Orchid Beach (Holly Barker 1)

“The chief had bruises on his face and torso, as from a fight. He had two broken fingernails on one hand. You don’t get broken fingernails from hitting somebody with your fist. I think he probably grabbed hold of some clothing during the struggle.”

“Why didn’t he use his gun?”

“Because he knew them and didn’t expect trouble.”

“You’re pretty sure there were two, then?”

“You knew the chief. Do you think one man could have fought with him and shot him as easily as that?”

“You’re right,” Hurst said, looking sheepish. “He was a pretty tough customer.”

“I talked with the chief at seven-thirty last night. He told me he was on the way to meet somebody.”

“Why would he have a meeting on the side of the road?” Hurst asked.

“Doesn’t make much sense, does it? Maybe he was on the way to his meeting, and somebody flagged him down—somebody he knew.”

“Could very well be,” Hurst admitted.

“Then I think they got the shotgun out of the chief’s car, came over here and killed Hank Doherty.”

“Could be.”

“Bob, can you think of any reason why somebody would want to kill the chief?”

Hurst shook his head. “No, I can’t. I don’t know of any problems he was having with anybody.”

“Do you know of any investigation he was involved in that might have been dangerous?”

Hurst shook his head again. “The chief was pretty closemouthed when he was working something of his own.”

“Is there anybody he might have told about it?”

“Maybe Hank Doherty,” Hurst replied.

“Right,” Holly said. “Okay, you go on back and write up your report. I’ll take a look at it later and add anything I think is important.”

“See you later, then,” Hurst said, and left.

Holly picked up the letter from Hank Doherty’s daughter and dialed the number on the letterhead.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice said.

“Is this Mrs. Warner?” Holly asked.

“Yes.”

“Is Hank Doherty your father?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“This is Deputy Chief of Police Holly Barker, in Orchid Beach, Florida. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

CHAPTER

8

H olly went back to the station, taking Daisy with her. The dog sat at attention in the backseat, gazing out the window; Holly thought she seemed sad, but who knew? At the station, Holly got out of the car. “Jimmy, will you stay with Daisy for a while? She seems comfortable with you, and I don’t want to leave her alone in the car.”