Matt Royal Mystery - 03 - Blood Island (10 page)

I turned to Fats. "You okay?"

"Not really. What the hell's going on?"

"I don't know, but somebody got me over here to kill me. Looks like
they wanted to kill you too."

I took out my cell phone and called Logan. I told him where I was
and what had happened. "Stay inside," I said. "If they came for me, they
may come for you too. Call Bill Lester and tell him what's going on. I'm
calling 911."

After I told the emergency operator where I was and why I needed
the police, I turned to Fats. He was still breathing hard, but he'd gotten
himself cleaned up and put on a pair of shorts.

"Why would somebody want to kill you?" I asked.

"Don't know"

"Look, Fats. Somebody's out to get me and probably you as well.
Once the cops get here they're going to separate us and you're not going
to be able to tell me what's going on. Do it now, and maybe I can figure out
how to save our asses. Does this have something to do with Jake Yardley?"

"Probably. There's a lot I can't tell you, Mr. Royal, but I'll tell you
what I can."

"Call me Matt."

"Okay, Matt. I knew Clyde Varn from way back. I recognized him
right away, the first time he came in here. He said his name was Jake Yardley, but I knew better."

"Where did you know him from?"

"Down in the Keys, and later, Miami."

"How did you know him?"

"We worked for the same outfit."

"Come on, Fats. We don't have all day. Spell it out."

"We worked for Javier Savanorola. He was in the drug business.
Clyde was hired muscle. I handled the books and kept the IRS offJavier's
back.

"The feds came down on us hard six or seven years ago. Clyde and
I both testified for the government. He disappeared, and I figured Javier
had him killed. I left town, changed my name, and bought this place."

"Didn't Clyde recognize you when he came in?"

"No," Fats said. "I've gained about a hundred pounds, and when we
worked together Iliad a full beard. I don't think anybody from those days
would recognize me."

"What was your name?"

"Can't tell you, Matt. Sorry."

"Did you spend much time with Varn?"

"For a while. He lived up the street in the trailer park and would
come in most days. We'd sit here at the bar and talk."

"About what?"

"Sports, mostly. He did tell me that he came here from Kansas, but
he never told me anything else of a personal nature."

"How did he make his living?" I asked.

"I don't know. He never said anything about a job."

"Could he have been doing work for the drug guys in South
Florida?"

"I doubt it. They put a contract out on him after he testified against
them. I figured that's why he changed his name."

I heard sirens in the distance, drawing closer. Tires crunched onto
the shell parking lot. Car doors slammed. Feet ran on the cement floor
below, the leather boot soles making slapping sounds. Leather equipment
holders creaked, and I heard a rifle chambering a round.

"Up here," I called out. "We're unarmed."

There was quiet for a beat, two, and then a voice, strained with tension, came from below. "Come to the door where I can see you. Hands
over your head. Come out slow"

I lay my gun on the bed and eased over to the door, hands raised. I
stood by the jamb and said, "I'm coming out. Here are my hands." I stuck
them into the doorway. If some trigger-happy cop was going to shoot, I'd
rather he hit my hands than my chest.

"Show yourself," came the voice from below.

"I'm coming out," I said, and slipped into full view in the doorway,
hands high.

"Anybody else up there?"

"One live and one dead guy," I said. "The live one's coming over
now."

I looked back at Fats. He was standing with his hands up. I nodded.
He started walking slowly toward me. Heavy footsteps were bounding up
the stairs. Just as Fats got to me, a sheriff's deputy came through the doorway and shoved a rifle into my gut.

"Move back," said the cop.

I did, being careful not to step on the body.

Another deputy came through the doorway, pistol drawn. He looked
at the dead guy, stopped, reached down, and felt for a pulse in his neck. He
stood back up, shaking his head, and looked at me. "Who're you?"

"I'm Matt Royal. I live on Longboat Key. I have identification. The
gun on the bed is mine. I shot this guy with it."

The cop nodded, then looked at Fats.

"I'm Fats Monahan. I live here."

The deputy took a deep breath. "The detectives will be here in
a minute," he said. "Let's just sit tight until they get here. Don't touch
anything."

He signaled us to put our hands down. He walked over to the bed
and stood by it, not touching the nine millimeter lying on the tangled
sheets, but making sure that neither Fats nor I could get to it.

The other deputy turned and yelled down the stairs. "We're cool up
here. Send the detectives in when they get here."

We stood silently for a few moments. I could hear traffic whizzing by
out on Cortez Road. Somewhere in the building, an air-conditioning unit
clicked on. Cool air rushed out of a vent in the ceiling that I hadn't
noticed. A car horn, the short squeal of brakes, a diesel engine accelerating, the ambient noise of early morning in a quiet neighborhood.

I heard another car coming to a stop on the shell parking lot. In a
minute a voice from below said, "Detective coming up." The deputies in
the room seemed to relax; glad someone was here to take control.

A man of about six feet, slender with a small belly, dark hair going to
gray, and a bald spot that would eventually claim his head, stepped into the
room. He wore a beige sports jacket with brown pants, white dress shirt,
and a red tie with small white polka dots. A gold badge was held in place
over his jacket pocket by its leather case. "I'm Detective David Sims," he
said. "What the hell happened here?"

The deputy who had entered the room first said, "We just got here,
Detective. We secured the area, but we haven't talked to the witnesses.
This is Mr. Royal and that's Fats Monahan. I haven't seen their IDs yet."

The detective looked at me. "Let's see," he said, holding out his right
hand.

I reached for my wallet and handed him my driver's license. He
looked at it and handed it back. He looked at Fats.

Fats pointed to a wallet lying on the table beside the bed. "Mine's in
the wallet."

