“Good move.”
“I wonder where Sam’s Colt thirty-two is?” she said.
“In a killer’s pocket, probably.” He drove up to the airport terminal and stopped. “I’ll follow you home,” he said.
“Don’t bother, I’ll be all right.”
“Are you armed?”
“No.”
“I’ll follow you.” He bent down and kissed her.
She kissed him back, and she liked it. “Whatever you say, counselor,” she whispered.
CHAPTER
19
Holly slept alone, though Jackson Oxenhandler had made it clear he would have preferred it otherwise, and she wasn’t so sure that she wouldn’t have preferred it, too. It had been a long time, she reflected. As soon as word had gotten out on the base about her intention to charge Colonel James Bruno, half the men on the base had stopped speaking to her, except when absolutely necessary, and those she found attractive among the other half had stopped asking her out.
She had just woken up when the phone rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Dr. Green. I’m sorry to call you so early, but I thought you’d want to know right away.”
“Know what?”
“The supervisor in intensive care called me a minute ago. Chester Marley is back in a coma.”
“But I thought he was doing so well.”
“So did I, but they were unable to wake him this morning. I can’t offer you any sort of prognosis; we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”
“Thank you for letting me know, Doctor,” she said, then hung up. This was depressing news. Even if Chet had been unable to remember the shooting, he could have filled her in on his earlier suspicions. The phone rang again. “Hello?”
“It’s Jackson. Did you sleep well?”
“Like a stone.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
She laughed. “Bad news,” she said. “The doctor just called, and Chet is back in a coma.”
“I hear that happens sometimes.”
“It’s depressing.”
“I can see how it might be. Dinner tonight?”
“Can I call you later? I don’t know what the day holds.”
“Sure.” He gave her his office and home numbers.
“Talk to you later.” She hung up and started her day.
She was in the office by eight-thirty, and at nine Charlie Peterson, of the City Council, knocked on her door. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she said, remembering that she had been supposed to call him. “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you, but it’s been extremely busy around here.”
“Yeah, I heard. We’ve got a council meeting at ten; I think you should come up and meet everybody.”
“Sure, I’ll be glad to.”
“It’s room 404.”
“See you at ten.” She walked next door to Jane Grey’s office. “Jane, will you make a copy of my contract, please? I think the city council might like to see it.”
“I expect they already have,” she said. “The council chairman, John Westover, asked for a copy yesterday. I couldn’t think of any reason not to give it to him.”
“You did the right thing,” Holly said. She sat down. “Tell me about this Westover.”
“He’s a power, locally—owns a car dealership, a printing company, a fast-food franchise and a funeral home, among other things.”
“What’s he like?”
“Professionally jovial,” Jane said. “He’s a car salesman at heart, I think. Wants everybody to like him. Takes the council seriously, though. He’s said to have a real good grasp of the city’s finances, and he manages them well. The city is well run, and property taxes are under control, so he keeps getting elected.”
“Who’s the mayor?”
“John is, for all practical purposes. There’s no mayor, just a city manager, Ted Michaels, and he jumps when John Westover hollers.”
“What about the rest of the council?”
“There’s only five, and they’re elected at large, not from districts. Charlie Peterson is the only one with any gumption. The others vote yes when John Westover clears his throat.”
“I think I get the picture,” Holly said. She went back to her office.
At ten o’clock, she went up to the city council chambers and was asked by a receptionist to take a seat in a waiting room. She leafed through a magazine for a few minutes, then the door to the chambers opened and a large, pink-faced man with a crew cut smiled at her and shook her hand.
“I’m John Westover,” he said. “Sorry to keep you waiting. We had some business to get out of the way. Come on in.”
Everybody stood up.
“I guess you already know Charlie Peterson. The others are, left to right, Frank Hessian, Howard Goldman, and Irma Taggert.”
Holly shook all their hands and took an offered seat at their conference table.
“First, let me welcome you to Orchid Beach,” Westover said.
“Thank you,” Holly replied.
“We’re a little in the dark about your hiring, so I wonder if you’d just tell us how it came about?”
“I’d be glad to,” Holly said. She explained her military background briefly. “Chief Marley and my father, Hamilton Barker, are old friends from the army. The chief came up to see us and offered me the deputy chief’s job.”
“What did he know about your background?” Westover asked.
“Everything there was to know,” Holly replied. “The chief is a careful man; he did his homework.”
“I’m sure he did. Now, I’ve read your contract, and I’d like to know how much negotiation was involved.”
“There was none,” Holly said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Chief Marley made me an offer and I accepted it. He sent me a contract, I read it and signed it without any changes.”
“You’re a very trusting person, Miss Barker,” the woman councillor, Irma Taggert, said.
“It was a good offer and a well-drawn contract,” Holly replied. “From what I’ve learned about Chief Marley’s work habits, it was typical of the way he does things.”
“God knows, the chief does things his own way,” Frank Goldman said.
“I think the organization and training of his department speak for themselves,” Holly said.
“Perhaps you could tell us something about your background in the military and law enforcement.”
“I’d be glad to. I joined the army out of high school and after basic training was assigned to the military police. I earned a degree in criminology from the University of Maryland, was accepted into Officer Candidate School, commissioned and assigned as a platoon leader in an MP company. Over the years I was promoted regularly and rose to the rank of major, in command of an MP company with a complement of a hundred or so men and women, a job that I held at retirement.”
“Did you have any civilian law-enforcement training?”
“I attended four courses at the FBI Academy at Quantico Marine Base, where I trained in criminal investigation and law-enforcement management. The other, nonmilitary trainees were officers and chiefs of police from cities all over the country.”
“I see. And why did you choose to retire from the military?”
Holly took a deep breath: best to be frank about it. “I and another female officer charged the provost marshal on our base with sexual harassment and attempted rape. Although we both testified against him, a court-martial failed to convict him. I believed that his acquittal might damage my chances for promotion, and it was at that time—on the same day, actually—that I met Chet Marley, and he offered me the job in Orchid Beach. It seemed a fine opportunity, and I took it.”
“Holly,” John Westbrook said, “may I call you Holly?”