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“All right, I’ll send somebody over to talk to Pedro.”
“Carlos also had a girlfriend, but Pedro wouldn’t give me her name.”
“We’ll talk to her, too. We can probably find a way to worm the name out of Pedro. Is he a U.S. citizen?”
“I don’t know. Both cousins were born in Havana and came over on the same fishing boat twelve years ago.”
“I’ll check him out; he’ll be easier to handle if all he has is a green card. Easier still if he’s an illegal.”
“Thanks, Harry, I appreciate it.”
“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.