The detective made a "come on" move with his fingers, and Fats
crossed to the table and picked up the wallet, extracted his license, and
handed it to the detective. Sims glanced at it and handed it back.

"What happened?" Sims asked quietly.

I shifted my weight, looked at the detective. "A friend called and said
Fats here wanted to see me," I said. "I came over. Fats hadn't asked to see
me. We were discussing it when this guy came through the door with that
shotgun leveled at us. I shot him."

Sims stared at me for a long beat. "That's a very short story. You can
do better, Mr. Royal."

I was about to open my mouth when Bill Lester walked into the
room. He was wearing his usual attire, but this time he had a sidearm
strapped to his belt.

Sims turned. "Chief," he said, "what brings you to our side of the
bridge?"

"I heard one of my citizens shot one of yours," Bill said.

"Royal's one of yours, but I got no idea who the dead guy is."

"Do you think it'd help if you looked at his face?" asked Lester.

"Might," said Sims.

He walked over to the body, pulling latex gloves out of his jacket
pocket and putting them on his hands. He bent over and pulled the ski
mask up off the corpse's face. He studied the dead man for a few moments,
rose and said, "Don't know him. We'll run his prints through and find out
who he is. Guy like this is bound to be in the system."

A voice from downstairs announced, "CSIs coming up."

Bill Lester started for the stairs. "I'll get out of your way, Detective. I'd
appreciate it if you'd keep me in the loop."

"Chief," said Sims, "what's your interest in this?"

"I think this might be connected to a homicide I'm working on Longboat, and maybe to one that Bradenton PD is working from last night."

"Shit," said Sims. "About two too many jurisdictions in that mix.
Why do you think they're connected?"

"Because my friend here seems to be connected to all of them." Lester
was pointing at me.

Sims grinned. "I'll make sure to get a long statement from him. Do
you know anything about a friend calling him this morning to tell him to
come over here?"

"Yeah," said Bill. "That would be Cracker Dix. He's out in my car
waiting for you to talk to him."

Sims waved his arm in my general direction, motioning me to follow
him down the stairs. Fats brought up the rear.

The parking lot was crowded with police cruisers and crime-scene vans,
all bearing the colors and logo of the Manatee County Sheriff. An unmarked police car was parked near the entrance. Cracker Dix was leaning
against it, his arms folded, a bored look on his face.

Detective Sims and Chief Lester had stopped walking after leaving
the building and were huddled in the shade of the roof overhang. Lester
was talking, gesturing, Sims listening.

Fats and I went to join Cracker.

"Morning Cracker," said Fats. "That wasn't me talking to you
earlier."

"That wasn't you who called me this morning?"

"Wasn't me," said Fats. "Matt like to have scared the shit out of me
when he came busting into my place this morning. If I'd called, I'd have
met him in the bar."

"Sure sounded like you."

"Cracker," I said. "Where's Logan?"

"Home, I guess. The chief came by my place this morning and said
I needed to go with him. He didn't say anything about Logan. I thought I
was being arrested again. Then he told me about you having to shoot that
guy. I told him what I knew and he told me to come with him. Here we
are."

I called Logan on my cell phone.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yep, sitting here with a bowl of oatmeal, the paper, and a nine mil."

"Logan, keep an eye out. If that dead guy was after me, somebody's
probably after you."

"What in the hell is going on?"

"I don't know. We must have kicked over a hornet's nest somehow.
Maybe we'll know more after the cops get through comparing notes."

"Hope so," said Logan.

I hung up.

Sims and Lester came over. Sims didn't look happy. "Mr. Royal," lie
said, "you have fouled my nest."

"Sorry, Detective," I said. "I sure didn't mean to."

Bill Lester was grinning. "Matt has a way of doing that. Never means
to, either."

This was not helping.

The chief snorted with what passed for a laugh. "The detective wants
statements from all three of you," he said. "We can do it at the Longboat
station. Save you a trip downtown."

It was lunchtime when we finished with the statements. I drove Cracker
back to the village and met Logan for lunch at Mar Vista.

"Somebody went to a lot of trouble to take you out," he said, when
we were seated on the patio.

"There has to be a reason. Somebody tried to kill us on Coquina
Beach, and now this. I wonder if somebody thinks we know something
that we don't."

"Let's look at this logically. We're looking for Peggy. We talk to Varn
and he's murdered. The same night somebody tries to take us out. Then
we go to see Wayne Lee and within a few hours, he's killed. Next morning,
they come for you again. It's got to be about Peggy."

"Not necessarily," I said. "Maybe it has something to do with the
body I found at Pelican Man's."

"Has anybody been in contact with Vince Delgado?"

Vince, the curator at Pelican Man's, had left for Michigan to visit
family the morning after we found the body. "He won't be back for a
couple of weeks. He's in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan."

"I'm not sure it makes sense to try to tie these murders to the vulture
pit guy. All you did was find a body. How would that tie you into anything
that'd get people killed?"

"Suppose somebody thought I knew more about that body than I
was supposed to, and they thought I was getting Varn and Wayne Lee involved in it somehow. Maybe they just took them out as a precaution, and
they figured to do the same with me."

"That's a little far-fetched. The cops don't even know who the vulture pit guy is."

"Did you know that his body disappeared from the morgue?" I
asked.

"You're kidding. How?"

I told him the story of the fake funeral home pick up, and the fact
that the police had no leads.

"That's weird," said Logan. "Maybe you have a point. Have you discussed it with Bill Lester?"

"Not yet."

I brought Logan up to date on Debbie's research on Varn.

He shrugged. "Sounds like he was hiding out from the drug folks.