Orchid Beach (10 page)
“Step back,” the judge said finally, and the two attorneys stood near their respective tables.
“Do you have a motion, Mr. Oxenhandler?” the judge asked.
“Move for dismissal of all charges,” the lawyer replied.
“Mr. Skene?” the judge said.
“The state does not oppose the motion, Your Honor, but reserves the right to bring these charges again at a later date.”
The judge said, “Motion granted, charges are dismissed. Mr. Sweeney, Ms. Cooper, you are free to go.”
“Your Honor,” Oxenhandler said, “will you restore Mr. Sweeney’s van and possessions?”
“So ordered,” the judge said. “Court is adjourned.”
Holly sat on the bench, unmoving, astounded. So what, if Sweeney owned a different gun? That didn’t mean he didn’t own more than one. She stood up and intercepted Skene as he walked down the aisle. “Marty, what happened?”
“I’ll call you later,” he said, looking furious. “We’ll need to talk.”
Holly moved down the aisle and left the courtroom. Hurd Wallace and Bob Hurst were standing in the hallway outside, talking animatedly. They attempted to question Skene, but he brushed them off and stalked from the building. She started toward Wallace and Hurst, but stopped when someone took her arm from behind. She turned to find Jackson Oxenhandler towering over her.
“May I speak to you for a moment in private?” he asked.
She followed him to an unpopulated corner of the hallway. “What happened in there?”
“I explained to the judge that a search of records showed that the thirty-two Smith and Wesson revolver is registered to Amanda Smith Wallace, who is the ex-wife of Hurd Wallace.”
Holly’s mouth dropped open.
“Your mouth is open,” Oxenhandler said.
Holly closed it, but she was unable to say anything.
“I disclosed this at the bench, rather than in open court, to avoid publicly embarrassing the department. I trust you’ll take the appropriate steps.”
Holly nodded.
Oxenhandler smiled a little. “I’ll call you for dinner,” he said, then walked away.
Holly walked to where Wallace and Hurst were standing. “Back at the station, in my office,
now
,” she said.
H
olly followed the two officers into her office and closed the door, trying her best not to slam it. She sat down at her desk. “Does either of you know what happened in the courtroom?”
“No,” they said simultaneously.
“Hurd, when you searched the van and found the pistol, did you recognize it?”
“Recognize it? I don’t know what you mean. It wasn’t the first Smith & Wesson I’ve seen.”
“Hurd, that gun is registered to your ex-wife.”
Wallace’s composure did not change, but he appeared to be thinking hard. Hurst turned and looked at him in amazement. “Chief,” Wallace said, “I need a moment to find a file.”
“A file?” Holly asked. “What does a file have to do with this?”
“If you’ll give me just a moment, Chief.” Wallace maintained an icy calm.
“All right,” Holly said. Wallace got up and left the office. Holly turned to Hurst. “Do you have anything to say about this?”
Hurst shook his head. “No, Chief. I’m as flabbergasted as you are. In fact, I’m having trouble believing this.”
Hurd Wallace returned holding a manila file, but before he could speak, the desk officer knocked on the door and opened it.
“Excuse me, Chief, but Sweeney is here wanting his van. What should I do about it?”
“Give him the van and anything else we have of his, except the drugs.”
The young man nodded and closed the door.
“We’ve still got grounds for arrest on a drug possession charge,” Hurst said.
“We can’t do it,” Holly replied. “Right now, the department is under suspicion of having planted that gun in the van. If we charge him with possession, his lawyer will say we planted that, too. We’re in no position to move. We have to let him go.”
“I guess you’re right,” Hurst said.
“All right, Hurd, I’m waiting,” Holly said.
Wallace handed her the file. “This is a report of a burglary at my ex-wife’s house nearly three months ago.”
Holly opened the file and began to scan it.
“You’ll note that nearly five hundred dollars in cash was taken, and…”
“And a Smith and Wesson thirty-two,” Holly said, reading from the file. Her shoulders slumped. “Thank God.”
“I reckon Sweeney bought the gun off whoever stole it, or whoever he sold it to,” Wallace said.
