Matt Royal Mystery - 03 - Blood Island (31 page)

"I ain't believing this," I said.

"What?" asked Logan.

"You ever go to Hutch's over on Cortez Road?"

"The place where you almost got killed? No. Why?"

I pointed to the face on the photograph. "This is the guy who runs
the place. Fats Monahan."

"You're kidding. I thought that guy Bartel tried to kill him along with
you."

"It could've been a set-up. Cracker was pretty sure the voice on the
phone telling him to get me to Hutch's that morning was Fats."

"Wasn't Fats upstairs shaving when you got there?"

"Yeah, but he probably meant for Bartel to get me down in the bar.
It was awfully dark in there. A perfect place for an ambush. Maybe he was
late getting there, or I was early."

"What's Fats doing mixed up in this?"

"I don't know, but we'd better find out soon."

The FBI agent had been following our conversation. "What's this all
about? You guys know this man?"

"Yeah," I said. "I think he tried to kill me recently."

"Fill me in," the FBI guy said. "This could be important."

"Let me make a call first."

I dialed Detective David Sims's cell phone in Bradenton.

"Hope I didn't wake you," I said. "This is Matt Royal."

"No, I'm watching the tail end of a Devil Rays game. Pretty bad.
What's up?"

"Have you talked to your buddy Paul Galis in the last couple of
days?"

"No. Why?"

"Long story, but I'm working with the government on a potential
bombing in Orlando. You can call Galls to verify. It looks like our old
buddy Fats Monahan is involved."

"Fats? From that bar out on Cortez Road?"

"The same one. We picked him up on surveillance with what we
think is the bomb in question."

"What do you need from me?"

"Anything you can get on Fats or his bar. We're in a very short time
frame here. Call Galls and get up to speed."

"I'll do that, Mr. Royal. You seem determined to screw up my life."

I laughed. "Not intentionally, I assure you." I hung up.

I called Debbie.

"Almost finished," she said. "I need another few minutes:'

"Keep digging. I want you to also check into a guy named Fats Monahan and Hutch's Tavern."

"The place over on Cortez Road?"

"Exactly."

"Well, I don't have anything else to do at midnight. Except sleep."
She hung up.

"She needs to find a boyfriend," I said.

"Deb?" said Logan. "I don't know. She's pretty picky."

I filled the FBI in on what we knew about Fats and told him about
Sims's role in this.

He turned to leave. "I'll get our computer people onto chasing Fats,"
he said. "Maybe they'll turn up something we can use."

"Tell them to hurry," I said, as he went out the door.

I called Jock to tell him about Fats. "I'm not sure how he fits into this,
but he's got the explosives."

"I'm fresh out of suggestions. Keep me informed." He hung up.

"Logan," I said. "Got any ideas about the connection between Fats
and Simmermon?"

"Beats me. Both of them have a history in the Keys, but that's about
all I can see that would tie them together."

"That and Varn. Fats knew Varn from his days with the drug lords,
and Michelle had Varn killed. I didn't think to ask her if Simmermon knew
about his killing."

I dialed Galls' number.

"Paul," I said, "any luck with the bomber down there?"

"No, but I just got off the phone with David Sims. Sounds like you
might have stumbled onto something."

"Yeah, but we'll play hell finding Fats in Orlando tonight."

"I've been in contact with Atlanta PD. They tell me the bomber there
was going to hit a large Baptist church near downtown. I don't know if
that could be a pattern, but we're not pulling any of our people off all the
other churches down here."

"Do you have Michelle Browne stashed somewhere close?"

"Yeah. She's in isolation in the county jail, about a hundred yards
from my office."

"I need you to ask her about Fats. I also need to know if Simmermon
knew about the hit she put on Varn or Yardley or whatever they called
him."

"I'll see what she can tell me."

"Don't be gentle, Paul. A lot is riding on this."

"I gotcha. I'll get back to you in a few minutes."

I didn't know what else to do. I had to wait for calls from Debbie and
Paul Galls, and hope they had some information that would lead us
toward our bomber.

The night was passing by with the speed of an out-of-control freight
train on a downhill grade. Every minute, every second, moved us closer to
a catastrophe that could change the world. Even if the president's address
to the nation stopped the reaction Simmermon hoped for, a lot of good
people would die on a quiet Sunday morning in Orlando. We had to stop
this madness, but damned if I knew how.

I was tired. I dozed in my chair, waiting for a phone call. My head
fell to my chest and woke me up. I looked around the room, my brain
slowly coming into focus. Logan had nodded off in his chair, his head tilted at an uncomfortable angle. A snore escaped from his open mouth with
every breath. I got up to get another cup of coffee. My phone rang, its
irritating jangle waking Logan.

"Matt," said Paul Galls, "I don't have much for you. Michelle says
that Simmermon is the one who put the hit on those guys in Bradenton.
She didn't know who he used."

"She told me she knew about Bartel and even had to get somebody
else to take a shot at Logan."

"Now she's saying that she only knew what Simmermon told her.
She never met Bartel. She did agree with the Rev that there was a dangerous situation in Longboat Key because of Peggy, and thought that taking
you guys out was the best way to solve the problem. She also wanted to
take Peggy out, but Simmermon was falling in love and put the kibosh on
that idea."

"That sounds a little out of character for the Rev, doesn't it?"

"Michelle said that he falls in love regularly. Usually the girls lie goes
for end up in management. The affairs don't last long. Michelle was one
of them. It turns out that the woman running the Orlando operation was
too."

"Okay, Paul. Thanks. I'm betting that Simmermon and Fats have
been in this together for some time. Did Michelle say any more about the
bombings?"

