Blood Orchid (13 page)
“Glad to help. How are you and what’s-his-name getting on?”
“Who?”
“You know who I’m talking about.”
“Oh, him. Well, I saw him like you suggested.”
“And…”
“You trying to be a matchmaker, Harry?”
“Me?”
“Talk to you later, Harry.” She punched off.
Daisy took a couple of turns around her seat and resettled with her head in Holly’s lap.
Back at the station Hurd had news for her.
“We ran down the Chrysler key,” he said. “It’s not to Carlos Alvarez’s car; it’s to a year-old van. We ran the VIN number and it turns up rented from a Miami company two weeks ago and not returned on schedule.”
“Who was it rented to?”
“For cash to a fictitious name and a false driver’s license. It’s a small rental agency in a Cuban neighborhood that apparently doesn’t do all the checking that Hertz and Avis do.”
“Okay, cancel the bulletin on Carlos’s car and put out one on the van.”
“It was kind of smart to steal the van that way, instead of just grabbing one off the street,” Hurd said. “This way, the guy gets a couple of weeks of use without the thing being reported stolen.”
“Yeah, that is smart,” Holly said, “except that there was a face attached to the fake driver’s license, and an employee of the agency would have seen it. Call them and get a description of the renter.”
“Okay.”
“Also, do a criminal background check on Pedro Alvarez—he’s Carlos’s cousin and business partner. Check out his immigration or citizenship status, too.” No need to rely entirely on Harry Crisp, she thought.
“Okay.”
“Let the coroner know that it’s all right to release Carlos Alvarez’s body, too, and tell him to call me with the name and address of the funeral home.”
“Will do.” Hurd returned to his office.
Holly sat and thought about Carlos Alvarez. He didn’t do this on his own, she knew. Why would a Fort Lauderdale locksmith be interested in her telephone conversations? No, he was hired, and by somebody smart enough to find a man with no criminal background, and to steal a van from a rental agency, instead of off the street.
She tried to figure out how this might all connect to the murder of the two Miami property developers and the attempt on Ed Shine’s life, but that didn’t work. Whoever was behind those crimes obviously wanted to win the auction of the Palmetto Gardens property, and once Ed Shine had won, there was no further motive for killing him, nor would there be any further
motive for coming to Orchid Beach and rummaging around in her life. So her burglar couldn’t be connected to the Fed’s auction of the property.
Dead end. Unless Harry Crisp could come up with something. She decided to relax and let the FBI do the work.
Then her thoughts returned to the night before. She hadn’t heard from Grant today. She called a florist and sent a dozen yellow roses to his house, with a card reading, “Hope you get well soon.”
T
he following day, in the early afternoon, Pedro Alvarez called.
“Hello?” Holly said. She hoped he was ready to talk to her.
“The FBI was here in my shop this morning,” Pedro said, his voice trembling. “Why are you persecuting me?”
“Mr. Alvarez,” Holly said soothingly, “I run a small police department in Indian River County; I don’t run the FBI.”
“Then how did they know about me?”
“When a person involved in criminal activity is murdered, that information passes to different law enforcement agencies.”
“Carlos wasn’t into criminal activity!”
“I told you that he committed burglary and wiretapping in my jurisdiction.”
“How do you know this?”
“It came out in my investigation of his death. Tell me, did you ever see Carlos driving a rented Chrysler van?”
Pedro was silent for a moment. “It was rented?”
“Did you think he had bought the van?”
“I thought he had borrowed it.”
“From whom?”
More silence.
“Pedro, what you don’t seem to understand is that the more you hold back, the more this is going to be investigated. You’re bringing all this attention on yourself, and there’s going to be more.”
“I don’t know anything; what is it you think I know?”
“Who was Carlos dealing with that might have gotten him into trouble?”
“Why would I know this?”
“You were his business partner, his cousin, and his friend. Who else would know more?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then perhaps the girl will know. Have the FBI talked to her yet?”
“I have to go,” Pedro said, then hung up.
Holly called Harry Crisp. “Thanks for moving so fast on Pedro Alvarez. What did you find out?”
“How did you know we’d talked to him, Holly?”
