Orchid Beach

“All right, let’s go through what we know so far about Palmetto Gardens,” Holly said. “One, the place is sealed off. They don’t want the locals taking Sunday drives through the place. Two, at least half the security force are convicted felons, and there must be a reason. Three, the club members are solicited privately, not by the usual advertising that sells lots and houses in ritzy developments. What are the membership requirements, besides great wealth? And four, if they don’t want anybody visiting the place, what are they hiding? Is there something there that, if seen by outsiders, would tip them to something unusual going on?”

“Well, on our brief overflight, we did see that building with all the antennas. They must have some extraordinary communications equipment. I mean, they’re not just trying to get good TV reception with that really big dish.”

“You know, I’d really like to fly over there again,” Holly said.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Jackson said. “I know a guy who does aerial mapping. He’s got a big, slow airplane with a camera in the belly that takes overlapping landscape photographs. You must have seen that one at the municipal building of the whole island?”

“I thought that was taken by satellite,” Holly said.

“No, he took that series, and since he flies low, he can get as much detail as a spy satellite can. Two or three passes over the place, and we’d have some really nice snapshots.”

“Jackson, if you’ll spring for that, I’ll get you reimbursed from departmental funds, if we find something. How much will it cost?”

“I’m not sure, but certainly not more than a couple of grand. I’ll tell him I’ve got a client who’s interested in building a similar development. He’ll buy that.”

“Listen,” Ham said, “I’ll spring for the money. I’m flush.”

“You’re on, Ham,” Holly said.

“I know a guy at the FBI office in Miami,” Jackson said. “He’s in charge of the organized-crime division in the city. You want to get him involved?”

“Let’s wait until we know more. I don’t want him to think I’m crazy.”

“Okay, let me know when.”

“What we really need is somebody on the inside at Palmetto Gardens,” Holly said. “Somebody who’s in and out of there all the time, who could look around without calling attention to himself.”

Jackson thought about that. “I don’t know anybody,” he said.

“There must be at least some locals who deal with those people. They can’t completely cut themselves off from the outside.”

“You wouldn’t think so, would you?”

Ham spoke up. “I got an idea,” he said. “Why don’t I call Barney and tell him I’m looking for a job, that I’m bored with retirement.”

“Yeah, sure,” Holly said. “He’s going to hire the father of the chief of police? If there’s something illegal going on there, you’d be the last person he’d hire.”

“Well, maybe that would tell us something—if he wouldn’t hire me, I mean.”

“Ham, I appreciate the thought, but let’s just assume that he wouldn’t hire you, all right? If you called him, he’d just think I’d put you up to it. It’s important that Barney doesn’t think we’re too interested in the place.”

“I see your point,” Ham said. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“If I can think of anything, I’ll let you know,” Holly said. “Really, I will.” Like hell I will, she thought.

“Like hell you will,” Ham said.

CHAPTER

37

Holly stood in the entrance hall of the municipal building, just outside the doors of her department, and looked at the large aerial photograph of Orchid Beach. She reckoned it must be many years old, because Palmetto Gardens simply did not exist. Prominent properties and developments were labeled, but the only thing named on what was now the development was a road that ran from the northern end of the island to just where Palmetto Gardens now stood. The road was called Jungle Trail.

Holly went upstairs to the county planning commission and introduced herself to the director, a woman named Jean Silver. “What I’m looking for,” she said, “is a map that shows the current state of development on the north end of the barrier island.”

“That’s easy,” the woman said, going to a wide drawer and extracting a map.

“Can I borrow this?” Holly asked, looking at the large sheet of paper.

“You can have that copy,” Silver replied. “Interdepartmental courtesy.”

“Thank you very much.” Holly went back to her office, closed the door and spread out the map. Apparently, Palmetto Gardens didn’t exist for the planning commission, either: it was shown as nothing more than an empty parcel of land, whereas other developments had maps of roads and lot divisions. She picked up the phone and called Jean Silver.

“Yes?”

“Jean, it’s Holly Barker.”

“What can I do for you, Holly?”

“I was just looking at the map you gave me, and I noticed that, with all the north-end developments, streets and lots are outlined.”

“That’s right. We include everything in developments where the city or county has built roads or installed sewer and water lines.”

“I notice that one place, Palmetto Gardens, is shown as just an empty space.”

“That’s correct. It’s a completely private development, which has made no demands for city services. In fact, they petitioned, early on, to have the whole of their acreage removed from the city limits, but the city council didn’t buy it because of the tax situation. If they’d been outside the city limits, they wouldn’t be paying property taxes, which, I suppose, was their intent. They also petitioned to be removed from the oversight of this department for planning purposes, and the council gave them that. That’s why there are no roads or lots marked on the map; they built their own. It’s officially none of our business what they do out there.”

“I see there’s a road called Jungle Trail along the river.”

“Right. It starts up at the north end of the island next to the Sebastian Inlet and runs nearly all the way to the south bridge. I think that when the council cut Palmetto Gardens out of the planning authority’s jurisdiction, they didn’t realize they were giving them the right to close that part of the road on their property to outsiders. There was a lot of anger about it, because that road was practically a city park, and, in fact, the rest of it has now been given that status, even though it crosses a lot of private property. Jungle Trail is a big favorite with bike riders and hikers.”

“I see. Thanks for the information. ’Bye.” Holly hung up.

There was a knock on her door.

“Come in.”

Jane Grey stuck her head in. “The telephone man is here to put in your private line,” she said.

“Oh, good, tell him to come ahead.” Holly had ordered the line at her own expense, because she felt uncomfortable talking to Jackson over departmental lines.

A man wearing a tool belt and carrying a telephone came in. “Hi, I’m Al,” he said, and went to work.

Holly was still looking at the map. “Al,” she said, “did you ever do any work on the phones out at Palmetto Gardens?”

“I worked on putting in their basic service a long time ago,” he said.

“What do you mean by basic service?”