“Okay, but let’s both go through the living room, first.” The two of them searched the room carefully, looking under furniture, under the rugs, behind everything. Holly checked the gun and fishing racks, but found nothing. Jackson went into the bedroom, and Holly took the kitchen. She went through every cupboard, checking every can for a false top and emptying cereal boxes. She searched the refrigerator and freezer, opening packages wrapped in foil and checking frozen food packages for signs of being opened.
Jackson came in from the bedroom. “Nothing in there, how you doing here?”
“Zip,” Holly said.
“Looks like if there was something here or at Hank Doherty’s, whoever was looking must have found it.”
“His notebook,” Holly said.
“What about it?”
“There isn’t one. Every cop is trained to keep a notebook; you never know when you might have to testify in court about the details of some incident. There’s no notebook here, and there was no notebook in the personal effects the hospital gave me.”
“So the shooters took it.”
“Yeah. I reckon that after they shot Chet, they took his notebook from his pocket and the shotgun from his car; then they went to Hank Doherty’s house, killed him and searched the place. It was fairly neat when I got there. Then they came here and turned over Chet’s place, taking some care to keep it neat. They’d have had the whole night to do it. Any panic they felt would have passed, so they took their time, even had a beer.”
“And left no traces, no prints.”
“Real pros,” Holly said.
“No mistakes?”
“Not so far. And if they don’t make one soon, we’re never going to clear these crimes.”
“You ready to go home?” he asked.
“Whose home?”
“Mine. I’m not letting you go until Monday.”
Holly glanced at her watch. “Let me try Ham again first. By the time we get home it will be past his bedtime.” She called from the phone on the desk, using her credit card. This time the phone rang only once; there followed an electronic shriek and a recorded message. “This number has been permanently disconnected at the request of the customer. There is no forwarding number.”
“I must have dialed wrong,” she said. She made the call again and got the same message. “I don’t understand,” she said, hanging up.
“Maybe your dad moved,” Jackson said.
“Without telling me? And without leaving a forwarding phone number? That would be very unlike him.”
“Is there somewhere else he might be?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“A woman? Maybe he’s got a new girlfriend, and he moved in with her.”
“That’s possible, I suppose. Well, I can call him at his base office on Monday and find out what’s going on.”
“Good idea. Let’s get out of here.”
They locked up and got back into Jackson’s car.
“I need to stop by my trailer to pick up a few things,” Holly said. “I hadn’t planned to make a weekend of it.”
“Sure,” Jackson said.
It was after midnight now, and with no traffic they made good time to Riverview Park. As they got out of the car, Daisy jumped out in a hurry, nearly knocking Holly down.
“Daisy?” she called. “What’s wrong?”
Daisy had her nose to the ground, running along the path to the trailer. Now her hackles were up, and she was standing at the door, sniffing, staring at it as if she could see through it, a low growl coming from her throat.
Holly put a finger to her lips and raised a hand for Jackson to stand still. She dug the Beretta out of her bag and walked quickly up the path, her keys in her left hand, the pistol at shoulder height. She put an ear to the trailer door and listened. Then the door swung open.
CHAPTER
27
Holly nearly fell into the trailer, with Daisy snarling, trying to get past her. “Freeze!” she shouted, getting the gun out in front of her.
“Okay, I’m freezing!” a man’s voice called from the darkness inside. “Get hold of that dog, will you?”
Holly dropped her left hand and got hold of Daisy’s collar, but she kept the gun pointed into the trailer.
“Jesus, Holly,” the man said. “Are you going to shoot me?”
The voice was familiar. “Ham?” she called out.
“Right. Is that dog going to eat me?”
“Daisy, back!” Holly said. She pointed to the walkway. “Sit!”
Jackson was there now. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
“Jackson, I’d like you to meet my father. Ham, this is Jackson Oxenhandler.”
Ham turned on a light and looked at the two of them. “How you doin’?” he said, offering Jackson his hand.
“Good to meet you,” Jackson replied.
Holly turned to the dog. “Daisy, come. It’s all right.”
The dog walked warily into the trailer, her hackles still up.
“Daisy, this is Ham; he’s good, good. Ham, hold out your hand, palm down.”
“Am I going to get it back?” Ham asked.
“Just do it.”
Ham held out a hand. Daisy sniffed at it, tasted it.
“Good dog,” Holly said. “Ham is good, and you’re a good dog. Don’t eat Ham.”
“Thanks a lot,” Ham said. “I thought that was his next move.”
“It’s a she,” Holly said. “What on earth are you doing here? I’ve been trying to call you today, and a recorded message said your phone had been disconnected. Didn’t you pay your bill?”
“I moved,” Ham said.
“Where did you move?”
“Here. My truck’s parked down by the gate. There didn’t seem to be enough room for it by the trailer.”
“Let’s all sit down,” Holly said. “Anybody want a beer?”
“You talked me into it,” Ham said.
“Nothing for me,” Jackson said.
Holly got Ham a beer and sat down. The three of them and Daisy made the trailer seem crowded. “Okay, Ham, let’s have it.”
“I’m a civilian,” Ham said. “I am officially a retired military person.”
“Congratulations,” Holly said. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“I thought it would be a nice surprise.”
“Well, it is. I’m glad to see you. What are your plans?”
“Orchid Beach sounds like a nice place,” he said. “Chet said there was some golf to be had.”
“Well, I’m delighted to hear it,” Holly said. “You just picked up and drove down here? Why so sudden?”
“Look, Chet Marley and Hank Doherty are the two best friends I’ve ever had. It pisses me off when somebody shoots one and murders the other one. I thought I’d give you a hand finding out who did it—and killing the bastards.”
Holly turned to Jackson. “Everybody’s a detective—first you and now him.” She nodded at Ham.
“Unless you’ve already killed them,” Ham said.
“Whoa, there, Sarge,” Holly said. “I’m not going to kill anybody, and neither are you.”
“Well, is anybody going to do anything about this?”
“I’m working on it,” she said. “It’s not an easy one.”
“Tell me everything,” Ham said. “I’m all ears. Start with how Chet is.”
“Still in a coma, and nobody knows if he’s ever going to come out of it.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“All right, start at the beginning,” Ham said.
“Now?” Holly looked at her watch. “It’s one o’clock in the morning, and you’ve been driving all day. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”
“Aw, c’mon, Holly, tell me about it.”