“Sweeney’s been in town less than three weeks.”
“The gun could have changed hands half a dozen times. He could have bought it at any time after he arrived.”
“We’d never make
that
stick,” Holly said. “Who brought the van to the station?” she asked.
“It was towed in; that’s policy.”
“Where was it left?”
“In the parking lot outside. We don’t have any secure garage space.”
“Was it locked?”
“Yes,” Hurst answered, “and I was given the keys. I gave them to Hurd for his search.”
“Hurd, was the van locked when you got to it?”
“Yes.”
“So the van was in the parking lot for how long before you found the gun?”
“From shortly after midnight until around eight-thirty
A.M.
, when I arrived.”
“Is the parking lot lighted at night?”
“Poorly.”
Hurst spoke up. “The van is from the late seventies. Anybody with a coat hanger could have opened it in thirty seconds. The question is, who would gain by planting the gun?”
“Whoever shot Chet Marley,” Holly replied. “That seems pretty straightforward.”
Hurd Wallace was shaking his head. “I think it’s much more likely that Sweeney bought the gun locally, and that he’s our man.”
“He didn’t behave like a guilty man,” Holly said. “Oxenhandler brought that out in court this morning. When he was approached by an officer, he made no attempt to hide the chief’s gun. He didn’t run, he didn’t resist. He didn’t behave like a drifter who had shot the chief of police twenty-
four hours before.” She turned to Hurst. “Bob, did Sweeney give up anything at all during your interrogation?”
Hurst shook his head. “No, he was solid.”
“And the question of the make of the gun didn’t come up?”
“No, I don’t think it did.”
“Did you bring up the Doherty murder at all?”
“Not until late in the interrogation. I was trying to get him to cop to the chief’s shooting before I got into that.”
“Well,” Holly said, “I can’t fault anybody’s conduct in all this; it was handled by the book. I’ll call Marty Skene and tell him what we know. He’s very pissed off, and we need to defuse him right now before he starts making charges. You two return to your duties.”
The two men left her office, and Holly called Marty Skene. “I know you’re angry about this, and I am, too, but we’re both going to have to sit on it.” She told him about the burglary report. “Wallace and Hurst think that Sweeney bought the gun locally and used it on the chief, and I have to say that’s the most plausible explanation.”
“Maybe so,” Skene said, sounding placated, “but you’re going to have to face the possibility that somebody in your department planted that gun in the van.”
“I know that, believe me, and I intend to pursue it, but I’ll have to do so quietly. Was anybody from the local press at the hearing this morning?”
“Yes, their regular court reporter.”
“We’ll have to see how they play this. Maybe they’ll think Schwartz’s testimony torpedoed your case.”
“Maybe, but I wouldn’t count on it. You’d better be prepared to answer questions.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She said good-bye and hung
up. Her phone buzzed immediately. “Hello?”
“Chief, Evelyn Martin, the court reporter for the local paper, is on the line.”
“Tell her I’ll call her back.” She hung up and let her mind range over the problem. Finally, she got up and went into Jane Grey’s office and closed the door. “Jane,” she said, “do you know anything about the relationship between Hurd Wallace and his ex-wife?”
“Just that she hates his guts,” Jane replied. “Their divorce went to trial, and she behaved like a madwoman.”
“So it wouldn’t be likely that she’d support him in some story he’d made up.”
“Not at all likely.”
“Do you remember anything about a burglary at her house a while back?”
“Seems like I do; she lost some money and a gun, but they didn’t take the TV or stereo or any jewelry. She came in and made a report for insurance purposes, I believe.” Jane smiled wickedly. “I think Hurd’s lucky her gun was stolen. She might have used it on him.”
Holly went back to her desk and called the reporter. She wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.
“First of all, Chief, welcome to Orchid Beach.”
“Thank you, Ms. Martin.”
“Tell me, what was all that at the judge’s bench this morning?”
“I was no more privy to that than you were,” Holly replied.
“Did you think you had the right man in Chief Marley’s shooting?”