“He just called me, all upset. Somehow, he thought it was all my fault.”
Harry laughed. “Then he’s smarter than we thought.”
“Did your people get anything out of him?”
“Not really.”
“Harry, you’re being evasive.”
“Holly, you know I can’t talk to you about our investigation.”
“I put you on this guy, Harry, and now you’re holding out on me?”
“My hands are tied, Holly.”
“So, I guess I’ll have to hold out on you, too.”
“You can’t do that, Holly; that’s impeding a federal investigation. There could be an obstruction charge. Now tell me what you know.”
“I did that yesterday, Harry, and I haven’t learned anything new since then.”
“You’ll keep me posted, though?”
“Don’t hold your breath, Harry.” She hung up, incensed.
Her secretary handed her a message: the name and phone number of the funeral directors who had collected Carlos Alvarez’s body. Holly dialed the number.
“Good afternoon, Serene Rest,” an oleaginous male voice said.
“Good afternoon,” Holly said smoothly. “Can you tell me when the Carlos Alvarez services will be held?”
“Are you a family member?”
“No, just an acquaintance; I’d like to pay my respects.”
“Viewing will be tomorrow morning between ten and noon. Services are at two o’clock at the Santa Maria church, with burial to follow in the churchyard.” He gave her the address.
“Thank you so much,” Holly said. “I’d like to send flowers, too. Can you tell me the name of his fiancée?”
“The next of kin is Mr. Pedro Alvarez,” the man said guardedly.
“Yes, but he also had a fiancée, Miss…” She hoped he would fill in the blank, but he didn’t.
“You may send any floral arrangements here,” he said.
“Thank you. Goodbye.”
Holly didn’t like funerals, but she wasn’t going to miss this one.
When Holly got home that evening there was a note on her door.
I’m all better,
it read.
How about I bring over a pizza this evening around seven?
She looked at her watch; it was a quarter to seven. She fed Daisy and let her out alone, then ran for the shower. She had just dried her hair and was putting on a sexy cotton shift when the doorbell rang. She ran down the stairs, happy to greet him.
A pizza deliveryman stood on her doorstep. “Delivery, prepaid,” he said, handing her the box with an envelope taped to the top.
“Then I assume you’re pre-tipped, too,” Holly said, snatching the box from him and closing the door. She set down the pizza on the coffee table and opened the envelope.
Sorry, but duty calls,
it read.
I hope to be through not too late. I’ll call you when I’m free.
“Oh, you will, will you?” Holly said aloud. “You son of a bitch!” She let Daisy in, then got a beer and sat down at the coffee table, switching on the evening news. From the local station menu on the satellite service, she chose a Fort Lauderdale station. The pizza smelled fantastic. She began to eat greedily.
She watched ten minutes of traffic and weather and was about to switch channels when a picture of Carlos Alvarez appeared on-screen.
“Fort Lauderdale businessman Carlos Alvarez was found murdered in Indian River County yesterday. An FBI source said he had been shot to death in a gang-land-style killing and his body dumped into the Indian River. His cousin and business partner, Pedro Alvarez, said his family and friends were shocked by the killing.”
Pedro appeared, standing in front of his shop. “We don’t know who could have wanted Carlos dead,” he said. “He was a law-abiding citizen, a small businessman for many years in this city. Who could have done this?” He covered his face and looked away.
“Funeral services will be held tomorrow at Santa Maria church.”
Holly switched off the TV and was astonished to find that she had eaten half the pizza.
H
olly was wakened from a deep sleep by a noise. She sat up and looked around, disoriented; she had been asleep on the sofa. The noise came again: Someone was knocking on the front door. She got up and opened it.
Grant Early stood on the doorstep with a bundle of flowers, the kind that were sold at traffic lights during rush hour. “Hi there,” he said. “Any pizza left?”
Holly walked back into the living room, leaving the door open. “Yours is on the coffee table,” she said. “Daisy, get the FBI guy a beer.”
As Grant watched, Daisy got up from her bed, trotted to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door with a rope hanging from the handle, took out a bottle of beer, and brought it to Grant, whose mouth was open by this time.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got an opener on you,” he said to the dog.
