B006JIBKIS EBOK (17 page)

Chapter 22 

THURSDAY

I was on the road, the Explorer pointed due west on Alligator Alley, as the dawn seeped into the black world of the nighttime Everglades. Within minutes, the sun rose over my shoulder, bathing the River of Grass in gold and burnt orange. Off to my right, four vultures rode the air currents, circling low, no doubt eyeing the remains of some animal who had met its demise during the night. The early sunlight danced on the water, glittering like so many small diamonds among the sawgrass blades.

I had not heard from Logan in several days. I was hoping he would keep his promise, and turn himself in to the Manatee Sheriff on Sunday. If he didn’t, I would look a little foolish; but worse, the State Attorney would look foolish too. And he was a politician, and politicians do not like to look foolish. He would chase Logan with the resolve of a wounded elephant charging its tormentor, and he would stay on him until, finally, some day, Logan would be brought down. There would be no mercy, in either the hunt or the aftermath. And Logan would not have me as his lawyer, because I would not be suckered twice.

Near Naples, I-75 turns north, to run parallel to the Gulf coast and the old federal highway known as the Tamiami Trail. Traffic was light, and by eight o’clock I was crossing the wide Caloosahatchee River just east of Ft. Myers. By nine, I was taking the off ramp at Fruitville Road, driving west into Sarasota. As I neared downtown, I opened my sunroof and put the windows down in the Explorer. The morning air was spiced with the scent of the Gulf. I crossed the Ringling Causeway and bridge to St. Armands Circle, glancing briefly at the shops, not yet open. I headed north across the New Pass Bridge and onto Longboat Key. I stopped at Publix for a bag of donuts and headed on up the island to my condo. I brewed a pot of coffee and sat on my balcony munching donuts and sipping coffee. A nutritious breakfast it was not.

When I finished eating, I booted up my computer and checked my email. There were several spams offering me an opportunity to increase the size of certain body parts and a note from J.J. with attachments. Sure enough, the attachments were both pictures of Sam Cox. One caught him full face, and the other about quarter face, as he turned to talk to Maria. J.J. had cropped the pictures, so only Sam was visible. I printed up several of each.

I called Molly and asked if it would be convenient for me to stop by her home. She lived in snug little house on a canal near the south end of the key. Coffee was brewing as I entered the front door. She poured us cups, and we sat at a table on the porch overlooking the canal. I showed her the pictures of Sam Cox.

“That’s the guy I saw at the Town Hall the other day. I’m almost positive he’s the same guy who was looking for Logan.”

“Are you certain enough to testify in court if necessary?” I asked.

“Yeah. I’m certain, Matt. Who is he?”

“I’d rather not tell you just yet, in case the police start asking you questions. I want to play some of my cards close to my vest. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention the pictures to anyone else.”

“I understand, Matt. I know Logan didn’t do this.”

I finished my coffee and left, heading to mid key and the police station. Iva was at her desk and greeted me with a smile. “Good morning, Matt. I heard you’d been off the Key for a while.” There are no secrets on a small island.

“Morning, Iva. Just got back. Is the chief in? I just need a couple of minutes.”

“He’s in, Matt, but he’s up to his fanny in paperwork. Let me see if he can see you.” She picked up the phone and told the person on the other end that I would like a couple of minutes of the chief’s time. She hung up, and said, “Go on back, Matt.”

Bill Lester was at his desk, tie askew, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Counselor, you’re getting to be a pain in the ass.” He was grinning.

“Guess so, Bill,” I said. “As soon as we get through with this mess, we need to go fishing.”

“You can say that again. What can I do for you this morning?”

“I don’t want to presume on an old friendship, but I’m trying to get a line on a guy named Sam Cox. I understand he came to visit you. I wonder if you can tell me what he was doing here.”

“I guess you haven’t seen yesterday’s
Observer
.” The
Longboat Observer
is our weekly newspaper. It keeps the island politicians in the sunshine and dutifully reports most of the gossip on the Key. “We’ve got Governor Wentworth coming to visit. He’s going to be at the Colony for a few days this weekend. Cox’s company is providing security. He stopped by to give me a heads up about the visit and to coordinate the security.” The island was a favorite spot for politicians, and their visits always stretched the police budget. The chief was not happy. “More overtime for the cops and more paperwork for the chief. Why do you ask, Matt?”

“He’s a friend of a friend, and I was just wondering if he was in some kind of trouble.”

“Trolling for business, Matt?”

“Nah. Just curious,” I said, heading for the door. “Thanks Bill. See you soon.”

“Take it easy, old buddy.”

I picked up a copy of the
Observer
from the free box outside the Town Hall and sat in the Explorer reading the front page story of the governor’s visit. There wasn’t much to it. The governor had been campaigning hard and was taking a mini vacation with his wife and two children at the Colony. He would be here for three days, starting Friday. The Longboat Key police department was handling security.

More pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Rundel was a political type, Wentworth was a politician, Cox worked for Rundel, Rundel provided security for Wentworth. But why had Cox been looking for Logan in early April? I really needed to talk to Logan, and he had not called in several days. I was beginning to worry about him.

It was almost lunchtime, so I headed for Bradenton Beach and Dewey’s. I could count on a pretty good Philly cheese steak sandwich, a couple of laughs with Dewey, and perhaps another identification of Sam Cox.

Dewey was at her usual place behind the bar. “Hey Matt, I was asking K-dawg about you just last night. Said you were off island for a few days.”

“Just got back. How’re you doing?”

“Without,” she cackled. She was always complaining about how lousy her sex life was. I guess if I live to be eighty-five, I might figure out whether she was just kidding around, or dead serious.

“How about one of those famous steak sandwiches and a diet coke?” I asked.

“Coming up. She called to the kitchen, placing the order and set my drink on the bar.

