fishing boats, and apparently he was bringing drugs into Key West.
'The Marshals think he might have met Varn there. Varn was muscle for the drug importers that Edinfield worked for. When the whole thing fell apart, Varn and Thomas testified, but Edinfield was too crazy to be a witness. They put him in the program anyway, and manufactured the Simmermon persona. The three of them spent some time together in a safe house the marshals maintain in Miami.'
'That's probably the connection,' I said.
Jock nodded his head. 'Probably. The Marshals didn't expect their man to find the Lord and become an evangelist. There wasn't anything they could do about it though. He dropped out of the program and became a little bit famous.'
'What about Fats?' I asked.
'He was the accountant for the drug mob. He went into the program too, but the director is going to have to get back to me on him. There was some sort of computer glitch. They're working on it.'
My phone rang.
'I'm sorry to wake you, Matt.' It was Jeff Timmons.
'No problem, Jeff. I wasn't asleep.'
'There's no other way to say this,' he said. 'Laura wanted me to tell you how much she appreciated your finding Peggy. She said to tell you she loved you. She died about ten minutes ago.'
I was expecting it. When I heard Jeff's voice on the phone, I knew it had happened. But nothing really prepares you for the death of a loved one. Tears welled in my eyes. I choked down a sob. 'Shit, Jeff,' I said. 'I'm so sorry.'
'I'm sorry too, Matt. She loved both of us, you know. I always knew that, and I've always been okay with it. You gave me back my daughter. Peggy was with Laura at the end. I'll never be able to thank you enough for that. Please stay in touch.' He hung up.
I put the phone in my pocket. Tears were running down my cheeks. I knew it, and didn't care. The radioman was out of the room, so it was just my two best friends and me. They'd understand.
'Laura's dead,' I said, and walked out of the room.
I left the building and stood on the front steps. The city lights partially obscured the night sky, but I could see stars shining through the glare. Maybe Laura was one of them.
An elevated highway, Interstate 4, ran in front of the police headquarters. Traffic was light, a few late-night revelers headed home. I heard a dog bark nearby, a lonely sound in the wee hours. Soon, another dog took up the conversation. In the far distance, I could hear a siren, its faint wail gently caressing my ears.
My mind was flooded with memories of Laura. The day I met her, our wedding day, the day she left me. Mostly, I saw her that morning ten days earlier on the deck of the Longboat Hilton, staring at the Gulf, her face squeezed by worry. Her smile, her embrace, her teasing banter. I'd give the rest of my life to go back to those minutes beside a placid sea, drinking in the essence of my life's love.
I wiped my eyes. I didn't have time for grief. There were a lot of people in Orlando who were about to be grief stricken. We had to stop the bomber. There was enough pain in the world brought about by events beyond human control. We didn't need to add to that by letting the crazies loose on an unsuspecting nation.
I said good-bye to Laura, and walked back into the building.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Jock looked up as I walked into the room. 'You okay, podner?'
'I will be,' I said.
'I'm sorry,' said Logan. 'She must have been special.'
'She was. Anything else on the bomber?'
'Maybe,' said Jock. 'The Witness Security Program director called back. It seems that Mr. Thomas lived in Orlando under an assumed name while he was in the program. He disappeared three years ago.'
'Was Monahan the name given him by the feds?'
'No. He was Jared Buckhorn then.'
'Where did he live?'
'He had a house on Primrose Street. He sold it when he moved. That's all the Marshals have on him. He dropped out of sight completely.'
'Who did he sell the house to?'
'No information on that.'
'Do you have an address?'
'Sure do,' said Jock, and gave it to me.
I called Debbie again. She wasn't going to like this, but it was quicker than getting the county property appraiser out of bed.
'Babe?' I said. She had obviously been asleep.
'Oh, great, Royal. What time is it? Oh, five thirty. Forty-five minutes sleep is all I need. What now?'
'One more search. I think I know the answer, but I need you to confirm it.'
'All right. What's the question?'
I gave her the address and told her I needed the ownership of the house.
'You want to take a bet on it being Circle Ltd?' she said.
'Nope. I'm guessing that's what you'll find.'
'Don't hang up.'
I heard her tapping on a computer keyboard. Then, 'It's Circle Ltd.'
'Does the corporation still own it?'
'Yes.'
'Thank you, dear. Sleep tight.'
'Go to hell, Royal,' she said and hung up.
I returned the phone to my pocket. 'That address is owned by the same corporation that owns the whorehouses and Blood Island. Fats may be there.'
'Let's round up the troops and find out,' Jock said.
Thirty minutes later Jock, Logan, and I were sitting in a government sedan in front of the Primrose Street house. The FBI agent was with us. An Orlando police SWAT team, dressed in combat gear, was about to enter the house. ATF agents with explosive sniffing dogs would follow them in. An Orlando fire department ambulance was parked down the street.
We waited. The night was easing into day. It was six a.m., and dawn had replaced the darkness. A light showed in the window of the house next door. The smell of brewing coffee wafted across to us. A cat ambled across the lawn, paying no attention to the strangers encroaching into its territory. Newspapers, thick with the Sunday ads, were lying on front sidewalks. People were sleeping in, but soon they would be up and coming outside for their papers. We needed to be finished before then. Nosey neighbors could easily get hurt if there was a shootout, or worse, an explosion.
The SWAT team moved with an unexpected suddenness. The front door was battered open by a ram held by two officers. The men crowded into the house, yelling 'clear' as they went from room to room. Two ATF agents and their dogs went through the door at a fast walk. The whole operation took about a minute.
The SWAT commander came out of the house, looking relaxed, and walked over to our car. 'The house is clear,' he said. 'The ATF guys say there're no explosives in the house. We found a fat guy asleep in the master bedroom.'
Jock smiled coldly. 'That's good news, Captain. We'll talk to him in the house. Restrain the fat man, and clear all your guys out.'
'I'm the team commander,' the officer said. 'I can stay if you like.'
Jock shook his head. 'That might not be good for your career. Get your men out.'
The captain went back to the house, and soon the entire group was huddled on the sidewalk across the street. Lights had come on in more of the houses, and uniformed Orlando police officers were going door to door,
