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“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.
CHAPTER
16
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.
