“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m going to bring you all up to date on our investigation so far, because I think that’s the best way to get every man’s and woman’s maximum contribution to solving these two murders. I don’t want you to discuss any of this with anybody who’s not in this room right now—not your wives, girlfriends, or boyfriends, not anybody. Here’s what I’ve surmised from what we’ve learned: it appears the chief met with someone who was supposed to give him some information on an investigation he was conducting himself. We don’t know what the investigation was about. There was a fight, some blows were exchanged, and the chief was shot. He may have tried to draw his weapon, because one of his murderers—we think there were two—threw his pistol over a fence into the brush, where it was recovered the next day.
“The chief was shot with a thirty-two Smith and Wesson that had been stolen from the house of Lieutenant Wallace’s ex-wife some time before and probably sold on the street, maybe more than once. The murderers then took the chief’s notebook and the shotgun from his car, went to Hank Doherty’s house, somehow got his dog, Daisy, locked in the kitchen, then shot Hank with the shotgun. They searched the place, then they went to the chief’s house and searched that.
“The murderer was clearly not the man we first arrested for the crime. He owned a thirty-two of a different make.” She turned to Bob Hurst. “Bob, you have anything to add to that?”
“No, chief,” Hurst said. “That about sums it up.”
“Any questions?”
Jimmy Weathers raised his hand. “What were they searching for at the two houses?”
“I think they believed that the chief had made some notes on the investigation he was conducting. They were looking for the notes, and that’s why they took his notebook. Any other questions?”
Nobody spoke.
“All right, now you all know as much as anybody about what’s happened. I want each of you to talk to every snitch, every source, everybody you can think of, and pick up as much information as you can. This is going to be a tough one to crack, and you just might be able to supply us with the break we need to make arrests.
“Chet Marley was a fine police chief. He has left us a well-organized and well-trained department to work with. Let’s use it to find his killers. That’s all.”
The meeting broke up, the shift changed, and John Westover came to Holly’s office, closed the door and sat down.
“Holly, you’re still acting chief for the time being, but we have to go through a formal process in order to replace Chet.”
“I’d imagined you would have to,” Holly said.
“The city charter requires us to advertise the position for a month and to receive and consider applications from qualified applicants. I expect you want the job.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I imagine Hurd Wallace will apply, too, and I’m sure we’ll have some out-of-town applicants, but you and Hurd, with your experience of the department, are probably going to be the front runners. Chet’s confidence in you will be taken into account, as well. I’ll send down an application form, and I’d like to get it back as soon as you can complete it.”
“Of course, John. There’s something I should tell you. Jackson Oxenhandler, who is Chet’s lawyer and the executor of his estate, told me yesterday about Chet’s will. He left some insurance money to Jane Grey and everything else to Hank Doherty. In the event of Hank’s predeceasing him, which of course happened, Hank’s share was to go to my father, Hamilton Barker, who was in the army with Chet and Hank. My father has just retired from the military, and he arrived in Orchid on Saturday night. He has, at Mr. Oxenhandler’s suggestion, moved into Chet’s house. I wanted you to hear about this from me.”
“Thank you for telling me, Holly. I’ll go see Hurd now and let you get on with your work.”
“I’ll see you later.”
Westover left, and Holly sat, thinking about the hiring process ahead. She knew it had to be done, but she wasn’t looking forward to having it hanging over her head.
Daisy came and put her head in Holly’s lap.
“Good girl,” Holly said. “Nice to have your support.”
CHAPTER
“Who’s calling?” a young male voice asked.
“Chief Holly Barker, of the Orchid Beach PD.”
“I’ll patch you through to his house.”
There was a click and one ring.
“Barney Noble.”
“Hey, Barney, it’s Holly Barker. How you doing?”
“Good, Holly, and you?”
“Can’t complain.”
“When’s Ham coming down?”
“That’s why I called you. He’s here for the duration, retired last week.”
“No kidding? About time. When’s he going to play some golf with me?”
“The sooner, the better, he says.”
“How about this afternoon?”
“Perfect. Mind if I tag along?”
“You play?”
“I’m my father’s daughter.”
“Sure, you come along. Two o’clock?”
“Sounds good.”
“I’ll meet you at the front gate. Park where you did last time.”
“See you at two.” She hung up and turned to her father. They were in Jackson’s living room. “We’re on for two. Better wear your best golf duds, it’s a fancy place.”
Ham frowned. “Shit, you mean I can’t wear my combat fatigues?”
“You’d be shot on sight. Don’t wear those awful plaid Bermuda shorts, either.”
“You’re limiting my options.”
“That’s the idea.”
Jackson spoke up. “Why wasn’t I invited?”
“You want Barney Noble to know where you are? He might call Cracker Mosely and tell him.”
“You’ve got a point,” Jackson said.
“You can baby-sit Daisy.”
“Or her me.”
“That’s more like it, come to think.”
Holly pulled into the parking space at two sharp. Barney Noble was already there, waiting for them in his white Range Rover with the little green palmetto on the door. He got out to greet them.
“Hello, Holly. Jesus, Ham, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Ham shook his hand and grinned. “Must’ve been, what, ’73?”
“I reckon. Come on, let’s get your clubs in my car.”
