Orchid Beach

CHAPTER

45

Holly sat and waited, staring at Mosely. Daisy made the noise in her throat again, as if urging him to speak. Mosely looked back and forth between Holly and Daisy.

“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me what you want to know.”

“Everything,” Holly replied.

“Everything? What do you mean, everything?”

“Tell me what you do for a living, Cracker.”

“I’m a security guard. Well, I was, until today.”

“And what did you guard?”

“Palmetto Gardens. It wasn’t a big deal. I just kept out intruders, except we didn’t really have any.”

“How long you been doing this work, Cracker?” she asked.

“Nearly a year.”

“What kind of training did you have?”

“Not much. Barney just told me what to do.”

“And what did he tell you to do?”

“To guard the place—you know, gate duty, patrol duty.”

“When you were on patrol, what did you patrol?”

“The whole place.”

“Give me a rundown on your typical day patrolling,” she said.

“Well, I’d go on shift, say the morning shift. I’d drive around to each house, go up the driveway. Sometimes I’d get out of the car and walk the property. I’d drive to the clubhouse and take a walk around, checking out things.”

“What about the special buildings?”

“What do you mean, special?”

“How about the building with all the antennas?”

“Oh, we didn’t go out there. They have their own security.”

“What are they protecting?”

“What do you mean?”

“What goes on there that they need their own security?”

“I don’t know, really. The place is called the com center, so I assume it’s for communications.”

“Communications with whom?”

“Jesus, I don’t know. They don’t tell me that stuff.”

“Who is Barney’s boss?”

“The general manager, Mr. Diego, I guess.”

“What’s his first name?”

“I don’t know. Barney just calls him Diego.”

“What does he look like?”

“About forty-five, I’d guess; five-ten, a hundred and seventy-five, black hair going gray, has a mustache. He’s Mexican or something, has a light accent.”

“I want to know his first name, Cracker.”

“Wait a minute, let me think. That’s his first name, Diego. His last name is something like…Romeo.”

“A Spanish name?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, think.”

“I’m trying. It’s Ramos, or Ramero, or something like that. Ramirez! That’s it, Ramirez.”

“Diego Ramirez—good boy, Cracker. Now who else works for Ramirez?”

“Well, everybody—the club manager, the shop managers, the people in the accounting office, the maintenance manager, the airport manager—they all report to him.”

“Where is the accounting office located?”

“It’s in the village, next door to the security station.”

“And who runs that?”

“A woman named Miriam something…uh, like Talbot.”

“Is that it, Talbot?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Description?”

“Late thirties, early forties, five-six, a hundred and forty, mousy hair, not pretty.”

“What kind of vehicles are driven by the staff?”

“Security drives white Range Rovers, maintenance drives Ford vans and pickups, all white, with the green palmetto thing on the doors.”

“Where are they serviced?”

“In town. We take them to Westover Motors when they need something.”

“Any vehicles there now?”

“I’m taking Barney’s Range Rover in when I leave here.”

“What for?”

“Regular service. We get it back tomorrow. Barney’s a stickler for regular maintenance.”

“Where do you live, Cracker?”

“I have a room in the staff quarters.”

“How many of the staff live on the place?”

“All of them.”

“What do you do for entertainment?”

“They fly us to Miami. Everybody works seven days on and four off. Palmetto Gardens owns a refurbished DC-3 for flying staff back and forth.”

“Which airport in Miami do they fly into?”

“Opa Locka.”

“Tell me the names of some of the members of Palmetto Gardens.”

Cracker looked blank. “I don’t think I know any of them.”

“How do they refer to them among the security people?”

“By addresses. I’ve never heard any names used.”

“What do these people look like?”

“Rich. All kinds of nationalities. There’s some Europeans and some Hispanics and some Americans. There’s a couple of Arabs, too, I think. It’s not like I ever have a conversation with any of them.”

“Do they have wives and children?”

“Women, most of them. I’ve only seen a few kids—that’s less common.”

“How many members?”

“There’s two hundred and eight houses; I guess a member a house.”

“How many employees, total, on the place?”

“Something over six hundred, I think. Half of them are domestics.”

“Six hundred employees are living on the place?”

“No, the domestics are local.”

“How do they get in and out of the place?”

“They drive or take the bus to the service gate; there’s a parking lot for them there. Then they walk or are driven in vans to their work.”

“How do they hire the domestics?”

“I don’t know. I guess they run ads. The pay is good, so there’s not much turnover. There’s an employment office in Orchid.”

“What sort of arms do you have at the security station?”

“We all carry nine-millimeter automatics, then there’s a supply of AR fifteens.”

“Anything heavier than that?”

“Not at the station.”

“Elsewhere?”

Mosely suddenly looked uncomfortable.

“Come on, Cracker, or I’ll be talking to your parole officer.”

“There’s some stuff scattered around the place. I don’t know exactly what.”

“You’ve got to do better than that, Cracker.”

“I’ve never been close to it, but there are some…places around the property.”

“Are they camouflaged?”

Cracker looked surprised. “How did you know that?”

“We’re talking about what you know, Cracker.”

“Yeah, they’ve got netting over them.”

“Who mans them?”

“There are certain employees who’re trained for that, a couple of dozen, I think. If there’s an alarm, they go to their positions.”

“What kind of an alarm?”

“There’s a siren on a pole at the security office. If we get three blasts, we’re to go to our preassigned positions.”

“What’s your position?”

“Backup at the front gate, unless I’m already on service-gate duty.”

“What are they afraid of out there, Cracker?”

“I don’t know, exactly, but I know that they don’t want anybody from the outside there, unless they’re invited and escorted.”

“What kind of aircraft land at the airfield?”

“Corporate jets, mostly, and some support airplanes that bring in stuff.”

“What sort of stuff?”

“Equipment, parts, special foods, whatever’s needed. The DC-3 and a Cessna Caravan do that work.”

“Is there any special security at the airfield?”

“Yeah, there’s a couple of those camouflaged places.”

Holly couldn’t think of anything else to ask him. “Stay here a minute,” she said. “Guard, Daisy.”

“You’re leaving me with that dog?” Cracker asked, worried.

“She won’t hurt you unless you move.” Holly left the room and went next door. Harry Crisp was gone. She went back to the other room. Cracker had not moved. “Okay, Cracker, I’m going to let you go. If Barney wants to know why you were here so long, tell him I kept you waiting. If you tell him about our conversation, I’ll know, and I’ll have you back in prison before nightfall, you understand?”

“I understand,” he said. “I’m not going to jail for Barney.”

“Good, now get going.” She followed him to the squad room and watched as he walked out.

Hurd Wallace approached. “Who was that guy?”

“Just an interview,” Holly said. “Nothing important.”