newspaper. I took them with me into the restaurant and ordered breakfast. I scanned the paper for any news of the shooting at the Heaven Can't Wait Spa, but there was nothing. My breakfast came and I ate while studying the chart.
I found Blood Island just where Austin Dwyer said it would be, out on the edge of the Boca Grande Channel. It was small, perhaps a half mile square. It was shaped like a crab, with a lagoon almost enclosed by arms of the island encircling it on either side. The water around the island was very shallow, and the only deep channel was the one that ran from the channel into the lagoon. The controlling depth was twenty feet in the protected area of the lagoon and less than ten feet in the entry channel. A big boat couldn't make it in without running aground.
I opened my book of photos and thumbed to the pictures of the Mule Keys. There was one that took in Woman and Boca Grande Keys and Blood Island. The colors of the water were stunning, showing all the shades of a tropical sea. I compared the photograph with the chart, and could see the turquoise shallows fading to the azure colors in the deep channel.
Blood Island had no beach, except in the lagoon. Several varieties of palm trees and Australian pines blanketed the island and mangrove forests ran right down to the water. They would be almost impenetrable to anyone trying to sneak ashore.
I finished breakfast and left the cafe. I called Debbie as soon as I got to the street.
'You've got to start sleeping later,' she said, as she picked up the phone.
'I know, babe, but I need you.'
'Yeah, you say that now, but not when I'm awake and horny.'
I chuckled. Debbie was about as interested in me as she was in Logan, which wasn't much. She was a good friend.
'See what you can find out about a place west of Key West called Blood Island. Who owns it, what goes on there, etcetera. I also need to know who owns a piece of property in Key West.' I gave her the address of the Heaven Can't Wait Spa.
'When do you need this?'
'Now'
'How do you know I don't have a playmate in bed with me this morning?'
'I know you, Deb. You're too picky for the local guys.'
She laughed. 'Don't be too sure,' she said, and hung up.
I called JeffTimmons. Nothing new on Laura. He was beginning to lose his equanimity, to panic. I could hear it in his voice, the quaver that hadn't been there before. She'd been gone for the better part of three days, and there had been no sign of her. The police still weren't excited about it. I told him I didn't have any more information for him on Peggy, but that I was still looking.
Peggy was important to me, but that was mostly because she was important to Laura. On the other hand, I had loved Laura for a long time, and the thought of not having her somewhere in the world, alive, breathing, and thinking occasionally of me, was stoking my fears for her safety. Where the hell was she? If I could find Peggy, maybe she would hold the key to Laura. That thought added a layer of urgency to my already revvedup intensity. I had to find the women.
It was time to get a better look at Blood Island. I walked over to Garrison Bight and rented an eighteen-foot Grady-White boat with a 150horsepower outboard hanging off the transom. I only had to go twelve miles to Blood Island, but sometimes the seas in these latitudes kick up without much warning. If that happened, the Grady could take it without breaking a sweat.
I gave the attendant Ben Joyce's credit card and showed him the ID. He asked me a couple of questions to see if I knew how to handle a boat, and handed me the keys.
I bought a fishing rod and some bait from the tackle shop next door, and climbed down into the boat. I put the rod in its holder, cranked the engine, and motored out of the entrance to the bight. I passed the waterfront homes of the Naval officers who manned the facilities at the military installations that remained at the end of the continental U.S., and turned left into the main channel.
The seas were flat that early in the morning, and I made good time on a westerly course. I passed the western-most of the Mule Keys and eased up to Blood Island. I rode around it, seeing nothing but mangroves hugging the water. As I came to the eastern side I saw the deeper water of the cut leading around the island from Boca Grande Channel into the lagoon.
I stopped the boat and let if drift, the engine idling quietly. I put a frozen shrimp on my hook and dropped it into the water. I could see the bottom at any depth along the island. Farther out, in the Boca Grande Channel, the water turned a dark blue, indicating deep water.
My VHF radio came to life.
'The small boat off Blood Island. Please be advised that this is a private island. No trespassing is allowed. Trespassers will be shot on sight. Do you copy?'
I keyed my mic. 'I copy Blood Island. Thanks for the warning.'
'Remember it,' the radio squawked.
Nice people, I thought. I pulled in my line and completed a circle of the island. The only place to land was in the lagoon. I was sure the approach was watched, so the radio message seemed a little superfluous. Maybe they just wanted to make a point.
I came back around to the east side, near the channel to the lagoon, and drifted. I picked up the binoculars that were part of the boat's equipment. I scanned the area around the passage into the lagoon. The island, like all the keys, was flat. There were large trees covering the spits of land that surrounded the lagoon. There was a dock protruding into the water from the main part of the island. Two go-fast boats were tied to either side, bows facing out.
I scanned carefully, but couldn't see any sign of life. Then, a glint of metal in one of the trees near the mouth of the lagoon. I focused on it, moving my vision on and off the target area, just as the Army had taught me long ago.
Then, I saw it. A slight movement, and another glint of sunlight off metal. I could make out a man sitting on a platform high in die branches of a large tree. He had a rifle cradled in his arms and was scanning with his own binoculars. I couldn't make out his features, but he was occupying what seemed to be a guard post. It had rails around the edges and a ladder reaching down to the ground. It had a roof from which rose a radio antenna, almost hidden by the tree branches.
I put my binoculars down and picked up my fishing rod. If he was looking for me, I didn't want him to see me looking for him. I fished for a few minutes, paying no attention to the island. I could feel the guard's eyes on me.
Twenty minutes or so elapsed before I put the engine in gear and slowly motored over the shallows. As I reached deeper water, I brought the boat on plane and headed back to Key West.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I went back to Garrison Bight and moored the boat at the rental company's dock. I told the attendant that I wanted to try some night fishing, and paid him for another day. He told me to keep the keys and take the boat when I wanted it.
I walked a couple of blocks to a dive shop I'd passed earlier in the day. I picked out a complete outfit, including a neoprene wet suit with hood, dual tanks, regulator, buoyancy compensator, weight belt, fins, mask, gauges, and computer. I took it to the counter and asked a young man with a surfer hairdo to fill the tanks for me.
'I need to see your certification card,' he said.
'I don't have it with me.'
'I can't fill the tanks without the card.'
'Look,' I said. 'I'm buying, what, three grand worth of equipment here? It's of no use to me without air in the tanks.'
'Sorry, I just work here.'
