'Suppose I called the purchases thirty-five hundred even, the last five hundred in cash. Would that get me some air?'
'That it would, my man.'
He took the tanks and disappeared into the back of the store. I could hear an air compressor crank up and chug along for a few minutes. Soon, he was back.
I hooked the gauges to the tanks to make sure they were full, and gave him five one hundred dollar bills plus Ben's credit card.
'Can you hang on to the equipment for me until this evening?' I asked.
'Sure, but we close at seven.'
'I'll be back by then. Thanks.'
It was nearing noon when I called Debbie. 'Got anything?' I asked.
'Some. The island is owned by a Bahamian corporation which in turn is owned by a Cayman Islands corporation whose shares are held by a Cayman bank.'
'That sounds familiar,' I said, remembering what Bill Lester had found out about the owner of Varn's condo. 'What's the name?'
'Circle Ltd.'
'Do me a favor and call Bill Lester when we hang up. Find out the name of the corporation that owned Clyde Varn's condo. I'll bet it's the same one.'
'Will do. There wasn't a whole lot on the island. The Monroe County property records show that the Yates family from New York owned it for about a hundred years. They sold it to Circle three years ago.'
'What was the price tag?'
'Two million bucks.'
'Anything else?'
'A house was built on the island about fifty years ago to replace one that burned down. I downloaded the plans from the building department. It's a big house with a cistern on the roof to catch rainwater.
'About twenty years ago, the Yates family got a permit to install a diesel generator on the property and to build six guest cabins for family members. Not much other than that.'
'What about the spa?'
'The property's owned by a Bahamian corporation. It's the same one that owns the island.'
'Thanks Deb. Let me know what the chief says about Circle. Can you fax me a copy of the house plans?'
'Yeah. I'll also send you the plat on the permit to build the cabins. Give me a number.'
'Send it to the Key West Police Department with a cover sheet to Detective Paul Galls, and ask him to hold it for me.'
'Will do. I'll get back to you on the corporation.'
'I'll call you back later this afternoon. While you're at it, find out what you can on a Reverend Robert William Simmermon.'
'Sure thing, old pal. Anything else? Like the Yankee box scores for 1947?'
'Nobody loves a smart-ass, Deb,' I said, and hung up.
I called Paul Galls and told him I was on my way over and to watch for the fax from Debbie.
I was tired of walking, and I had about decided that I was being a little silly in my precautions. If anybody was watching me, they knew by now that I wasn't destitute.
I took a cab from Garrison Bight to the Monroe County Sheriff's Office. It was a modern three-story building next to the jail on Stock Island. I showed my identification, my real one, at the front desk and was given a visitor's pass to clip to my shirt collar. I was still wearing running shoes and my cargo shorts from the day before, but with a clean golf shirt. A woman in civilian clothes escorted me to Galis's office.
The detective division was housed on the third floor. Galls had enough seniority to warrant a small office with a view over the water to the Naval installation on Dredger's Key.
He stood as I entered his office. He was a couple of inches shorter than I and had a head full of brown hair parted on the left. I guessed his age as late forties or early fifties. He was wringing his hands, wiping them together as if he were washing them. A small metal logo of the U. S. Army Special Forces was pinned to the lapel of his suit coat.
'I see that you used to wear a green beanie.' I said.
'Right. I heard you did too.'
'I did.'
'David Sims told me a lot about you. I figured we Special Forces guys have to stick together. I told him I'd give you whatever help I could.'
'I appreciate it. Were you in Nam?'
'At the tail end. How about you?'
'About the same time,' I said.
'I've got a fax for you that came in a little while ago.'
He handed over the sheets of paper. We were finished talking about the war. Some things just don't need to be examined too closely. Who needs the pain?
The first sheet of paper had a note scribbled on it. 'The same corporation that owns Blood Island also owns Varn's condo.' I wasn't surprised.
'Tell me what I can do for you?' Galis said, dry washing his hands.
He noticed I was looking at his hands. He smiled a little sheepishly and said, 'Nervous habit. I'm a worrier.'
'What are you worried about?'
'Nothing. Everything. I think it comes from working for the government too long. How can I help you?'
'I'm looking for a girl who disappeared from Longboat Key about four weeks ago. Two days ago her father, Jeff Timmons, got a call from a bar here called the Sharkstooth.'
'Bad place.'
'I agree. The caller hung up before Jeff got to the phone, but his caller ID captured the number. He called it and got the pay phone in the bar. There were a couple of murders up my way that had connections that led to Key West. The murders and the phone call all pointed to here, so I thought I'd come down and see what I could find out.'
'Sims brought me up to speed on the murders. Any luck?'
'Some guys at the Sharkstooth told me about Crill and, after you gave me his address, I paid him a visit.'
'Wait a minute. The people that hang out in the Sharkstooth aren't the kind to tell tales.'
'I'm pretty persuasive sometimes.'
'You're the one who took out Big Rick.' It wasn't a question.
'Maybe.'
'He's been pushing people around for years. About time somebody laid a hurting on him.'
'How is he?'
'In the hospital. He'll live, but his reputation as a hotshot took a beating.'
I changed the subject. 'What can you tell me about Blood Island?'
'What do you want to know?'
'Who lives there?'
'No idea. It's technically in our jurisdiction, and I guess if there were ever a crime committed out there, we'd look into it. But it's a quiet place.'
'Never had any trouble at all?'
'None. There aren't many people on the island. I think the owners come in occasionally, but the only year- round residents are the caretakers.'
'How many of them?'
'Don't know. Never had a reason to find out.'
'What do you know about the Heaven Can't Wait Spa?'
'You mean the whorehouse?'
