Orchid Blues, page 8
"Sure."
Holly walked on, talking to the neighbors. Finally, at the house directly across the street, she got lucky. The owner, a man in his late seventies or early eighties, remembered something.
"I fell asleep in front of the TV on Saturday night," he said, "and I woke up in the middle of the night. I do that a lot, since my wife died. I got up to turn off the lights, and I happened to look out the window, and I saw two cars and a trailer pull away from the Morris house."
"What kind of cars?"
"Their cars, a convertible and a van."
"And the trailer?"
"It didn't have any markings, like those U-Haul things. Looked like a horse trailer to me. Wooden sides."
She thanked the man, then returned and reported to Hurd.
"You got more than I did," he said.
"When you get back, put out a report on the two cars and the trailer. I guess the van would have been pulling the trailer."
"If they left Saturday night, they could be well out of the state by now."
"Yes, they could. Alert the state patrol in Georgia, Alabama and the Carolinas."
"You know," Hurd said, "I don't think I've ever run into one like this."
"That's what Harry Crisp said," Holly replied.
20
Holly went back to the station and found another message from Joy Williams at Southern Trust. She returned the call.
"It's Holly Barker, Joy."
"Oh, thank you for calling me back. Something else came up that I thought you ought to know about."
"What's that?"
"Late Friday afternoon, just before closing, Franklin Morris cashed a check for $3,000 at a teller's cage. His whole balance was $4,248.22. Management here has started an investigation of all of Franklin's transactions at the bank, too, but we don't really expect to find anything much. Franklin's approval limit for a loan was only $25,000, without an approval from a senior bank officer."
Holly thought for a moment. "Did he have to have somebody's signature to cash a $3,000 check?"
"Not really, since he was a bank employee. The teller would have checked the computer for his balance, of course, but if he had the money in the account, she would have given it to him without question."
"I see. Which teller did he go to?"
"He went to Mrs. Harston's window."
"I see."
"But hers was the only window open at that hour. All the others would have been checking out for the day, and her window was kept open for last-minute customers. The tellers take turns being the last to close, because it means the last teller will have to stay another fifteen minutes or so."
"Thank you, Joy. Is there anything else?"
"Did you go out to the house?"
"Yes, and you were right. They've left the place."
"Are you going to arrest Franklin?"
"We've put out a bulletin to various state police organizations, because we'd like to question Franklin. Even if he didn't have anything to do with the robbery, we'd want him for fraudulently obtaining employment with your bank."
"You're going to arrest him, then?"
"I haven't requested a warrant yet, but I will."
"Thank you, Chief."
Holly hung up and called Harry Crisp.
"Hey, there, I was just about to call you."
"What's up?" she asked.
"I checked out the three names from Lake Winachobee, and came up with nothing-no arrest records, no outstanding warrants."
"That's what you'd get if they were assumed names, isn't it?"
"Exactly. What I'd like is some fingerprints."
"I'm not sure how we'd get those," Holly said.
"I wouldn't try right now. Just keep it in mind. Now, why were you calling me?"
"Remember Franklin Morris?"
"The loan officer? Sure."
"He bailed over the weekend."
"Quit his job?"
"Quit the town. He and his wife are gone, their house is empty, and he took most of the money out of his bank account on Friday afternoon. A neighbor says he and the wife pulled out in a van, a convertible and a horse trailer in the wee hours of Sunday morning."
"Uh-oh."
"Also, we've learned that he got his job with a fraudulent recommendation from a nonexistent Miami bank."
"I'll get a warrant. This is a federal matter."
"Okay. I've already put out an APB in five states for the cars, but we have no plate numbers."
"I'll check the car registrations and get the numbers."
"Thanks, Harry."
"So he fooled us both in the interviews, huh?"
"Looks that way. On the other hand, he might not have had anything to do with the robbery; maybe he just thought that the investigation might bring too much attention to bear on him."
"That's a possibility, I guess, but I'm inclined to discount it, for the moment."
"Me, too."
"Okay, Holly, let's keep in touch about this."
"Bye, Harry."
The phone on her desk rang as soon as she put it down.
"Holly Barker."
"Chief, my name is Warren Huff."
"What can I do for you, Mr. Huff?"
"I was just over at a house I own that I rent out, and I found it empty and a search warrant in the kitchen."
"That would be the Franklin Morris house."
"Yes, ma'am. It was a real shock finding it empty."
"I can imagine. Did Morris owe you a lot of rent?"
"No, he didn't. I got a check in the mail this morning for a month's rent, mailed on Friday, and I still have a month's rent as a security deposit. There was a note attached that said I could keep the deposit."
"I see. Then you have no complaint against Mr. Morris."
"Well, he had a lease that he ran out on, but I guess I'm not out any money."
"Mr. Huff, I'd like to send somebody over to have a look at the check and the envelope it came in. Would you put it aside without touching it again?"
"Sure, if you say so." He gave her the address of his office.
"Thanks, Mr. Huff." She hung up and called Tommy Ross and asked him to go and dust the check and envelope for prints.
