Hothouse Orchid

Holly got out of her first day’s training for the Malibu Mirage at dusk, and she was exhausted. She had spent half her day learning the airplane’s systems and the rest in the simulator, which she had found trying. It didn’t fly like the airplane, and, although she could look out its windows at the landscape, it was more of a schematic of a landscape, and it didn’t help all that much. She decided she would rather fly the airplane itself.

She got into her car and was heading back toward the beach and home when, shortly after crossing the bridge, she saw two police cars, their lights flashing, with a silver sedan pulled over. She drove slowly past the cars and got a look at the driver, who appeared to be a sixtyish man, sitting in his car and talking with two police officers. She supposed that the Orchid force had started stopping every white male driving alone.

Teddy had just crossed the bridge when the lights began flashing behind him. He considered whether he should make a run for it but decided against it. After all, he was a solid citizen with ID to back it up, so he pulled over, lowered his window and waited. To his surprise the police car pulled past him and blocked any escape, and another car pulled up behind him. A moment later there was a flashlight in his face.

“Good evening, sir,” a young officer said. “May I see your license, registration and proof of insurance?” His hand was on his gun.

Teddy slowly produced his wallet, removed the license and handed it over, then opened the center armrest for his registration and insurance information, while another cop watched him closely from the other side of the car.

“From the Publix market on US-1,” Teddy said. “There isn’t a big supermarket on the island.”

He did so and felt himself being searched. “What’s this about?” he asked. “Why did you stop me?”

“Just a routine procedure, sir. Please have a seat on my front bumper, right behind your car.”

Teddy walked back to the police car behind him and sat down. He watched as the two officers thoroughly searched his car and as one officer pressed the button inside the car that opened his trunk. The two officers moved around the four bags of groceries in the trunk and looked under the floor where the spare tire was stored.

“All right, Mr. Smithson,” the cop said, handing him back his paperwork. “You may proceed on your way. I apologize for any inconvenience.”

“Not at all,” Teddy said, accepting his paperwork and returning to his car. The cop had not even mentioned that he had been driving at least ten miles per hour over the speed limit. He started the car, waited for the police car to move from in front of him, then pulled away from the curb and continued on his way.

This had to be about the search for the rapist/murderer, he thought. He drove home, put away the groceries, took his laptop from the safe and switched it on. He logged on to the Agency computer through a handy computer in Birmingham, Alabama, and began compiling everything he could find on James Bruno, from his court-martial record, to his West Point transcript to his military personnel file.

Finally, he ran a complete background check on the man, discovering only some speeding tickets, the most recent four months ago. Except for those, the man was clean on the civilian side. Only the court-martial transcript told the story of his abuse of women.

Bruno, he concluded, was a type A personality, aggressive and bullying, though Teddy doubted that part of his personality would display itself when he was faced with someone his own size who had an equally aggressive attitude.

He pulled Bruno’s recent Florida driver’s license application from the state’s DMV records, which gave him the man’s current home address. He was going to have to start looking into Bruno’s daily schedule and devote some thought to how to best deal with him.

“I was pulled over by the police on the way home from the grocery store this evening,” he said.

“White male alone in a car,” Teddy replied. “I take it this is part of your investigation?”

“It’s the Orchid Beach department’s part of it,” she said. “Our little unit doesn’t have the resources to do that sort of thing. I take it they saw your innocent face and let you go.”

“Something like that,” Teddy said, chuckling. “You making any progress with your investigation?”

“Not really. Jim Bruno showed up at our office this morning to attend our staff meeting. Hurd had to tell him he couldn’t but not why, which is because Bruno is a suspect. He got mad and left.”

“Yes, it is. First time I’ve ever had a case where an investigating officer was a suspect, and I don’t like it. I wouldn’t like it, even if Bruno wasn’t the guy.”

“I’ve got a whole lot of new groceries here,” Teddy said. “You want to come over and help me eat them?”