Orchid Beach

“What kind of gun?”

“A thirty-two-caliber Colt revolver with a two-inch barrel, nickel plated.”

“When and where did you make this sale?”

“Four weeks ago, at a gun sale in Jacksonville.”

“Can you substantiate this sale?”

Schwartz produced two sheets of paper. “Here are a copy of the bill of sale and a copy of the federal form that Mr. Sweeney filled out and signed.”

Oxenhandler handed the papers to the clerk. “Entered in evidence. I have no further questions.” He returned to his seat.

The judge turned to Skene. “Any questions, Mr. Skene?”

“No, Your Honor,” Skene replied.

“Any further witnesses, Mr. Oxenhandler?”

“Your Honor, may counsel approach the bench?”

She nodded.

Holly watched as the two lawyers went to the bench and had a spirited conversation that went on for perhaps three minutes. Oxenhandler was calm and insistent, while Skene seemed outraged.

“Step back,” the judge said finally, and the two attorneys stood near their respective tables.

“Do you have a motion, Mr. Oxenhandler?” the judge asked.

“Move for dismissal of all charges,” the lawyer replied.

“Mr. Skene?” the judge said.

“The state does not oppose the motion, Your Honor, but reserves the right to bring these charges again at a later date.”

The judge said, “Motion granted, charges are dismissed. Mr. Sweeney, Ms. Cooper, you are free to go.”

“Your Honor,” Oxenhandler said, “will you restore Mr. Sweeney’s van and possessions?”

“So ordered,” the judge said. “Court is adjourned.”

Holly sat on the bench, unmoving, astounded. So what, if Sweeney owned a different gun? That didn’t mean he didn’t own more than one. She stood up and intercepted Skene as he walked down the aisle. “Marty, what happened?”

“I’ll call you later,” he said, looking furious. “We’ll need to talk.”

Holly moved down the aisle and left the courtroom. Hurd Wallace and Bob Hurst were standing in the hallway outside, talking animatedly. They attempted to question Skene, but he brushed them off and stalked from the building. She started toward Wallace and Hurst, but stopped when someone took her arm from behind. She turned to find Jackson Oxenhandler towering over her.

“May I speak to you for a moment in private?” he asked.

She followed him to an unpopulated corner of the hallway. “What happened in there?”

“I explained to the judge that a search of records showed that the thirty-two Smith and Wesson revolver is registered to Amanda Smith Wallace, who is the ex-wife of Hurd Wallace.”

Holly’s mouth dropped open.

“Your mouth is open,” Oxenhandler said.

Holly closed it, but she was unable to say anything.

“I disclosed this at the bench, rather than in open court, to avoid publicly embarrassing the department. I trust you’ll take the appropriate steps.”

Holly nodded.

Oxenhandler smiled a little. “I’ll call you for dinner,” he said, then walked away.

Holly walked to where Wallace and Hurst were standing. “Back at the station, in my office, now,” she said.

CHAPTER

15

Holly followed the two officers into her office and closed the door, trying her best not to slam it. She sat down at her desk. “Does either of you know what happened in the courtroom?”

“No,” they said simultaneously.

“Hurd, when you searched the van and found the pistol, did you recognize it?”

“Recognize it? I don’t know what you mean. It wasn’t the first Smith & Wesson I’ve seen.”

“Hurd, that gun is registered to your ex-wife.”

Wallace’s composure did not change, but he appeared to be thinking hard. Hurst turned and looked at him in amazement. “Chief,” Wallace said, “I need a moment to find a file.”

“A file?” Holly asked. “What does a file have to do with this?”

“If you’ll give me just a moment, Chief.” Wallace maintained an icy calm.

“All right,” Holly said. Wallace got up and left the office. Holly turned to Hurst. “Do you have anything to say about this?”

Hurst shook his head. “No, Chief. I’m as flabbergasted as you are. In fact, I’m having trouble believing this.”

Hurd Wallace returned holding a manila file, but before he could speak, the desk officer knocked on the door and opened it.

“Excuse me, Chief, but Sweeney is here wanting his van. What should I do about it?”

“Give him the van and anything else we have of his, except the drugs.”

The young man nodded and closed the door.

“We’ve still got grounds for arrest on a drug possession charge,” Hurst said.

“We can’t do it,” Holly replied. “Right now, the department is under suspicion of having planted that gun in the van. If we charge him with possession, his lawyer will say we planted that, too. We’re in no position to move. We have to let him go.”

“I guess you’re right,” Hurst said.

“All right, Hurd, I’m waiting,” Holly said.

Wallace handed her the file. “This is a report of a burglary at my ex-wife’s house nearly three months ago.”

Holly opened the file and began to scan it.

“You’ll note that nearly five hundred dollars in cash was taken, and…”

“And a Smith and Wesson thirty-two,” Holly said, reading from the file. Her shoulders slumped. “Thank God.”

“I reckon Sweeney bought the gun off whoever stole it, or whoever he sold it to,” Wallace said.

“Sweeney’s been in town less than three weeks.”

“The gun could have changed hands half a dozen times. He could have bought it at any time after he arrived.”

“We’d never make that stick,” Holly said. “Who brought the van to the station?” she asked.

“It was towed in; that’s policy.”

“Where was it left?”

“In the parking lot outside. We don’t have any secure garage space.”

“Was it locked?”

“Yes,” Hurst answered, “and I was given the keys. I gave them to Hurd for his search.”