and his personal possessions to Hank. Hank, of course, predeceased him, and in that event, Ham, Hank’s share of the estate goes to you.”
“To me?” Ham asked incredulously.
“He didn’t have anybody else, just you and Hank. It’s what he wanted.”
“I think that’s wonderful,” Holly said. “That will make your retirement more comfortable.” She turned to Jackson. “What did he have in the way of debt?”
“He had mortgage insurance, which pays off that balance, so the house is free and clear, except for a home improvement loan of about ten thousand dollars. Apart from that, there’s a few thousand in credit card debt and his monthly bills to close out, and that’s it. On the asset side, he had some money in mutual funds—thirty or forty thousand, I think.”
“I don’t believe it,” Ham said.
“Well,” Holly replied, “your housing problem is solved.”
“I don’t see why you can’t move into the house today, Ham,” Jackson said. “It’s very nicely furnished. All you’ll need is some groceries. There’s a small boat, too, tied up at Chet’s dock. And if you decide you don’t want to live in the house, there’s a ready buyer waiting in the wings.”
“It’s a nice place, Ham,” Holly said. “You’ll like it.”
“I expect I will,” Ham said sadly.
CHAPTER
“Hey, this is nice,” Ham said. “Chet made himself real comfortable.” He walked over and looked at the guns and the fishing rods in their racks. “Nice gear, too.”
“There’s only one bedroom,” Holly said. “Over there.” She pointed.
Ham walked through the place. “It’s just wonderful,” he said, and his voice cracked.
“Jackson,” Holly said, “why don’t you and I start getting Ham’s stuff off his truck?” They went outside, leaving Ham alone. “I’m so glad Chet did this,” she said. “Ham’s in there crying right now, and I haven’t seen him do that since Mom died.”
“Let’s unload all this stuff from the truck,” Jackson said, “and give him a minute.” He got up onto the pickup, folded back the tarp and started handing Holly boxes. A few minutes later, Ham came out, seemingly recovered, and helped them carry things in. They began emptying boxes.
Holly went to the chest of drawers in the bedroom and started packing Chet’s things into some of the empty boxes. That done, she began helping with the other things. When she came to Ham’s shotgun, she unzipped the sheepskin case and set the weapon in an empty slot in Chet’s gun rack. While doing that, something caught her eye. There were three pistols in the rack: an army .45 automatic, a .38 police special and a smaller revolver. It was the smaller gun that got her attention: there was a trace of talcum powder clinging to it.
She went into the kitchen and came back with a pair of dishwashing gloves and a zippered plastic bag. She put on the gloves and gingerly lifted the revolver off the rack by its trigger guard. It was a Colt .32.
“What have you got there?” Jackson asked.
“Jackson, do you remember this pistol being here last night when we were searching the place?”
“I didn’t pay much attention to the guns,” he said.
“Neither did I, and I searched the rack for a piece of paper tucked away.”
“Why does the pistol interest you?”
“Because I think it belongs to your client, Sammy.”
Jackson looked closely at the weapon. “So when they searched the house, they not only took something, they left something.”
“Looks that way.”
“What a weird thing to do.”
“They hid it in plain sight,” she said. “I guess they figured nobody but Chet would ever know the difference, and that he wasn’t coming home. I only noticed it because it had some talcum powder on it.”
“Maybe it’ll have some fingerprints on it,” Jackson said.
“They haven’t left a print anywhere else; I doubt they’ll start with this.” She handed it to him. “I guess you’d better send it to your client, if you ever hear from him again.”
“You don’t have any further need of it in your investigation?”
“Nope. It’s not material.”
Jackson walked out into the backyard and threw the pistol as far out into the river as he could, then he came back. “That’s the last of that,” he said. “Well, looks like we’ve gotten just about everything unpacked. Ham, you want to go out for some dinner with us?”
“Thanks, Jackson, but I think I’ll pick up some groceries and just be by myself tonight; get used to the place.”
“Okay, Ham,” Holly said, and kissed him on the cheek. “Have a good evening in your new place, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
They got into Jackon’s car and drove away. “I hope he’s going to be okay out here by himself,” she said.
“He looks pretty self-sufficient to me,” Jackson replied.
“Yes, he is that.”
The following morning she sat down in Jane Grey’s office. “Jane, I’ve got some good news for you: Chet had some insurance, and he left half of it to you. It’s fifty thousand dollars.”
Tears welled up in Jane’s eyes, and she seemed unable to speak.
Holly patted her on the shoulder, then went back to her office to collect her thoughts. Ten minutes later she walked into the squad room and yelled for everybody’s attention. The room was packed with officers and clerical workers, and as she began to speak, she saw John Westover walk in.
“I guess you’ve all heard by now that Chief Marley died yesterday,” she said. “I’ve learned that he requested that his body be cremated and his ashes scattered on the river next to his house. That’s being taken care of today. He also had requested that there be no funeral or service, so I guess this meeting will be the closest thing to a memorial service that he’ll have. Anybody have any questions or want to say anything?”
A young officer at the back of the room spoke up. “Did the chief die without ever waking up?”
“He woke up for a short while a couple of weeks ago, then slipped back into the coma. I talked with him briefly, and he wasn’t able to remember anything about the shooting or anything else that would help the investigation.”
A young female officer raised her hand. “I think we ought to have some sort of memorial for the chief around here,” she said.
“Stacy,” Holly replied, “that’s an excellent idea. Why don’t you take charge of that? Ask around and see if anybody has a good idea of what sort of memorial it should be, and then you can take up a collection. I’ll start it with a hundred dollars, and the rest of you can give whatever you feel you can manage.”
John Westover spoke up. “I think I can persuade the council to contribute a thousand dollars to such a memorial.”
“Then we’re off to a good start,” Holly said. “Jimmy,” she called to Weathers, “will you go stand guard at the door while you listen? I don’t want anybody coming in here while I’m talking about this.”
