Matt Royal Mystery - 03 - Blood Island (23 page)

When I returned from the bathroom, Jock was sitting in the only chair in
the room. "You look beat," he said. "Get a couple of hours of shut-eye. I'll
watch the place."

"Are you going to stick around for tomorrow night's festivities?"

"Wouldn't miss it. I made a couple of calls. Logan is going to meet
one of my colleagues at the dock at Moore's Stone Crab Restaurant at first
light. He'll load the boat with some more firepower in case we need it.
Logan will shove off as soon as the weapons are aboard. He said he should
be at Faro Blanco by noon."

"I thought you'd retired from all this."

"I did, but I was called back on a special mission. One of our guys
was killed in Sarasota. The agency found me playing golf in Australia, and
told me to get to Miami. They've got some leads."

"Why you?"

"Because of you."

"I don't get it."

"You found our guy's body. My boss knows we're friends, so here I
am."

"The man in the vulture pit?"

"Yes."

"You know where the body is?"

"Buried in his family plot in Iowa."

"The Sarasota cops know about this?"

"No," he said. "We take care of our own."

"So, that's the reason his fingerprints weren't on file."

"Yes. But when the local cops ran the prints, we were notified. We
took it from there."

"What's in Miami?"

"Probably nothing. I was supposed to meet one of our agents
tomorrow and get completely briefed. Until today, I didn't know what our
man was doing in Sarasota, or what kind of case he was working on."

"Do you need to get back to Miami?"

"No. I needed to talk to you anyway."

"I really don't know anything, Jock. I just found the body."

"When I called to get Logan set up, I was told that you might have
stumbled into something that's related to what our agent was looking into."

"What?"

"The Reverend Robert William Simmermon. Get some sleep. We'll
talk more tomorrow."

I looked at my watch. Almost four a.m. "We can count on a two-hour
drive to Marathon," I said. "The traffic is always terrible on U.S. One.
Wake me up in a couple of hours."

He nodded his agreement.

"I'm glad you're here, old friend," I said, and fell onto the bed and
into a deep sleep.

I was dreaming of Laura. She was in a casket, a white one with walnut trim.
I didn't want to look at her. Jock was pushing me forward, telling me I had
to say good-bye. I moved toward the front of the room where she lay. Lilacs
were stacked around her bier, and the air was suffused with the smell of
fresh vanilla. I could see her face, thin now, the color leached out of it,
diminished by the absence of her soul. A single tear leaked from her right
eye, and a smile played at the corner of her lips, as if her death were a sad
joke.

I awoke with a start. Sun was cascading through the window, and the
confounded chickens were clucking in the yard. Relief chased the agony
of Laura's death from my consciousness. Jock was asleep in the chair, his
pistol in his hand

I didn't want to startle him. I lay still for a moment, and then said
softly, "Jock."

His breathing didn't change, but his eyes popped open. He surveyed
the room without moving. His pistol was in his lap, safety off. He knew
exactly where he was and what he was doing. Then he stretched in the
chair and said, "Good morning, podner. Good nap?"

I looked at my watch. It was a few minutes after eight. I'd slept the
better part of five hours, and I felt like a new man. I got up and padded
down the hall to the bathroom. I washed my face and brushed my teeth.
Life was looking up, but I couldn't shake the feeling of dread left by the
dream. I hoped it wasn't a portent, some sort of augury seared into my unconscious by that part of me that was connected psychically to the woman
I loved above all people. The thought of losing Laura was too much to bear, so I tried to put it out of my mind. I knew I'd be less than successful,
and that the apprehension would ride with me until I found her.

When I got back to the room, Jock took my place in the bathroom. I
called Debbie.

"Don't you ever sleep?" she said, mumbling into the phone.

"The sun's up, and I need information. What've you got on Simmermon?"

"You're going to owe me a lot of quarters. I found out a lot about
him, but the story doesn't hang together too well. I don't understand it
all."

"Talk to me."

"He was born in Troy, Alabama, graduated from high school there,
and went to Troy State University. He dropped out during his freshman
year, and then disappeared for a time.

"Two years later, he shows up living in Key West, working on a
shrimp boat. Two years after that, he shows up in Boulder, Colorado. The
odd thing is, there's almost nothing on him in Key West. He didn't have a
phone, utilities, apartment, car, credit cards, none of the things we need
to live. All I could find on him was some taxes withheld by a fishing
company that's no longer in business. And, there's no record of a job in
Colorado."

"What about his evangelical organization?" I asked. "When did he
pop up with that?"

"About four years after he dropped out of sight in Key West, he began
preaching in a small church in Anniston, Alabama. He preached at a
number of small churches for about a year, but he never stayed in one place
for more than a few weeks.

