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.'
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
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.'
