Matt Royal Mystery - 03 - Blood Island (11 page)

"But why show back up now? Even with a different name, you
wouldn't think he'd get within a thousand miles of Florida. Not with a
contract on his head."

"Did Bill ever get any info on the owner of the condo where Varn
was living?"

"Sort of. I talked to him this morning about that. It seems that a Cayman Islands corporation, whose shares are held by a Cayman bank, owns
the Bahamian corporation that owns the condo. Cayman banks are more
secretive than those in Switzerland. Bill thinks we may have hit a dead
end."

"Lovely," said Logan. "And somebody's trying to kill us."

I'd been staying in touch with Laura by e-mail, and I wanted to run some
names by her. I doubted she would have ever heard of Wayne Lee, Fats
Monahan, or Clyde Varn, but it was worth a try. Truth to tell, I just wanted
to hear her voice.

I called her after lunch. Her husband, Jeff, answered the phone. I
identified myself and asked if Laura was available.

"Matt, I've been meaning to call you all morning. Laura's missing."
He was agitated, talking too loud, a little out of breath.

"What do you mean, missing?"

"I came home for lunch yesterday and she wasn't here. She hasn't
been back."

"Police?"

"When she didn't come home by suppertime, I called them. Her
purse was here, her cell phone, her car was in the garage. There was no
note, nothing. That's not like her. If she was going out unexpectedly, she'd
always leave a note."

"What are the police telling you?"

"Nothing, so far. They didn't even start looking until she didn't come
home all night."

"They're doing something now, I hope."

"Something, I guess. But I don't know how serious they're taking
this. They keep asking me if we're having marital problems. I think they
think she just took off."

"Any chance that's the case?" I asked.

"None. Certainly not now, not while Peggy's missing. Have you
found out anything?"

"Nothing more than what I've told Laura so far."

There was no reason to alarm him further with the deaths that may
or may not be connected to his daughter. He had enough on his plate right
now.

I said, "Did you tell the police that Peggy's missing?"

"Yeah, but they don't see any connection. Laura was here and Peggy
was in Florida. I was trying to call you to find out if Laura had contacted
you. I guess not."

"No, but if she does, I'll call you right away. Keep me posted."

"I will, Matt. And thanks. Oh, before you go, there is one other thing
that's kind of curious. I got a call this morning, but the caller hung up before
I could get to the phone. My caller ID had a three-oh-five area code number,
so I called it back. It was a pay phone in a bar in Key West called the Sharkstooth. Nobody knew who had called. And, my home phone is unlisted."

"Maybe it was just a wrong number," I said. I didn't believe that, but
why worry a guy more than he already was?

As soon as I hung up, I called Bill Lester. "Bill," I said, "can you call
the Atlanta PD and find out about a missing person?" I filled him in on
Laura's disappearance.

"I'll see what I can do," he said.

I paced my living room. This thing was getting out of hand. Peggy
had been missing for four weeks, and now Laura drops off the planet.
There had to be a connection, but I couldn't see it. None of it made any
sense. Why were dead people cropping up all over the place? And why
was somebody trying to take Logan and me out of the picture?

I was trying to make sense of my day. I'd killed a man, and even
though he'd left me no choice, I was in some sort of a state of mourning. I
didn't know the guy, and the world was better off without him, but the taking of a human life alters you forever. I'd killed before, in war and in selfdefense, and each time the same awful feeling of regret ate at my soul. John
Donne famously wrote that "any man's death diminishes me, because I
am involved in Mankind." Maybe he was right. Especially when I'd caused
the death.

On top of this, Laura was missing. Where had she gone and why?
Did she go on her own volition, or were there sinister forces at work? Laura would never leave without letting some one know where she was
going. Her disappearance was troubling. Was it connected to Peggy?
There was no other reason for Laura to go missing. The fact that Peggy
had been in Florida and Laura was in Atlanta didn't mean the two things
weren't connected.

I called Detective Sims's cell phone. He'd given me the number in
case I came up with any good reason for why people were trying to kill me.

"Did you get any ID on the guy I shot this morning?"

"Yeah. He's an ex-con named Brad Bartel. Did five years in Raiford
for assault down in the Keys. Before that, he did a deuce for possession of
cocaine with intent to sell. That was another Monroe County bust in the
Lower Keys, Stock Island. He was released from Raiford two months ago."

"Any idea what he was doing up here?"

"None. A detective I know in Key West said this guy was suspected
in a couple of murders, but they couldn't get the evidence to pin them on
him. He was a pretty bad dude and Key West is glad to be rid of him."

"Anybody know where he's been since he left prison?"

"Went back to Key West. Seemed to have a little money and spent
most of the time drinking on Duval Street."

"His drinking days are over," I said.

"You don't seem too broken up over the whole thing."

"I'm not, Detective. He's not the first man I've killed."

"So I heard." He hung up.

Why would anyone in our area hire a hit man from Key West, if that's
what Bartel was? I was sure there were any number of out-of-work bad
guys in Tampa. On the other hand, both Fats and Varn had worked for
drug runners in South Florida. Maybe that was the connection. Maybe
Bartel wasn't after me at all. Just Fats.