The phone rang again. "Holly Barker."
"Hey, it's Ham."
"Hey, Ham. What's up?"
"You know that Peck Rawlings guy?"
"Yep."
"I had a phone call from him just now."
21
Lunch at Ham's was always fish, freshly caught. He rolled a couple of plump sea trout in flour and dropped them in hot oil.
Holly didn't rush him. It was best not to rush Ham, he'd get around to it.
Halfway through lunch, Ham got around to it. "So, ol' Peck called me this morning."
"What'd he have to say?"
"I think Peck thinks I'm his kind of folks."
"Good."
"Good? I found it kind of insulting."
"Did you tell him that?"
"Nope."
"Good."
"Said he wants to bring me something to read."
"Bring? He's coming over here?"
"Around six, he said."
"You think he wants to recruit you?"
"Maybe."
"How do you feel about that?"
"How do you want me to feel?"
"I don't want you to get in over your head, Ham."
Ham snorted. "Over my head? I've spent more time in over my head than anyplace else."
"I guess you have. What I meant was, if these people are who I think they are, it could get dangerous."
Ham shot her a withering look. "More dangerous than 'Nam? I don't think so."
"All right, I had to say it."
"Sort of a disclaimer, huh?"
"Sort of. I just want you to go into this with your eyes wide open."
"What do you want me to get out of this guy?"
"Nothing, at first. Don't ask too many questions. Let him tell you."
"You want me to be sneaky, huh?"
Holly laughed. "Real sneaky."
"That's one of the things I do best."
"Okay, I want to know how many of them there are, where they came from, how they support themselves, and anything else you can find out."
"I guess I can find out most of that just by going out there again."
"I guess so."
"But if I start asking him where he's from, he'll get suspicious."
"Right."
"Something else he's going to be suspicious about, kiddo."
"What's that?"
"You."
"Me?"
"He's got to read the papers and watch TV. Pretty soon, he's going to figure out who you are and that the man they shot in the bank meant something to you."
"How are you going to handle that?"
"Well, I've got to tell him something. You want him to think you're a closet Nazi or something?"
"You might let him think that I'm not totally averse to his views."
"I guess I could do that. You think he'll buy it?"
"When he finds out I'm the chief of police, he's going to be cautious."
"I guess he might be."
"Maybe you better bring it up, so he won't find out from somebody else."
"Okay." Ham took a bite of fish. "I think it might be best if I let him know, somewhere along the line, that I didn't approve of Jackson much and that that was a sore spot with you."
"Good idea. I don't think he liked me too much when we met."
Ham chuckled. "Well, when you offered to make him shorter, that probably didn't go down all that well."
"He'll have me pegged as somebody he can never trust."
"I guess he will."
"So you've got to make out, one way or another, that you and I aren't as close as we could be."
"I guess I can do that."
"I wish there were some other way to do this, but I think Harry Crisp is right: it would take too long to put an FBI agent in there."
"Probably."
"Ham?"
"Yep?"
"See if you can find out if this outfit has a name. That could be a big help."
"You mean, if they call themselves the United White Brothers of the Klan, that could tell you something?"
Holly laughed. "No, I mean if they have a name, we can use it to find out more about them. There are people who track extreme organizations, keep files on them."
"Okay, I'll see what I can do."
Holly looked at her watch. "I've got to get back to work. Call me when he leaves, will you?"
"I will."
She gave him a big kiss on his forehead. "Don't piss him off, Ham; I wouldn't want to lose you."
22
Ham selected a weapon, field-stripped it and spread the parts out on a towel draped over a table on his back porch. Then he waited.
At six o'clock sharp, there was a loud knock on the front door, and a male voice yelled, "Ham?"
"Yo!" Ham yelled back, then went to the door, wiping his hands on a paper towel.
Peck Rawlings stood on the front porch, a thick envelope tucked under one arm. "Hey, there."
"Hey, Peck, come on in," Ham said, opening the door. "Come on out on the back porch. Can I get you a drink?"
"Well, I guess the sun is over the yardarm," Rawlings replied. "Sure, if you've got some Scotch."
"Go on outside and grab yourself a chair, while I pour." Ham went to the kitchen, poured himself a bourbon and Rawlings a Scotch, then joined him.
Rawlings was bent over the table, examining the pistol. "What the hell is that?" he asked.
Ham handed him his drink, set his own down, quickly reassembled the pistol, screwed on the silencer, and handed it to Rawlings. "There you go."
Rawlings examined the evil-looking.22 automatic. "Jesus, Ham, that's an assassin's weapon. Where'd you get it?"
"Oh, when I was in 'Nam I ran a few errands for the Company, and they issued me the thing. Somehow, it got lost, and they never got it back. Pretty pissed off, they were."
"I can imagine."
"They were manufactured in small numbers-handmade, really- specifically for the Company. They were used in wet work all over the world, I believe." He took the pistol back from Rawlings, shoved in a clip, and worked the action. He took aim from the porch at a stand of cattails and fired, making only a tiny pfft sound, and cutting the head neatly off a cattail. "That was a.22 Magnum round, believe it or not." He handed the pistol back to Rawlings. "Try it."
