“Time for what?” Jackson asked.
“Time to evacuate. From what Cracker had to say in his interview with Holly, it sounds like they have a plan to hold the place just long enough for some aircraft to get out of there. I mean, they can’t get into a shooting war with the outside and expect to win, can they?”
“They could sure hold off my department for a while, though,” Holly said.
“I think that’s what they’re counting on. In a pinch, they can get out of there before reinforcements arrive. Your dad’s right; they couldn’t hold out against a military assault, but cops with small arms couldn’t take the place.”
“Have you found out anything else so far?” Jackson asked.
“We’ve had a report from Miami Center on the aircraft in and out of there. They’ve had airplanes with registrations from Saudi Arabia, Mexico, Canada, Japan and, mostly, from the United States. We ran down the U.S. tail numbers and nearly eighty percent of them were owned by a charter service out of Miami, which is owned by a Delaware corporation, which is owned by a Luxembourg company. Wheels within wheels.”
“Spooky,” Holly said.
“We checked out Diego Ramirez, the general manager of the place, too. He’s Panamanian, a former colonel in Manuel Noriega’s palace guard. He got out before the invasion and has been living quietly in Miami. No criminal record in this country, and his immigration status is okay.”
Holly spoke up. “I checked out the property ownership this afternoon, but the results were disappointing.”
“Dummy ownership, I’ll bet,” Harry said.
“Not even that. Every house is owned by the Palmetto Gardens Corporation. But, of course, that’s a Cayman Island corporation. Here’s a list of the directors.” She handed him a sheet of paper. “The only one I recognize is Ramirez. You might check out the others.”
“Good work, Holly.”
“I’ve been thinking about this,” Harry said, “about what sort of people could own and operate this place. It seems to be operated without regard for profit, which is strange, and if the members are taking up the slack, then it has got to be the most expensive club in the world to belong to. Rich people, even billionaires, didn’t get that way by flushing money down the kind of toilet that Palmetto Gardens seems to be, so that leaves just two other candidates for ownership that I can think of—governments or drug cartels. The presence of Diego Ramirez there, given the recent history of Panama, makes me lean in favor of the drug cartels, or maybe a combination of governments and the cartels.”
“That makes sense,” Jackson said. “Even if you got Bill Gates, Ted Turner, and the Sultan of Brunei together, with all their money they would expect a return on investment, or, at the very least, some kind of value for money. With only a couple of hundred houses there, the expense per house has got to be staggering.”
Harry continued. “We’re going to bug Barney Noble’s Range Rover tonight, come hell or high water,” he said. “It’s at Westover Motors, still outside in the rear parking lot; apparently, it gets serviced first thing in the morning. Arnie is out on Jungle Trail, scanning their VHF radio frequencies, all their handheld radios, and he’ll record what he can get there. Once the frequencies are identified, which should be easy, we can jam them, if we have to go in there.”
“Don’t you need a court order to bug Barney’s car?” Holly asked.
Harry shook his head. “Between you and me, Holly, this is just to get information; we’ll never use it in court, so the hell with a warrant. It’s quick and dirty, but it’ll work. Oh, one more thing—I’m trying to get a female agent into Palmetto Gardens as a domestic worker. There’s an ad in the local paper and a hiring office on the mainland. We’re flying up a woman who’ll try to get an interview tomorrow morning.”
“That’s a great idea,” Holly said. “We really need somebody inside.”
“Well, there’s always Cracker,” Harry said. “I think you scared him shitless this morning, and I don’t think he’ll spill to Barney, do you?”
“I sure hope not. I’ve got him by the short and curlies. I didn’t lie to him about that. I know who his parole officer is.”
Bill spoke up. “I learned something this afternoon,” he said. “I don’t know how important it is.”
“Tell us,” Harry said.
“I tracked down the people who were in charge of most of the infrastructure work at Palmetto Gardens, a construction company called Jones and Jones, in Vero Beach.”
“And?”
“We went over a map of the place, while he showed me what he had done out there. The only really unusual thing was at the communications center.”
“What?”
“He put in a basement and a sub-basement, fully waterproofed and insulated.”
“A sub-basement? In Florida? It’s probably full of the Indian River by now.”
“He said it was fully waterproofed,” Bob said.
“Got any ideas what it’s for?”
“It’s all heavily reinforced, superdense concrete. I reckon it’s either a bomb shelter or a vault.”
“Now, that’s interesting,” Bob said. “Anybody else?”
Holly spoke up. “Well, I learned something from Cracker this morning that I didn’t expect to.”
“What’s that?”
“I think he killed Hank Doherty, maybe Chet Marley, too. Or, at least, he was one of the killers.”
“The dog?” Harry asked.
“Daisy.”
“She went nuts, didn’t she?”
“She sure did. Whoever killed Hank got him to lock Daisy in the kitchen first, but Daisy sure remembered him.”
CHAPTER
47
The next morning, Holly was back at her desk. She and Harry Crisp had agreed that she should keep something like regular office hours so that, if anyone were keeping tabs on her, she would appear to be doing nothing out of the ordinary. She was working her way through the stack of personnel files when Hurd Wallace rapped at her door.
“Morning, Hurd,” Holly said. “Come in and have a seat.”
“Morning,” he said, sitting down.
“What’s up?”
“I feel sort of out of the loop,” Wallace said.
“What loop is that?”
“Well, I’m beginning to get the impression that you know something about Chet Marley’s murder that I don’t.”
“What makes you think that?”
“You seem to be doing a lot of investigative work these days that I’m cut out of,” Wallace said.
“Such as?”
“You’re making trips to the county planning office and looking up documents there; you’ve had Barney Noble in here, and he didn’t look happy; and then you interrogated that guy yesterday, the one whose picture you had up on the bulletin board a while back.”
“All that is true, I guess.”
“What’s it all about, Holly?”
“Well, it’s no big thing, Hurd. I found out that this guy, who is one of Barney’s security guards, has a criminal record and shouldn’t be licensed for security work or to carry a gun.”
“And what did you do about it?”
“Barney promised me he’d take him off security work, so I haven’t done anything, except talk to him.”
“Why’d you sic the dog on him?”
“How’d you know about the dog?”
“She made a lot of noise.”
“I didn’t sic her onto the guy. She just didn’t like him, I guess. I don’t know why.”
Hurd nodded.
“What’s the problem, Hurd? What’s on your mind?”