Orchid Beach (Holly Barker 1)

54

H olly was wakened from a deep sleep by the telephone. She reached over Jackson’s inert form and picked it up. “Hello?” She listened for a moment. “Where?” she asked. “Have you ordered any equipment?” She listened. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Holly got out of bed and looked at the clock: just after one A.M.

“What?” Jackson mumbled.

“Go back to sleep, baby,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. She got into a robe and padded down the hall to the guest room where Harry Crisp was sleeping.

Harry’s light was on, and he was sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes. “Was that call what I hope it wasn’t?”

“I’m afraid so. Some mullet fishermen found the car up next to the north bridge. They’re trying to get it out now.”

“Give me five minutes,” Harry said, heading for the bathroom.

Holly got dressed quickly and met Harry downstairs. On the way, Harry was quiet. At the north end of the island Holly headed for the bridge, but turned off the road before reaching it, into a roadside park with a few picnic tables and a boat ramp. Two police cars were parked beside the ramp, their headlights illuminating the area, and a large wrecker had backed down it to the water’s edge. A man in a diving suit emerged from the water.

“Okay!” he yelled. “It’s hooked on.” He came and stood next to Holly while the wrecker winched the car up the ramp. “Looks like somebody just drove it right down the ramp,” he said. “It was only a couple of feet underwater.”

The car came backing out of the river. When it was securely on the ramp, the wrecker drove forward a few yards until the car rested on dry ground. There seemed to be nothing wrong with it, except that it was wet.

Holly and Harry looked inside the car, opened the doors, checked the backseat. Holly took the keys from the ignition. “Let’s have a look at the trunk,” she said. She walked to the rear of the car, found the right key, and unlocked the trunk. “Oh, Jesus,” she said.

Harry stood next to her. “The bastards!” he said.

Rita’s naked body lay on top of the spare tire. Her gun, her ID and her cell phone were scattered around her.

Harry took out his phone and punched in a number. “This is Crisp,” he said. “Who’s the duty officer? Put me through to him…. Warren, it’s Harry Crisp,” he said. “I’ve got a dead agent in Orchid Beach. It’s Rita Morales. I want you to get hold of the best pathologist in the Miami area and fly him up here immediately. He’ll be met at Orchid Beach Airport and brought to the local hospital. I want the most thorough possible postmortem.” He broke the connection.

“I’ll call an ambulance,” Holly said.

Harry began talking on the trip back, his voice low and sad. “She came over from Cuba on a raft when she was eight years old,” he said. “She nearly died of thirst before they were picked up by a pleasure boat and brought to Miami. Her mother did die, but her father made it. He’d been a lawyer in Havana before Castro. She got a law degree from the University of Virginia and joined the Bureau right out of school. She was first in her class at the academy. She was only twenty-six, but she was as smart an investigator as I’ve ever worked with. She had a real future with us. She was ambitious, and she wasn’t afraid to take chances. That could be what got her killed.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Harry,” Holly said quietly.

“I know it wasn’t, in my head,” he said, “but in my gut, I know it was.”

“She was qualified for the job. You trusted her judgment. In the circumstances, it was the right call.”

“I know it was,” Harry said. “But sometimes the right call can rise up and bite you on the ass. And it hurts like hell.”

Back at the house, Jackson scrambled them some eggs, and they ate disconsolately. It was just after nine when the call came for Harry. He took it in Jackson’s office and left the door open. He listened, nodding. “Thank you for coming up here, Doctor,” he said finally, then hung up. He came back to the table and sat down heavily. “Cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head, probably from fists. Ligature marks on both wrists and ankles. All her ribs were broken, massive internal injuries. First, they raped her…every orifice.”

“Was the doctor able to collect any sperm samples?” Holly asked.

Harry nodded. “The samples will be in Washington by noon. The lab will pull out all the stops—we don’t lose an agent all that often.”

They were quiet for a while.

“Maybe you’d better call the judge,” Holly said.

Harry nodded and stood up. “I’ve got to call Rita’s father first,” he said. He went to Jackson’s office and closed the door behind him.

Holly and Jackson drank coffee, saying nothing.

Half an hour passed, and Harry came out of the office and sat down. “Jackson,” he said, “I need a place to marshal my people. A big place—warehouse, theater, something.”

“What time of day?”