“We did, but the fact that Sweeney owned a different gun didn’t help us.”
“You think Sweeney’s innocent?”
“I wouldn’t hazard an opinion on that. Let’s just say that we don’t have enough evidence at this point to say conclusively that he did it or didn’t do it. Anything else? I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.”
“Any news on the chief’s condition?”
“Unchanged.”
“Do you think that he will ever be able to help in the investigation of who shot him?”
“That seems very unlikely. We’ll just have to solve the shooting with good police work.”
“Sometime I’d like to sit down and interview you for the paper.”
“Maybe later, but I think you can understand how full my days are right now.”
“I’ll call you in a few weeks.”
“That would be a better time. Good-bye.” Holly hung up. She felt that Sweeney was probably innocent, but before she could be at peace with that, she was going to have to talk to him herself.
H
olly drove south on A1A and slowed at the spot where Chet Marley had been found. There was a good fifteen yards of thick sod between the road and a chain-link fence closing off the property beyond. Whoever shot Chet had thrown his gun over that fence, but why? Why not steal it, or better, just leave it where it lay? She drove along for another hundred yards until she saw a break in the fence, where it had been peeled back. There were tire tracks across the grass and leading into the brush. She turned and drove through the gap. Daisy sniffed the air through her open window.
The ground was bumpy, and the brush dense on each side of the track. It looked as though there had once been a road or driveway that was now disused, except for Sam Sweeney’s van, which appeared ahead, pulled off the track to the right. Holly stopped behind the van and got out. “Daisy, you stay,” she said.
She walked past the van, and her nostrils were assaulted with the odor of human feces. Sweeney had apparently not been a Boy Scout; he had never learned to dig a latrine. She pushed through a stand of palmetto and came into a clearing, shaded by live oaks and bay trees. Sweeney and the girl were sitting at the campfire, roasting hot dogs on sticks. Sweeney got to his feet.
“What now?” he said.
“I want to talk to you,” Holly replied.
“Sure,” Sweeney said. The girl went on cooking the hot dogs.
“Show me your Colt thirty-two,” she said.
“I don’t have it,” he replied. “The cops must have took it when they searched the van.”
“Where was the thirty-two in the van?”
“In the glove compartment.”
“You have any other firearms?”
“No, ma’am,” he said, shaking his head. “Just the one, and I don’t have that one no more.”
“You’d be wise not to replace it,” Holly said.
“Maybe you’re right.”
“I heard your testimony in the courtroom. Did you leave anything out?”
“No, ma’am. I answered all the questions they asked me.”
“What about the questions they didn’t ask you?”
He looked at her narrowly. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, Sam—you were all over this area that night. You had a flat where the chief was later shot, you were camped here, you drove up and down A1A all the time. What did you see that nobody asked you about?”
“I didn’t, ah, see anything,” he replied.
“All right, then what did you hear?”
He looked at the grass under his feet.
“Come on, Sam, this is off the record, just between you and me.”
“I reckon we got back here five minutes before it happened,” he said.
“Go on.”
“I heard them talking. They sounded angry.”
“How many?”
“Two, maybe three. I couldn’t see nothing. You see how dense that brush is,” he said, pointing toward the road.
He was right about that, Holly thought. The brush between where they stood and the road, some fifty feet away, was virtually a wall. “What were they saying?”
“I couldn’t make any of it out, but it was angry. Both sides of the conversation was real mad. Then I heard the shot.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do nothing. I wasn’t about to stick my nose in something where there was shooting going on.”
“Then what happened?”
“I heard something hitting the brush and then fall to the ground. I don’t know why, but my first thought was a hand grenade. I kept waiting for something to explode.”
“That was the Beretta?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I didn’t find it until the next day. Whoever threw it really let go. He’d have to clear that brush. If it had landed in the brush, you’d have needed a chain saw to get at it.”
“After you found it, did you check the clip? Had it been fired?”
“No, ma’am. I mean I checked the clip, and it was full. There wasn’t one in the chamber.”
“How many shots did you hear?”
“Just the one.”
“You know enough about guns to guess what it was?”