Rawlings took aim at a cattail, fired a round, and missed. He handed the pistol back. "That's really something," he said.
"A little different from your Barrett's rifle, but it gets the job done. And nowhere on it is there a serial number or any mark that would identify who made it."
"I don't suppose you'd like to sell it?"
"You'd have to pry it from my cold dead hand," Ham said.
"I don't blame you."
"Sit down and drink your drink, Peck."
The two men settled themselves and sipped their whiskey.
Ham said nothing, just looked out at the Indian River. He'd wait for Rawlings to get around to it.
"Pretty place you got here," Rawlings said, finally.
"Yep, I sure love it."
"How'd you ever come by it?"
"The easy way. Fellow I was in the army with died and left it to me."
"You're a lucky guy."
"I sure am."
Rawlings was quiet for another moment, then he shoved the thick envelope across the table to Ham. "I brought you something to read."
Ham opened the envelope and shook out a book. "Ah, The Turner Diaries, " he said. "I read it twice, years ago." He shoved it back across the table.
"No, keep it. That's an autographed copy," Rawlings said.
"Well, thank you, Peck. I'll treasure it."
"What did you think of the book?"
Ham had read it when he'd found a buck sergeant who served under him reading it. He thought it was the most outrageous collection of lies, bigotry and downright trash he'd ever come across. "Prescient," he said. "The naked truth, well told."
Rawlings grinned. "It sure is, ain't it?"
"It is."
"Ham, I think you're my kind of guy."
You do, do you? Ham thought. You go right on thinking that. "What kind of guy are you, Peck?" he asked.
"Me and my friends are what you might call patriots," Rawlings said. "In our fashion."
"And what fashion is that?"
"You might say we're working toward the goals expressed in that book," Rawlings said.
"And just how do you go about doing that?" Ham asked, looking curious. "Without getting sent to prison, I mean."
"Slowly, carefully, and above all, quietly."
"I should think so," Ham said, nodding. "I've often wondered if there was anybody actually doing anything."
"More than you might imagine," Rawlings said.
"That's interesting to hear."
"Just how interesting, Ham?"
"Very interesting. Tell me more."
Rawlings shook his head. "Not right now," he said. "You and I will have to get to know each other better before I can do that. You'll recall I said that we work carefully."
"Sure, I understand. You go right on doing that."
"With that in mind, I'd like to know a little more about your daughter."
"Holly?"
"Right, Holly. She seemed to me to be a little-"
"Annoying?" Ham ventured.
"If you'll forgive me saying so, yes, annoying."
"Well, Holly's not the smartest girl who ever came along. I mean, she's my daughter and all, but we've never seen eye to eye about a lot of things, so we don't see all that much of each other."
"Looks like you go fishing together."
"That's about all we have in common," Ham said. "If we can get through a couple of hours of fishing without getting into an argument, we're doing well."
"What do you argue about?"
"Well, politics, and, until recently, her boyfriend."
"What about him?"
"He always looked like a Jew to me, although he denied it."
"So she finally dumped him?"
"No, somebody dumped him for her. He got blown away in a bank robbery, just as they were about to get married."
Rawlings's eyebrows went up. "A bank robbery?"
"Yep. He apparently shot off his mouth-he had a real smart mouth-to somebody who was holding a shotgun, and the shotgun just happened to go off. Good riddance, if you ask me."
"You know, I think I saw something about that in the papers. Is your daughter a cop?"
"She's the fucking chief of police!" Ham spat out. "Can you believe it? She was an MP in the army, and not all that good at it, and an old buddy of mine got her this job. Just between you and me, she's not all that good at this one, either."
"Well, ain't life funny?" Rawlings said. He looked at his watch. "Well, I've gotta be somewhere." He stood up. "Thanks for the drink, Ham. I'll see you around."
Ham shook his hand and showed him to the door, then watched him drive away. He went back into the house and called Holly.
"How'd it go?" she asked.
"Not so hot," Ham replied. "We got to talking about you, and I broke the news to him about your being a cop. He didn't take it too well; a minute later, he was out of here."
Holly sighed.
"Yeah," Ham said. "You better think of something else."
23
Holly called the Miami bureau of the FBI and asked for Harry Crisp. He came on the line immediately.
"Hey there, Holly."
"Hey, Harry. I've got bad news."
"What?"
"The Lake Winachobee people didn't bite on Ham."
"Not even a nibble?"
"When Ham mentioned I was chief of police, the guy went cold and got out."
"Out of where?"
"He came to Ham's house."
"Why did Ham mention that you were a cop?"
"We figured they'd find out anyway-read the papers or something. Ham told him we don't get along, and that he didn't like Jackson, thought he was a Jew."
"Why the Jewish reference?"
"Rawlings brought along an autographed copy of The Turner Diaries."
"Oh."
"I'm really disappointed. I thought Ham could take this guy."