Daisy sat down and looked at him.
“She says it’s a twist-top,” Holly said.
“You’re kind of grumpy this evening, aren’t you?”
Grant asked, lifting the top of the pizza box and making a face.
“I was asleep,” she said.
“Mind if I nuke this?”
“Suit yourself.”
Grant carried the box to the kitchen, found a plate, arranged the slices, and shoved them into the microwave.
“So, how was your day?” he asked, sitting down on the sofa and drinking his beer.
“Pretty well screwed up by the FBI,” she replied.
“Oh? How so?”
“Well, I drove down to Lauderdale to interview a guy, and—”
“What case was this?”
“Carlos Alvarez, my burglar.”
“Okay.”
“Carlos’s cousin, Pedro, was not forthcoming, so I called Harry, thinking a visit by a couple of agents might get the cousin off the dime.”
“And?”
“They talked to him, but Harry won’t tell me what Pedro said.”
Grant chuckled. “And you’re surprised?”
“No, just pissed off. And then I hear the FBI quoted on TV about the case, just like it’s their long-standing case, and they know what it’s all about.”
“Maybe they do.”
“I doubt it. All Harry had for leverage was the possibility of an immigration violation to squeeze Pedro with, and I ran my own check, and he’s a citizen. Did you talk to Harry today?”
“I don’t contact him unless I’ve got something to report,” Grant said. “And I haven’t had anything of substance to report since I arrived in Orchid Beach.”
“Not even what a great lay I was?”
“You were certainly a great lay, but that appraisal will not find its way into my report.”
“Gee, thanks for your discretion.”
“Listen, do I have to take it up the nose for everything the FBI and Harry Crisp do?”
Holly was about to fire back a smart answer when the phone rang. She picked it up. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Hurd.”
“Hi, what’s up?”
“We found the van.”
“Where?”
“Well, this is kind of embarrassing. You know that little park area in the approaches to the North Bridge?”
“Yes.”
“It was there all along. I guess I should have sent somebody up there first thing.”
“Don’t worry about it; finding it a few hours later won’t hurt anything. Where is it now?”
“We’ve towed it into the city garage. I’ve got a tech on it. We’ll have everything by first thing in the morning.”
“I’ll see you then. Thanks for calling.” She hung up.
Grant came back from the kitchen with his pizza. “Developments?”
Holly started to speak and stopped. “First, you and I have to have an understanding,” she said.
“What sort of understanding?”
“Whatever I tell you about my cases stops here, it doesn’t go to Harry.”
“Okay, unless the information is relevant to my work here.”
“Nope, relevant or not, you tell Harry nothing.”
“Holly, the FBI pays my salary, and Harry Crisp is
my boss. I can’t withhold information about my case from them, surely you understand that.”
Holly made a disgusted noise.
“I could lie and tell you everything is just between you and me, but I want to be straight with you.”
Holly said nothing, just looked out the window.
“Look, maybe I can help, offer some suggestions. If it doesn’t touch on my case, I’ll say nothing to Harry about it.”
“But if it does, you’ll blab, right?”
“If that’s how you want to put it, yes.”
“Will you stop me telling you, if you think it’s going to relate to your case?”
“If I did that, then you might figure out what my case is.”
“You don’t give a girl much wiggle room, do you?”
“I don’t have all that much myself. I’d love to help, if I can, but I can’t hold out on Harry.”
Holly thought about it again. “We found Carlos’s van,” she said. “We’re going over it for prints now, hoping that the killer might have left some on it.”
“That’s a good development, maybe a shortcut to solving the murder.”
“You know something?” Holly said. “I know I’m not supposed to say this, but I don’t really care all that much about the murder. Carlos played in the wrong pigpen, and he got bit. What I care about is finding out why he was in my house, and if solving the murder will help with that, then okay, I’m interested in the murder.”
“You’re taking this personally, aren’t you?”
“It
is
personal when somebody breaks into your house and taps your phones.”
“No it’s not, it’s work. That’s why they tapped your
phones, don’t you see that? I doubt if there’s anything in your personal life that’s all that interesting.”
