“Makes sense,” Hurst agreed.
“The front door was unlocked when I got here, and so was the back door.”
“Makes a lot of sense. Especially if it was the chief.”
“You think the chief would kill Hank Doherty?”
Hurst shook his head. “No, but it wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong about something like that. It’s his shotgun. Daisy knew and trusted him, knew he was a friend.”
“I don’t think it was the chief either,” Holly said, “but we’ve got to touch that base.”
“Right.”
“Tell me about last night.”
“I got a call at home at eleven-fourteen; I was out there at eleven-twenty. The chief was lying on his back, lit by his car’s headlights, and a man from Vero Beach was with him, trying to help. The ambulance got there at eleven twenty-three and rushed him off to the hospital. I worked the scene in a standard manner, took a tire impression from another vehicle parked in front of the chief’s car. There were some footprints, but nothing good enough for an impression. The tire was a Goodyear Eagle, common rubber, no indication of the kind of car. Hurd Wallace got there right after the ambulance left, and we walked around the scene together; didn’t find any other evidence.”
“Did you find the chief’s weapon?”
“No.”
“That’s a good report,” Holly said. “Now tell me what you think went down, based on the evidence you found.”
“Looks to me like the chief stopped a car, maybe for a traffic violation, maybe because something about it made him suspicious, and it went sour. They shot him, took his gun and went on their way.”
“Simple as that?”
“Simple as that.”
“You said ‘they’: more than one perp?”
“One, maybe two. Couldn’t tell.”
“You think he knew them?”
“It’s possible, but there’s no evidence of that.”
“When you stop somebody, what usually happens?” she asked. “Does he get out of the car?”
“Not usually. They sit there and roll down the window.”
“If you stopped a car with two men in it and both of them got out, what would you do?”
“I’d back off and tell them to put their hands on the car.”
“Wouldn’t the chief do the same?”
“Unless he knew them. I see your point.”
“There was a fight,” Holly said.
“I didn’t see any evidence of that,” Hurst said.
“The hood of the car was deeply scratched. I think the scratches were made by the chief’s handcuffs, on his belt. I think somebody hit him, knocking him onto the car, and that he fought back.”
“How do you figure that?”
“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
Holly 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.”
“Sure, Chief, glad to,” Weathers said. “I’m comfortable with her, too.”
She had hardly sat down at her desk when Jane Grey and Hurd Wallace were in her office. She gave them a rundown of the scene at Hank Doherty’s place. Hurd nodded and went back to his desk; Jane sat down, practically in tears.
“What a terrible day,” she said. “I just can’t believe all this has happened.”
“I know,” Holly said. “Have you heard anything on the ballistics?”
“Oh, no. I expect it will be tomorrow, probably late in the day, before we hear anything.”
“Anything from Dr. Harper yet?”
“Nothing.”
“You know the number at the hospital?”
“I’ll dial it for you,” Jane said. When they were on the line, she handed Holly the phone.
“May I speak with Dr. Green, please? This is Deputy Chief Barker from Orchid Beach Police.” There was a pause, and the doctor came on the line.
“Yes, Chief?”
“I just wondered if there had been any change in the chief’s condition,” Holly said.
“Not as yet; to tell you the truth, I’d be surprised if there had been. He’s still in a coma. Certainly the anesthetic wore off a long time ago.”
“Thanks, Doctor. Please keep me posted.” She hung up.
“Anything?” Jane asked.
“Nothing yet. He’s still the same. Jane, will you type up a press release and fax it to all the local media, saying that we’d like to hear from anyone who passed along the relevant part of A1A between eleven and eleven-twenty last night, who might have seen two cars at the side of the road?”
“Sure. Oh, I forgot—Charlie Peterson called. He got the city council to put up a ten-thousand-dollar reward for any information leading to arrest and conviction.”
“Great, put that in the release, too, and get it out as soon as you can.”
“Hank Doherty had a daughter,” Jane said.
“I’ve already talked with her; she’ll be here tomorrow. If she comes in while I’m out, find me. I’d like to talk to her.”
“What’s happened to Daisy?”
“She’s out in the parking lot with Jimmy Weathers. I’ll take her home with me tonight. I’d hate to put her in the animal shelter. She seems like such a sensitive creature.”