“I want to show you a picture and see if you know this man,” I said, laying the two pictures of Sam Cox on the bar.

“That’s Logan’s Army buddy,” she said without hesitation.

“You sure, Dewey?”

“Absolutely. I might be old, but my eyesight is twenty-twenty.”

“Would you testify to that in court if it became necessary?”

“To help Logan? You know damn well I would. How’s he doing?”

“As well as can be expected. I think he’s anxious to finally get his trial started.”

“You going to get him acquitted?”

“I certainly hope so, Dewey,” I said.

My sandwich came and we chatted as I ate. I told Dewey I’d let her know about the trial, and left to see Slim Jim at Frisco’s with the picture of Sam Cox. He was certain that Sam was the guy with Logan on the night of Vivian’s death. He also agreed to testify if I needed him. This would cut my window in which Logan was without an alibi to less than an hour between the time Logan left Frisco’s and the latest time Vivian could have been killed. I was making a little progress, but that hour could put Logan in the death chamber.

I headed back to Longboat to email Anne with what I’d found out. As I was pulling into the drive leading to my condo, my cell phone rang. It was Logan.

“Where the hell are you?” I asked, my anger boiling up. He had left me hanging on a thin limb, and I wasn’t happy about it.

“Whoa,” he said. “I’m still in New England, but I’m planning to be in Florida by Sunday. I’ll give you my ETA as soon as I know it. What kinda bug you got up your ass?”

“Goddammit, Logan,” I exploded, “You haven’t called me in a week, and I can’t get in touch with you. What the hell kind of deal is that?”

“I’ve been busy, Matt.”

“Busy? Busy? Are you out of your mind? It’s your life on the line here, not mine. I don’t want another day to go by without hearing from you. Understood? Or so help me, I’ll withdraw from this case so fast you’ll be wondering if I was just a figment of your imagination.”

“Okay, Matt. Sorry. I’ll call you every day. What’s so important?”

My anger was fading. “I’ve found your Army buddy. Ever hear of a guy named Sam Cox?”

“Never. I sure as hell wasn’t in the Army with anybody by that name.”

“How about Hale Rundel?”

“I know that name. He used to hang out at O’Sullivan’s some. I had a few drinks with him once or twice, but that’s all.”

“Would you have talked about your Army experiences with him?”

“Probably. He was a pilot himself. Fixed wing guy, I think. He was interested in how I got into choppers and what kind of training I had. What’s he got to do with this?”

“Did he know about you and Connie?”

“He knew we were friends, I guess. She was at the bar at O’Sullivans with me one night when Rundel was there. What’s going on?”

“Cox works for Rundel down in Miami. They are both tied into the Wentworth campaign somehow. I don’t know what it all means, but it’s too much of a coincidence not to be looked into. Can you think of any connection?”

“Nothing. None of it makes sense to me.”

“I’ll stay on this. Call me tomorrow.”

An idea had been buzzing around in my head since I left Miami. I decided to call Will Ledbetter and see if he had any thoughts. I identified myself as Senator Royal, and was put right through to him. I just couldn’t help myself. Will answered, laughing, “Senator, you are sure shaking up my office staff.”

“Glad I can help. Will, I’ve been trying to make some connection between the deaths of Vivian and Golden Joe. You told me Joe was not happy with Vivian, because she testified against him. Could he have reached out to her from prison?”

“I doubt it. He was a real loser; no friends and no money to pay anybody. He might have gone looking for her when he got out, though.”

“No, the time frame isn’t right. Somebody was after Vivian months before Joe got out of prison. They probably found her through Vivian’s dad. I was just thinking that maybe Joe set it up.”

“I don’t see how, Matt. Could there be a connection between the john who messed Vivian up and her killer?”

“I’ve wondered about that too, but I don’t have any way of checking that out, since we don’t know who the john was.”

“Let me do some checking. I’ve been here a long time, and I can call in some favors. Maybe there’re some rumors out there that’ll help. I’ll let you know. When does your trial start?”

“Monday morning, Will. I’m on a short string here.”

“Gotcha. I’ll get back to you soon.”

As I was putting the phone back in my pocket, it rang again. Anne Dubose showed up on caller ID. “Hey, Matt. How’s it going?”

“Nothing new. How’re you doing?”

“A little depressed, I think. I thought we were onto something, and I could help put those bastards away. I guess I’m just disappointed. I was thinking about driving over to Longboat. Maybe I can help with your trial.”

My heart did a little jig. It was happy to think about seeing Anne again. “I’d love to have you. I’ve got a guest bedroom and bath in my condo that you’re welcome to use.”

“What’ll the neighbors think?”

“If they think I’m sleeping with you, I’m not going to deny it. Wouldn’t want to hurt my reputation, you know.”

She laughed that delightful trill that made me want to see her. “I’ll be there this evening,” she said.

Anne arrived in the late afternoon. We went to the Hilton for drinks with my friends who always gathered there on Thursday evenings. Dallas was there, being the absolute gentleman, but grinning wickedly at Anne. He told her stories about Logan, and some about me, and they got along famously. I thought the stories about Logan would humanize him some to Anne. To her, Logan was really just an accused felon, his story written in the dry legalese of the indictment. We lingered longer than we should have, and went to Moore’s for a late dinner.

Dottie Johansen was at the bar, and she took to Anne immediately. She announced that it was about time I brought a lady around, and that while Anne could probably do better, I might be worthy of spending some time with. After dinner, we drove to the far end of the key to the Colony Beach, where we sipped our after diner drinks and listened to the smooth voice of Debbie Keaton, singing jazz and oldies.

“You’ve got a lot of friends here,” Anne said, looking over her Kahlua and Cream.

“Yeah. The locals are really a good bunch. Every one takes care of every one else.