“I’d like to see the chief’s clothes,” she said.
The doctor nodded and went to a phone. A moment later, a nurse appeared with a small trash bag and handed it to the doctor, who handed it to Holly. “Would you like to use my office?” he asked.
She nodded and followed him into the room, the nurse bringing up the rear. She emptied the trash bag onto the desk and spread out the objects. The shirt was spattered with blood and both the shirt and trousers had been cut off the chief’s body. She turned them over and found dirt and grass stains on the backs of the garments. His shoes and gun belt had the same stains. “Where is his pistol?” she asked.
The nurse spoke up. “He wasn’t wearing one,” she said. “I had someone check the ambulance to be sure it wasn’t there, and it wasn’t.”
“Thank you,” Holly said. She unpinned the chief’s badge, put it in her pocket, then stuffed the items back into the bag. “I guess that’s it,” she said.
The doctor led her back into the hall. Holly stopped walking before they reached the front desk. “Doctor, who are you reporting his condition to?”
“His secretary was here most of the night.”
“Do you know if the chief is married?”
“I assume not. A wife would have been here by now.”
“It would be a great help to my investigation if, in dealing with anybody but me, you would put the most pessimistic light on any assessments you make of his condition. And I’m not excepting other police officers.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” the doctor asked.
“Last night somebody tried to murder the chief. I’d like whoever did it to think he was substantially successful. If word got around that the chief was recovering, his assailant could try again. After all, the chief certainly saw who shot him and may have even known him. We don’t want assassins prowling the hospital’s hallways, do we?”
The doctor’s eyebrows went up. “I see your point,” he said.
“I think it would be a good idea if the hospital released a statement to the local press and the wire services saying that the chief has been critically wounded and may not regain consciousness, and that even if he should, the resulting brain damage would probably greatly impair his communication skills.”
“I can do that,” the doctor said.
Holly shook his hand. “Thank you very much. And if he should regain consciousness, I’d like not to be just the first person notified, but the only person.” She jotted down her home and cell phone numbers, then rejoined Officer Weathers.
“How’s the chief doing?” Weathers asked as they walked back to the car.
“Bad, Jimmy, bad,” she replied. “Do you know where the chief was shot?”
“Yes, ma’am. I drove by there before they moved his car.”
“Let’s take a look at it.”
CHAPTER
5
Holly stopped by the station and took the trash bag inside. She walked into Jane Grey’s office and closed the door behind her.
Jane looked up from her work. “How’s the chief?” she asked, looking fearful of the answer.
“In a coma,” Holly replied. “The prognosis is not good; he may never regain consciousness.”
Jane’s shoulders slumped. “I was afraid of that.”
“How long have you worked for the chief, Jane?”
“Since he came here, eight years ago.”
“You were pretty close, then.”
“Yes, we were.”
“Is the chief married?”
“Divorced, before he came here. The ex-wife has remarried and lives in Germany.”
“Any family or close friends in Orchid Beach? Anybody who should be notified?”
“Nobody,” Jane replied. “His closest friend is Hank Doherty. They were drinking buddies.”
“I know about him from my father. Where does he live?”
“South on A1A, not far from your trailer park. Jimmy can show you.”
Holly put the trash bag on Jane’s desk. “These are the chief’s clothes. Will you send somebody with them to the state crime lab?”
“Sure.”
Holly produced the zippered plastic bag containing the bullet. “This, too. Please ask them to treat the ballistics as very urgent.” Holly took a deep breath. “You said that everybody on the force has to submit personal weapons for ballistics?”
“That’s right.”
“I want this bullet checked against every one of them—official weapons, too.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “Do you think…?”
“I don’t think anything, Jane; I just want to eliminate our people as suspects.”
“I know somebody in the lab. I’ll get him right on it today,” she replied.
“Thanks.”
“Has Bob Hurst come in yet?”
“No, it’ll probably be this afternoon.”
“Do you know if he took charge of the chief’s gun?”
“I don’t know.”
“When he comes in, if he has the gun, I want that to go to the lab, too. I want to know if it’s been fired and if so, how many times. I want to know if anyone’s prints besides the chief’s are on it.”
“I’ll call his house and see if he has it,” Jane replied.
There was a knock on the office door, and Holly opened it. A short, bald man in a short-sleeved shirt and a necktie stood there.
“Oh, Holly, this is Charlie Peterson, the chairman of the city council. Charlie, this is Deputy Chief Holly Barker.”
Holly stuck out her hand. “Good to meet you, Mr. Peterson.”
“Call me Charlie,” the man said, shaking her hand. “Jane, when did we get a deputy chief?”
“This morning, Charlie. The chief hired her several weeks ago, but he didn’t want an announcement until she got here.”
“Unfortunate timing,” Peterson said. “How’s the chief?”
“Not good. In a coma, may not come out of it, and if he does, well, there’s brain damage.”
Peterson winced. “I think you and I need to sit down and talk about things,” he said to Holly.
“We certainly do,” Holly replied, “but right now I’ve got to get on top of this shooting. Will tomorrow morning be okay?”
“Sure, you do what you have to do.”
“Thanks, Charlie, I’d better get going.” They shook hands again and Holly left.
At Jimmy’s direction, Holly pulled off A1A and onto the broad, grassy shoulder. When she set foot on the ground it was soft. “There wasn’t any rain yesterday, was there?” she asked the patrolman.
“Yesterday morning, early, we had a line of thunderstorms go through. Guess we had an inch in two hours. Cleared up after that.”
“Show me exactly where the car was,” she said.
“Right there,” Jimmy replied, pointing ahead of them. “Right in front of that real estate sign.”
Holly stepped onto the pavement and walked slowly down the road, looking carefully at the wet ground. There were the tracks of two cars, one in front of the other. Beside the front set of tracks, there were bits of plaster. “Looks like Bob Hurst took a tire impression,” she said, half to herself. “That’s good.”
She backtracked to the chief’s car tracks and inspected the ground in front of where the car had rested. There were indentations, no doubt where the chief had lain after being shot. She didn’t see any blood. She walked slowly around the area where the two cars had stopped but saw nothing of note. She assumed that any other evidence on the scene had already been collected by Hurst.
“Okay, Jimmy, I think that about does it,” she said, getting into the car. “Jane said you could show me where Hank Doherty lives.”