'She was using a different name. May I come see you in Tampa?'
'Sure. Coffee's always on.'
He gave me directions to his house.
I called Logan to tell him what I had discovered, and that I was going to Tampa.
'Give me a few minutes and I'll go with you,' he said.
We headed out to 1-75 and north to the Lee Roy Selmon Crosstown Expressway. We exited in downtown Tampa and drove onto Harbour Island, a dredged up spoil island that bordered the ship channel. Over the years, condominium apartment buildings that blocked the sun had sprouted from this recycled bay bottom. Jake Yardley lived in one of the penthouses.
He was a big man, maybe six foot four, and had the parched skin of one who made his living outdoors. He wore faded jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and boat shoes. His graying hair fell to the top of his ears. He was a handsome man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties.
I introduced Logan and myself, and Yardley invited us in. The condo was large, with an expansive view over Davis Islands and the Tampa General Hospital, to the bay beyond. The St. Petersburg skyline shimmered in the distance, the haze rising from Tampa Bay making it slightly opaque.
Yardley pointed to a sofa, and said, 'Have a seat.'
Logan and I sat.
'Can I get y'all a drink?' Jake Yardley asked.
'Not for me,' I said.
Logan shook his head.
Yardley sat in a stuffed chair facing the sofa and waited.
'Mr. Yardley,' I said, 'I'm a lawyer on Longboat Key, and one of my client's daughters has disappeared. We have information that she may have been staying with you at the Sea Club about three weeks ago.'
I handed him the picture of Peggy.
'Sure, that's Linda Olsen. She was there with her husband Larry.'
'Did you know them from somewhere?'
'No, I'd just met them.'
'Would you tell me how you ended up in a resort with them?'
Yardley readjusted himself in his chair. 'Yeah, but I guess this'll sound a little weird.'
He was quiet again, sitting there, rocking a little against the back of his chair. I was about to ask him again when he spoke.
'I'm a petroleum engineer by training. I worked the oil fields in Texas and Oklahoma for thirty years. And I got rich and retired to Florida. The American dream.'
He smiled, but something crossed his face. Sadness, maybe, or regret. He continued. 'Two months after my wife and I moved in here, she had a stroke and died. She'd just had her fiftieth birthday.'
'I'm sorry,' I said.
'We never had any children, not in thirty years of marriage. I've got no family to speak of, and no friends within a thousand miles. So, sometimes I go hunting for company. I find young couples that want to keep me company for a few days. I pay for everything. I know they're just humoring me and spending my money, but it gives me a reason to get up in the morning.'
Logan stirred on the sofa. 'Ever go hunting for young women alone?' he asked.
'No, sir. I always find couples. I'm not there for sex, and I don't want the women to feel like they're being hustled. The men either, for that matter.'
I leaned forward, 'Where did you find Peggy and her friends?'
Yardley was quiet for a moment. His silent stretches were a little disconcerting, but I was getting into the rhythm of it, and waited him out.
'In a bar in Sarasota. I overheard them talking. They were looking for a place to stay, so I bought them a drink and made the offer. They took me up on it.'
'Just like that?' I asked. 'Isn't that a little dangerous?'
Yardley smiled ruefully. 'You have to understand. These kids are the lost ones. Most of them are on drugs of some kind, or they're drinking a lot, and their judgment isn't very good. Offer them a freebie and they jump at it.'
'Then what?' Logan said.
'Then nothing. We went to Longboat Key and got the condo. I bought their meals and booze, and we spent the days on the beach. Then I dropped them off and came home.'
'Where did you drop them off?' I asked.
'Robarts Arena. In Sarasota.'
'Why there?'
'I don't know. That's where they said they wanted to go.'
'What were their plans?'
'I don't know. They didn't mention anything.'
'Did they say where they were going from Robarts?'
'No. I assumed they were going to hitch back to Georgia, but they didn't say.'
'Did they have any money?'
'Don't know. I didn't ask.'
Logan leaned forward on the sofa, his arms resting on his thighs. 'Let me get this straight,' he said. 'You pick up four young people in a bar, wine and dine them for three days, don't have sex with any of them, and then drop them off without knowing where they're going or whether they have any money to get there.'
'That's about it,' said Yardley, his voice rising. 'You can believe me or not. I don't really give a shit.'
Logan stood. 'Let's get the hell out of here,' he said, and started for the door.
I rose from the sofa and shook Yardley's hand. 'Thanks for your time,' I said, and followed Logan to the elevator.
Logan suggested that we treat ourselves to one of those delicious slabs of meat at Bern's Steak House. We drove south on the Crosstown Expressway and followed Howard Avenue to the restaurant. We each ordered a steak.
The waiter took our order and left. Logan said, 'What now?'
'I don't know. We're sort of at a dead end.'
'I don't like this Yardley guy. I think his story is bogus.'
'Maybe. Or, maybe, he's just weird.'
'Did you notice how sterile his condo was?'
'What do you mean?'
'He talked about his wife like she was the center of his life, but there weren't any pictures of her anywhere. There were no knickknacks, artwork, or anything. Even I have some of that crap lying around.'
'I didn't really notice,' I said. 'Maybe he just doesn't want reminders of his other life.'
'Or maybe,' Logan said, 'he's bullshitting us.'
'There's that,' I said.
We drove back through St. Petersburg, and across the Sunshine Skyway Bridge. The sun was setting into the Gulf, giving a glow to the waters of Tampa Bay. Egmont Key sat in the middle of all the splendor of colors, like a drop of ink splotched onto a brilliant canvas.
Thirty minutes later, we crossed onto Anna Maria Island, and drove south toward Longboat Key, enjoying the slight chill of the spring evening. I saw headlights in my mirror, coming faster than the speed limit allowed. I slowed to let him pass, and as the car came abreast of me, I saw an arm holding a large revolver reach out of the passenger side window. I hit my brakes just as the pistol fired, the bullet passing over the hood of my car.
Logan sat up abruptly. 'What the hell?'
I swerved to my right, still braking. The brake lights on my assailant's car flash on. He wasn't finished. We were at the south end of Anna Maria Island, driving along Coquina Beach. No other cars were in sight. I kept to the right, trying to turn around and head back toward Bradenton Beach, where there would be people on the sidewalk.
The car in front of me came to a stop. I pulled the steering wheel to the right and drove into the parking lot
