“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.”
CHAPTER
“Sure, Chief, glad to,” Weathers said. “I’m comfortable with her, too.”
She had hardly sat down at her desk when Jane Grey and Hurd Wallace were in her office. She gave them a rundown of the scene at Hank Doherty’s place. Hurd nodded and went back to his desk; Jane sat down, practically in tears.
“What a terrible day,” she said. “I just can’t believe all this has happened.”
“I know,” Holly said. “Have you heard anything on the ballistics?”
“Oh, no. I expect it will be tomorrow, probably late in the day, before we hear anything.”
“Anything from Dr. Harper yet?”
“Nothing.”
“You know the number at the hospital?”
“I’ll dial it for you,” Jane said. When they were on the line, she handed Holly the phone.
“May I speak with Dr. Green, please? This is Deputy Chief Barker from Orchid Beach Police.” There was a pause, and the doctor came on the line.
“Yes, Chief?”
“I just wondered if there had been any change in the chief’s condition,” Holly said.
“Not as yet; to tell you the truth, I’d be surprised if there had been. He’s still in a coma. Certainly the anesthetic wore off a long time ago.”
“Thanks, Doctor. Please keep me posted.” She hung up.
“Anything?” Jane asked.
“Nothing yet. He’s still the same. Jane, will you type up a press release and fax it to all the local media, saying that we’d like to hear from anyone who passed along the relevant part of A1A between eleven and eleven- twenty last night, who might have seen two cars at the side of the road?”
“Sure. Oh, I forgot—Charlie Peterson called. He got the city council to put up a ten-thousand-dollar reward for any information leading to arrest and conviction.”
“Great, put that in the release, too, and get it out as soon as you can.”
“Hank Doherty had a daughter,” Jane said.
“I’ve already talked with her; she’ll be here tomorrow. If she comes in while I’m out, find me. I’d like to talk to her.”
“What’s happened to Daisy?”
“She’s out in the parking lot with Jimmy Weathers. I’ll take her home with me tonight. I’d hate to put her in the animal shelter. She seems like such a sensitive creature.”
“She’s a marvel. Lots of people know her, especially around here. Hank used to bring her into the station, but he hasn’t been around for months.”
Holly glanced at her watch. “I think I’m going to call it a day, and so should you as soon as you get that release out.”
“I will, don’t worry.”
The phone on Holly’s desk buzzed, and she picked it up.
“Chief, Dr. Harper’s on the phone for you.”
“Thanks.” Holly pushed the flashing button. “Doctor?”
“Evening, Chief. I’m done.”
“What’s the story?”
“He was killed late last night or early in the morning, say between eleven P.M. and three A.M. Death would have been instantaneous.”
“Any sign of a struggle? Anything under the nails?”
“Just dirt. No injuries, except the shotgun—that was enough.”
“Anything else I should know?”
“Not much. He had an alcohol level of point two two, which would not have been unusual for Hank. He had a liver the size of a watermelon, and as hard as marble, which doesn’t come as a surprise. He’d have been dead in a few months anyway from cirrhosis.”
“Thanks, Doctor.” Holly hung up. “Nothing of use from the autopsy. Jane, do you know Hank’s cleaning