"About three years ago, he bought a big tent and began his revival
meetings, traveling mostly in Alabama, Georgia, and Florida."

"Thanks Deb. I don't know what all that means, but I appreciate
your getting it for me."

"You owe me, loverboy," she said, and hung up.

That was interesting information, but my first order of business was
to get to my boat and Logan. I wasn't sure how we were going to get to
Marathon. If I went back to the rental boat, somebody would probably be watching it. I'd rented it before my photo was broadcast around town, but
they'd be watching all the rentals now. Jock could rent a car using one of
the bogus IDs he always carried, but I'd have to ride in the trunk to be
safe. That was probably our best bet.

Jock returned, and I told him what I was thinking.

"I don't know," he said. "Yesterday, when I came in, I asked the old
woman who runs this place what your room number was. She's already
ratted you out once, and now she knows what I look like. It wouldn't take
much for Simmermon's men to put us together."

"I've got an idea. Let's get out of here."

I was dressed in typical tourist clothes, cargo shorts, Hawaiian shirt,
and Reeboks. I put on the sunglasses and pulled the ball cap low on my
forehead. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I led the way down the
stairs and out the door. Thankfully, the old lady wasn't in sight.

Jock stood six feet and was lean and fit. He had a Houston Astros
ball cap covering his bald head. The fringe of black hair that still clung to
life was getting streaks of gray. He wore slacks, loafers, and a designer
T-shirt. He was carrying a small suitcase that sported the logo of a Hawaiian Country Club. He looked a little too elegant to be with me, but people
would probably think I was his valet or something.

"Where are we going?"Jock asked.

"Breakfast at the Hyatt."

"Isn't that a little conspicuous?"

"Not at all. I don't think Simmermon's people would be looking for
us at a tourist hotel. Besides, we need to see somebody."

The hotel sat near the foot of Duval Street, next to the water. The
superb views commanded a superb price from the guests, but the place
was always booked.

We entered the lobby and went through to the restaurant. I saw a big
table surrounded by senior citizens. Austin Dwyer sat among them, facing
the dining room.

I asked the hostess to seat us at the table next to them. Austin looked
up as we were escorted to the table and given menus. As soon as the
hostess left, he came over.

"Ben," he said. "Nice to see you again."

I introduced him to Jock, who was sitting with a bemused look on his
face, wondering, I thought, whether the old man was dotty or if I'd given
a false name.

"Please sit down, Austin. I have a favor to ask."

He sat. "I owe you big time. What can I do for you?"

"I have a very delicate situation, and I need your complete confidence. Can you give me that?"

"Certainly. Mum's the word."

"First, my name isn't Ben Joyce. It's Matt Royal. I'm a lawyer from
Longboat Key, and I've been doing some undercover work, trying to find
a young woman who has been kidnapped. Jock here is an old friend who's
lending a hand."

"Can't say I'm surprised, Matt. I thought you were too well spoken
to be a transient. How can I help?"

"Jock and I need to get to Marathon this morning, and for reasons I
can't go into, we can't rent a car. I was wondering if you might have room
on your bus."

"We do. I'll make it right with the tour director. Get your breakfast.
We're leaving as soon as everybody gets through eating. Our bags are
already loaded."

I thanked him, and he went back to his table to finish his meal.

"Who is this guy?"Jock asked.

I explained how we met, and told him about the altercation two
nights before. "We can trust him," I said. "And the bad guys aren't going
to be looking for us on a senior citizen's tour bus."

"If you say so."

"Bring me up to speed on your agency's connection to Simmermon."

"Another agency, Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms was tracking some
C-4 and other explosives that were stolen from a National Guard Armory
in Macon, Georgia. Turns out that Simmermon was running a revival in
the area at the time the stuff disappeared. Apparently, this wasn't the first
time that weapons disappeared when he was in the area.

"It also looked as if Simmermon had ties to some pretty bad folks. He
was connected to a bunch of right-wing nuts who want to overthrow the
government, and maybe some Muslim groups with the same idea.

"My agency tried to put a man into Simmermon's organization. I
don't know what went wrong, but somebody must have figured it out,
because our agent ended up as buzzard food."

"Do you know who killed your guy?"

"We're pretty sure it was the jerk you shot at Hutch's."

"I don't get it. How did I get caught up in this?"

"You went looking for Peggy and turned over the hornet's nest. We
think that when Simmermon's people heard that you had discovered our
agent's body at Pelican Man's, they decided that you were one of us. They
had to take you out."

Austin came back to the table. "You ready to go?"

We were.

The fifty-mile ride to Marathon was uneventful. Jock and I sat near the
back of the bus. Austin sat in a facing seat. I explained to jock that Austin
had been a history professor and had once lived in Key West. I told Austin
about my meeting with Abraham Osceola, and asked him if any of that
made sense.