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“How is the chief?” Holly asked.
“He was in surgery most of the night; he’s in the recovery room now.”
“Any prognosis?”
“The doctors won’t say anything, but they looked pretty grim. Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Jane Grey, the chief’s assistant.” She offered her hand.
Holly stood up and shook it. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.
“I don’t think so, but you and I have some things to go over. Why don’t you come with me?” She turned to Wallace. “Hurd, I don’t think you ought to be in the chief’s office.” She produced a bunch of keys, waited while Wallace left, then locked the office and beckoned to Holly.
Holly followed her to another office down the hall, as big as the chief’s but crowded with filing cabinets, boxes and storage cabinets.
“Have a seat,” Jane said. “This is where I live, if you can call it that.”
“Tell me how the chief got shot,” Holly said.
“Nobody knows exactly, but it looks like he might have tried to question somebody in a car, who pulled a gun on him. A motorist found him beside A1A around eleven last night. He was lying in front of his car, lit by the headlights. The man called nine-one-one on his car phone, and an ambulance was there in under ten minutes. A woman I know who works in the emergency room called me, and by the time I got there he was already in surgery.”
“I’d like to go and see him as soon as I can,” Holly said.
“They promised they’d call me when they had some idea of how he’s doing,” Jane said. She seemed almost about to cry, but squared her shoulders and sat up straight. “I think the best thing you and I can do right now is get you processed and on the job.” She unlocked a desk drawer and pulled out a file. “I’ve got all your paperwork right here; the chief signed everything before he went home last night. I do need to get some information for your ID.” She turned to the computer terminal on her desk and punched a few keys.
“What would you like to know?”
“Date of birth?”
Holly told her.
“Height?”
“Five feet, eight inches.”
“Weight?”
“A hundred and thirty-five pounds.”
“Color of hair?”
“Light brown.”
“Okay.” Jane typed a command and a printer spat out a sheet of paper. “I’ll need your social security number and next of kin.”
Holly recited the number and gave her Ham’s name and address.
“That’s right, they were in the army together, weren’t they?” Jane said.
“Yes, more than ten years ago. They kept in touch.”
“There’s another of their old army buddies living here, too—Hank Doherty. You’ll have to meet him.”
“My father mentioned him—he’s the one with the dogs, isn’t he?”
“Well…yes, I guess, but he’s not as active in the dog-training business as he once was. Hank’s…well, we can go into that later.”
“All right.”
“Okay, now documents.” She began handing Holly documents to sign—health insurance, group life insurance, federal and state tax forms. “Good,” Jane said, when Holly had signed everything. “You’re on the payroll. Now let’s get your ID done. Oh, we’d better get you in uniform for your photograph.” She got up and closed the venetian blinds on the glass front of her office, then set a large cardboard box on her desk. “These are the uniforms we ordered for you, according to the sizes you gave us.” She produced a khaki shirt. “Can you slip into this? I’ll leave you alone, if you like.”
