Then I think they got the shotgun out of the chief’s car, came over here and killed Hank Doherty.”

“Could be.”

“Bob, can you think of any reason why somebody would want to kill the chief?”

Hurst shook his head. “No, I can’t. I don’t know of any problems he was having with anybody.”

“Do you know of any investigation he was involved in that might have been dangerous?”

Hurst shook his head again. “The chief was pretty closemouthed when he was working something of his own.”

“Is there anybody he might have told about it?”

“Maybe Hank Doherty,” Hurst replied.

“Right,” Holly said. “Okay, you go on back and write up your report. I’ll take a look at it later and add anything I think is important.”

“See you later, then,” Hurst said, and left.

Holly picked up the letter from Hank Doherty’s daughter and dialed the number on the letterhead.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice said.

“Is this Mrs. Warner?” Holly asked.

“Yes.”

“Is Hank Doherty your father?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“This is Deputy Chief of Police Holly Barker, in Orchid Beach, Florida. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”