"No. She stands by her story that she only found out about it the day
you grabbed her. She thought it was just more of Simmermon's craziness."

"And she doesn't know Fats?"

"Says she never heard of him." He hung up.

I looked at my watch. One o'clock. We weren't going to make it.

A picture of Fats had been given to every law enforcement officer in the
Orlando area. Off-duty police officers had been called in. It was the greatest manhunt in the city's history, and the cops weren't being told why they
were looking for Fats. The powers in Washington didn't want a panic.

The various law enforcement agencies had finished with the whorehouse, and we'd moved the command post to the Orlando police department headquarters on Hughey Street, just south of the Federal Courthouse.

We were housed in a small room that had been set up for emergencies. There was a conference table flanked by executive desk chairs, a sideboard with coffee and water, and an array of radio gear at one end of the
room.

We sat, and we waited. The police officer manning the radio was back
with us. The droning of ordinary police calls filled the small space. At two
thirty a.m. my phone rang. Sims.

"Matt," he said, "Fats Monahan is a ghost. He came to Manatee
County about three years ago and started working at Hutch's. He doesn't
own it, but I'll have to wait until the county courthouse opens to find out
who does. He's got no record or warrants out for him. I can't find anything on him prior to his coming here. I'm betting Fats Monahan isn't his
real name."

"Thanks, Detective. We're getting more pieces of the puzzle."

"Galls tells me you've got a big problem up there. Let me know if
you need anything else." He hung up.

Ten minutes later, Debbie called.

"Tell me you've got something good," I said into my phone.

"I'm not sure what I've got, but it's interesting."

"Tell me about it."

"Colin Edinfield was born in Troy, Alabama, at about the same time
as Simmermon. He went to Troy State, dropped out when Simmermon
did, and then showed up in Key West about the same time as Simmermon.
I can find no record of Edinfield working during the three years he spent
in Key West, but he had utility bills, credit cards, a bank account, the whole
nine yards."

"Maybe Edinfield and Simmermon are friends."

"Or maybe there're the same person," said Debbie.

"Go on."

"Edinfield drops out of sight at the about same time that Simmermon shows up in Colorado. Edenfield's bank account was closed and he
stopped paying rent and utilities. He just disappeared. There's no record
of him anywhere after that."

"Are you sure?"

"I've mined every database there is. He's gone."

"I hear a `but' in there somewhere."

"I did find a record of Edinfield spending two years in a state mental institution in Alabama. The two years after he dropped out of Troy
State."

"What do you make of it?"

"Either Edinfield is dead or Simmermon is dead and Edinfield has
taken his identity."

"Simmermon is probably a schizophrenic," I said. "Maybe Edinfield
was in the institution because of schizophrenia, and when he got out he
hooked up with Simmermon."

"Or maybe," Debbie said, "Edinfield is Simmermon."

"Why do you think that?"

"There's a pretty good record on Edinfield from his birth until he
leaves Key West. Then, nothing. The record on Simmermon during the
same years is very spotty and doesn't make a lot of sense. How did he live
in Key West with no rental or utility history? Or in Colorado, without a
job?"

"Maybe he lived with Edinfield."

"Maybe," she said, "but I don't think so. There's no record of Simmermon ever living in Key West except for the pay records from a defunct
company. That's real easy to doctor up. He's got rent and utilities, credit
cards, and all that in Colorado, but no job."

"What high school did they go to?"

She gave me the name.

"What did you find on Albert Thomas?" I asked.

"This is a strange one too. He was a certified public accountant in
Miami. Seemed to have a good practice, married, owned a home in
Kendall. Turns out he was working for some drug dealers. He was charged
with an assortment of financial crimes and turned state's evidence. He testified in the same trial Varn did, and then he disappeared. No further
record of him, except that his wife divorced him."

"That's got to be Fats. He told me part of this."

"Well, I've got some stuff on Fats too."

"Let me guess. He showed up as the owner of Hutch's, and there's
no record of him before he appeared in Bradenton."

Debbie laughed. "You're almost right. Actually, he doesn't own the
property or the liquor license. He just works there. Guess who the owner
is?"

"Circle Ltd."

"You got it, kid. Have fun doing whatever you're doing." She hung
up.

I asked Logan to go find the FBI while I called Jock.

"Jock, things are happening up here." I told him what I knew. "I'm
beginning to think these guys, Simmermon, Fats, and Varn are all alumni
of the Witness Security Program."

"Sounds plausible. See what you can find out about that. I'm on my
way to the airport. I'll be in Orlando in about an hour. There's nothing
else I can do here. We may have gotten a break. Galls is following up on it."

"What?"

"One of the girls from the island finally got coherent enough to talk
to us. Said she and her boyfriend were believers, and joined Simmermon's
entourage when he was in Jacksonville. The boyfriend's not one of those
we took into custody and he's not one of the dead. We think he might be one of the bombers, either in Orlando or here. We've got the name of the
bomber in Atlanta, and he's not the boyfriend."

"Any idea where the boyfriend might be?"

"The girl says he has an aunt in Key West. Galls is on his way there
now. He'll let me know what he finds. Gotta go. I'm at the airport."

The FBI agent walked into the room, Logan following behind. I told
him what I'd learned about Simmermon, Thomas, and Edinfield. "We
need to get to somebody in the school administration in Troy and find out
what we can about Simmermon and Edinfield," I said.

"I'll get right on it," the agent said. "We'll have to get some people out
of bed."

I explained my theory about the Witness Security Program. "Can
you find out if these guys were part of it?"

"That's run by the U. S. Marshals Service. They don't like to give out
information on the people in the program. Not even to law enforcement."