“I’m sorry. There’s really nothing I can do about that,” said Bullock. “The privacy of the deceased is not something I take lightly.”

“But you do take lightly that someone might have murdered her?”

Bullock snapped, “I don’t care for what you’re insinuating.”

“Weren’t you going to contact her next of kin?” Puller asked.

“We were in the process of doing that. We did a preliminary search of her home, but didn’t find any helpful info. And you have to understand, this is Florida. Lots of elderly, lots of deaths. We have four others we’re running down next of kin on and I have limited manpower.”

“The ME listing drowning as the cause of death tells us what killed her. It doesn’t tell us how she got in the water in the first place.”

“She fell.”

“That’s a guess, not a fact.”

Landry stirred, seemingly about to say something, but then apparently thought better of it and remained silent.

Puller noticed this but didn’t react. He figured he could have a chat with her later, outside the presence of her boss.

“It’s an educated, professional assumption based on the facts on the ground,” corrected Bullock.

“An educated assumption is really just a guess in sheep’s clothing. The real reason I’m down here is because of a letter she sent.” He pulled it from his pocket and handed it to Bullock. Landry moved around and read it over her supervisor’s shoulder.

Bullock finished reading, folded the letter, and handed it back. “Proves nothing. If I had a dollar for every time some old woman thought something weird was going on, I’d retire a rich man.”

“Really? That would take like over a million old crazy ladies, wouldn’t it? The population of Paradise is 11,457. I checked before coming down. You’re going to have to recruit a lot more old crazy ladies if you want to retire.”

Before Bullock could respond to this a fax machine on a credenza behind him zinged to life. A paper came down the chute. Bullock picked it up, alternated reading it and gazing at Puller.

“Okay, you are who you say you are.”

“Nice to have it confirmed.”

“Landry here tells me you’re Army CID.”

“That’s right. About six years. Before that I was in the ranks carrying a rifle.”

“Well, I’ve been chief of police of this little hamlet for fifteen, and fifteen years before that I was a cop pounding the streets. Saw my share of murders and accidents. This is the latter, not the former.”

“Am I missing something here?” asked Puller. “Is there some reason you don’t want to check this out more thoroughly? If it’s a question of manpower I’m here to volunteer my services. And I’ve been around a lot of accidents and murders too. The Army unfortunately has an abundance of both. And I’ve handled cases that started out looking like an accident that turned into something else and vice versa.”

“Well, maybe you’re just not as good as we are,” shot back Bullock.

“Maybe I’m not. But why don’t we find out for sure? We have a little question of justice to be answered.”

Bullock rubbed his face with his hand like he was working off some fine grit, and shook his head.

“Okay, I think we’re done here. I’m sorry for your loss, if she is your aunt. But I would not advise going near her property again unless you have appropriate authorization. Next time we will arrest you.”

“And how exactly do I get authorization?”

“Talk to her lawyer. Maybe he can help. Probably just charge you a few thousand dollars.”

“I don’t know who her lawyer is. Maybe if I could go back to her house and check?”

“What part of appropriate authorization don’t you get?” said Bullock.

“So it’s a chicken and egg problem?”

“Hell, she’s your family, or so you say.”

Puller slipped out the picture. “I’ve got this.”

Bullock waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, Landry told me about that. It’s not conclusive proof of anything.”

“So that’s it? That’s all you’ll do?”

“What I’m doing is my job. To serve and protect.”

“Well, if Betsy Simon was killed, you didn’t do a really good job on either one, did you?”

Bullock rose and stared down at Puller. For an instant Puller thought the man was going to pull his gun, but he simply said, “You have a good day, Mr. Puller.” He nodded at Landry, who said, “You can follow me out, Agent Puller.”

After the door closed behind them Hooper was next to Puller in an instant, his hand on his elbow again, like a sheepdog to a sheep. Only Puller would never be classified as a sheep. He firmly removed Hooper’s hand from his elbow and said, “Thanks. But unlike my aunt, I can walk unaided.”

Before Hooper could say anything Puller walked off, retracing his steps from the way in. Landry fell in behind him.

“I need my gun back,” said Puller.

“It’s in the police cruiser. We can drop you off at your car.”

“Thanks, I’d rather walk,” said Puller.

“It’s a long walk.”

Puller turned to look at her. “I have a lot to think about. And I’ve never been in Paradise before. I’d like to see every inch of it. Might never get another chance. Most folks who know me have me down for heading to the other place.”

At this Landry cracked a smile.

They reached the cruiser and Landry handed him back his M11 as Hooper hovered in the background, still looking upset that Puller wasn’t behind bars.

Landry handed Puller a card. “If you need any help,” she said, her gaze searching his for an instant before looking away. “Personal cell phone number’s on the back.”

Puller slid his M11 into the belt holster and her card into his shirt pocket.

“Appreciate that. Might take you up on it, Officer Landry.”

He glanced over her shoulder at Hooper. “He always so friendly?”

“He’s a good cop,” she said in a low voice.

“Never said he wasn’t. But tell him to lay off the elbow intimidation thing. Gets old after about thirty seconds.”

She edged closer. “Try Bailey’s Funeral Home. It’s over off Atlantic Avenue. Where the ME does her work. We don’t have a formal medical examiner’s office in Paradise. She’s a doctor in practice who helps us out.”

“Thanks.”

He turned and strode off.

Hooper called after him, “Next time you won’t get off so easy.”

Puller just kept walking.

CHAPTER

13

PULLER CALLED Bailey’s Funeral Home on the walk back to his car. The woman on the phone would not confirm that Betsy Simon’s body was on the premises.

“Well, if you do have her body, I’m her nephew. And if you want to get paid for the funeral service then I really need confirmation that you have her. Otherwise you can just foot the bill yourselves.”

This approach seemed to stimulate the woman’s memory.

“Well, without giving out any private information, we did receive an elderly female’s body whose clothes were damp and who lived on Orion Street.”

“I’ll be over later today to make arrangements. I know the ME performed an autopsy. I’m assuming he’s released the body. But I would appreciate if nothing else is done to the remains before I get there. Are we clear on that?”

“Until the contract is signed and the deposit made, I can assure you that nothing will be done,” the woman said primly.

Puller clicked off and thought, Paradise just keeps getting better and better.

He drove his car to an outdoor café near the beach. He had chosen this spot because it afforded a nice vantage point of a major swath of the town. He ordered a turkey sandwich, fries, and iced tea. It was too hot for his normal pop of max-caffeinated coffee. And he was thinking about giving it up anyway. He was afraid it would start to impede his aim.

As he ate and drank he took mental pictures of all that was going on around him. He saw a pristine convertible Porsche driving next to an old Ford pickup truck with barely any tread on the tires or metal on the frame. A few moments later a large truck chugged by with a landscaping company’s name on its side. It stopped at the traffic light.