But if that were the case, why would someone lure me to Hutch's?
Maybe Fats was the target, and somebody thought they might as well take
me out while they were getting Fats. Just in case I knew something I
wasn't supposed to know.

But what was I supposed to know?

My phone rang. It was Logan.

"Matt, you'd better get over to my place. We're in a heap of shit."

The gate guard recognized me and waved me in. I drove into the parking
lot of Logan's condo and found three police cruisers, blue lights rotating
in their light bars, a fire department ambulance, and a group of residents
standing around chatting with each other.

Logan was standing off to the side, talking to one of the Longboat
Key officers. I parked at the edge of the lot and walked over.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"There's a dead man on my balcony," said Logan. "Shot through the
head."

"Who?"

"I don't know. There was a mop on the floor beside him, so lie may
be part of the cleaning crew that was supposed to come in today. I hired a
new company to do the maid work. I don't know any of them."

"What's going on in your condo?"

"Bill Lester's up there with a couple of cops. They're waiting for the
Sarasota County CSI people."

Our island is divided at its middle, with the northern half lying in
Manatee County and the southern half in Sarasota County. Logan lived
on the southern end of the key, and thus, in the jurisdiction of the Sarasota
County Sheriff.

We watched a van with the Sarasota County Sheriff's logo on the
door drive into the lot. Two men and a woman got out, went around to
the back, and unloaded three large evidence kits. They walked to the door
of the building and were let in by the Longboat Key officer stationed there.

I turned to Logan. "Did you notice anything missing from your
condo?"

"I didn't take time to look. I saw the dead guy and left in a hurry and called 911 and then you. The cops got here about five minutes before you
did."

Bill Lester was coming out of the building, striding toward us, a hard
look on his face. He motioned for the officer, who was still standing with
us, to leave.

"I think somebody was after you, Logan," he said. "Did you take a
good look at the body?"

"No. I saw the bullet hole in his head and got the hell out of there."

The chief looked at me. "From a distance, the dead guy would look
a lot like Logan. He's balding and about five foot eight. The slug that got
him was large, maybe from a sniper rifle. Went right through his head and
lodged in the wall."

There were two buildings near Logan's that could have given a
shooter a sight line. I looked at both of them, but didn't see anything out
of the ordinary. I didn't expect to.

"The shot could have come from either of those buildings," I said,
pointing.

"I agree," said the chief. "The dead guy had an immigration green
card on him. He was from Poland and worked for the Tidy Lady's Maid
Service. Are they yours, Logan?"

"Yeah. 1 just hired them to come in once a week. Today was their first
day."

"And that guy's last day," said the chief. "We'll know more when CSI
gets through with the crime scene."

"We've got to stop meeting like this," a voice behind me said.

I turned to look into the cold eyes of Detective David Sims.

The chief introduced him to Logan and said, "Thanks for coming,
Dave. This has got to tie in to the Lee and Varn killings. I thought you'd
be interested."

"I am," said Sims, pointing at Logan and me. "I just don't see any
connection, except these two. They keep showing up at murder scenes."

"My thought exactly," said the chief. He turned to me. "Why don't
you take Logan to your place, Matt? Stay out of sight. I'll send a patrolman
if you like, but I want you guys safe until we get a better handle on this. I'll
come over as soon as CSI finishes up here."

"We'll be at my condo," I said. "The patrolman isn't necessary. We'll
be okay." I wasn't too sure about that, but I didn't want my neighbors to
get antsy about a cop at my door.

Logan and I were back in my condo by mid-afternoon, sitting on the sunporch idly watching a pontoon boat with a maroon Bimini top make its
way south. An easterly breeze lightly rippled the bay, and clouds were moving in, obscuring the sun. The sliding glass doors were open, and the
sound of an idling outboard engine drifted up from the marina. The air
smelled of rain and seaweed drying in the sun.

"That could've been me," Logan said.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Don't know"

"We've got to figure this out or we're going to be dead," he said.

"I know"

I told him about my earlier conversations with Sims and Jeff
Timmons. "Everything seems to be pointing to Key West. I'm going down
there," I said.

"To do what?"

"I'm not sure. I think the starting place is the bar where the pay
phone is."

"Why?"

"The call to Jeff's house is just too coincidental. Maybe it was Peggy.
Or maybe she called earlier and talked to Laura. Maybe Laura's in Key
West."

"She wouldn't have left without her purse or credit cards or clothes,"
Logan said.

"There's that."

"And you said her car was in the garage at home."

"I know. But we've got too many signs pointing to Key West. At least
the bar gives me a starting point."

"I can go with you."

"I think I'd be better off alone. Besides, I need to have you here to help me stay in touch with the police. I don't think you ought to be too
conspicuous on the island, though."

"Dave Kendall has an extra room at his place. I can stay there and
keep my head down. I'll even use his motor scooter to get around."

"Stay out of your usual haunts."

"Yeah. I don't want any more holes in my hide."

We worked out a plan for me to get to Key West and to stay in touch
with Logan on a regular basis. I called Cracker Dix and asked him to stop
by the condo. I needed a favor.