Matt Royal Mystery - 03 - Blood Island

by H. Terrell Griffin

  The agent pointed toward the chair Peter had vacated and told her to sit. I took the other chair as the agent left the trailer. Logan made a big show of locking the door.

  "I have some questions for you, Ms. Young," I said. "I'm not a cop, but I need honest answers quickly."

  "I have nothing to hide," she said.

  "Tell me about the suitcase Peter brought you."

  "Peter came in late yesterday. I'd gotten an e-mail from Michelle the day before, so I was expecting him."

  "The suitcase?"

  "He had it with him. He said I'd be told what to do with it. About an hour later, I got an e-mail from the Rev telling me that somebody would pick it up today."

  "Did somebody pick it up?"

  "Yes. Late this afternoon."

  "Tell me about it."

  "Nothing to tell, really. Some fat guy showed up, told me the Rev had sent him for the suitcase. I gave it to him, and he left."

  "What time was this?"

  "Around six, I think."

  "Did you know what was in the suitcase?"

  "No. I didn't ask.

  The FBI agent took Ms. Young out and returned. I told him what I'd learned, and that I thought we were at a dead end.

  "What about the surveillance photos?" he asked.

  "What surveillance photos?" I said.

  "We took pictures of everyone entering and leaving the house since we got set up here."

  "What time was that?"

  "Everything was in place by five o'clock."

  "Then we probably have a picture of the fat man."

  "Probably, for whatever good it'll do us."

  He left to retrieve copies of the photographs.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  I looked at my watch. After eleven. Time to call Jock. He sounded tired. I told him what had happened.

  "I've got some good news," he said. "We rolled up the Atlanta bomber."

  "That is good news. How?"

  "We got lucky. The Atlanta police have been tracking a group of nuts that want to take over the government. A surveillance team caught the leader coming out of the Heaven Can't Wait Spa carrying a suitcase. They followed him to a sleaze-bag hotel on the south side where he met with a young man. They arrested both.

  "The suitcase had a suicide bomber vest already rigged to explode. The young man confessed to having come up from Blood Island yesterday. They haven't yet figured out how the suitcase got to the whorehouse, but they're interviewing the girls now."

  "What about Key West?" I asked.

  "Nothing yet, but the island is full of cops looking for the bomber."

  "Did you find out anything from any of the other people on the island?"

  "Not much. We're pretty sure we got all the bombers except the one here and the two headed for Orlando and Atlanta. The guards didn't know anything, and the girls were pretty much drugged up the whole time."

  "Were there other bombers?"

  "Yes. They're really sick kids. Simmermon did a number on them. They actually believe he's God's chosen prophet and that they're doing the Lord's work, blowing up good Christian people."

  "Jock, don't you think it's time to warn people about this and keep them out of church tomorrow?"

  "Can't do it, podner. I already suggested that. The people who make these decisions are afraid an announcement would cause a huge panic, and a lot of folks won't get the message anyway."

  "So, we just let a lot of good church-going folks die?"

  "Not my call. I agree with you. We've just got to find these bastards before they set off the bombs. Keep plugging." The phone clicked off.

  I dialed Debbie's number.

  "It's late, Royal, and I just got home from work," she said.

  "What ever happened to `hello'?"

  "Caller ID. I don't feel like being nice to you."

  "Sorry, babe. I need some more help."

  "You still in Key West?"

  "No. Orlando."

  "I don't even want to know why."

  "No you don't. I need you to see what you can find on two people who're dead. Albert Thomas and Colin Edinfield."

  "And you need this when?"

  "Now would be good."

  "Geez, the things I do for quarter tips." She hung up.

  I told Logan what Jock had said about Atlanta.

  "Glad to hear that," he said. "But if the government can't find anything on Thomas and Edinfield, how do you expect Debbie to?"

  "Maybe she won't find anything more, but it's worth a try. She's good, and it's about time we had a little luck."

  The FBI agent came back, his hand full of black-and-white photographs.

  He laid two on the desk. "This is the fat guy coming in at 5:48 and leaving five minutes later. He's carrying a suitcase coming out."

  I studied the pictures. The one of the man leaving the house caught his face straight on. It was high resolution and clear as a cloudless sky. I felt my heart skip a beat, my pulse quicken. This was the last thing I expected. I knew the man with the suitcase.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  "I ain't believing this," I said.

  "What?" asked Logan.

  "You ever go to Hutch's over on Cortez Road?"

  "The place where you almost got killed? No. Why?"

  I pointed to the face on the photograph. "This is the guy who runs the place. Fats Monahan."

  "You're kidding. I thought that guy Bartel tried to kill him along with you."

  "It could've been a set-up. Cracker was pretty sure the voice on the phone telling him to get me to Hutch's that morning was Fats."

  "Wasn't Fats upstairs shaving when you got there?"

  "Yeah, but he probably meant for Bartel to get me down in the bar. It was awfully dark in there. A perfect place for an ambush. Maybe he was late getting there, or I was early."

  "What's Fats doing mixed up in this?"

  "I don't know, but we'd better find out soon."

  The FBI agent had been following our conversation. "What's this all about? You guys know this man?"

  "Yeah," I said. "I think he tried to kill me recently."

  "Fill me in," the FBI guy said. "This could be important."

  "Let me make a call first."

  I dialed Detective David Sims's cell phone in Bradenton.

  "Hope I didn't wake you," I said. "This is Matt Royal."

  "No, I'm watching the tail end of a Devil Rays game. Pretty bad. What's up?"

  "Have you talked to your buddy Paul Galis in the last couple of days?"

  "No. Why?"

  "Long story, but I'm working with the government on a potential bombing in Orlando. You can call Galls to verify. It looks like our old buddy Fats Monahan is involved."

  "Fats? From that bar out on Cortez Road?"

  "The same one. We picked him up on surveillance with what we think is the bomb in question."

  "What do you need from me?"

  "Anything you can get on Fats or his bar. We're in a very short time frame here. Call Galls and get up to speed."

  "I'll do that, Mr. Royal. You seem determined to screw up my life."

  I laughed. "Not intentionally, I assure you." I hung up.

  I called Debbie.

  "Almost finished," she said. "I need another few minutes:'

  "Keep digging. I want you to also check into a guy named Fats Monahan and Hutch's Tavern."

  "The place over on Cortez Road?"

  "Exactly."

  "Well, I don't have anything else to do at midnight. Except sleep." She hung up.

  "She needs to find a boyfriend," I said.

  "Deb?" said Logan. "I don't know. She's pretty picky."

  I filled the FBI in on what we knew about Fats and told him about Sims's role in this.

  He turned to leave. "I'll get our computer people onto chasing Fats," he said. "Maybe they'll turn up something we can use."

  "Tell them to hurry," I said, as he went out the door.

  I called Jock to tell him about Fats. "I'm not sure
how he fits into this, but he's got the explosives."

  "I'm fresh out of suggestions. Keep me informed." He hung up.

  "Logan," I said. "Got any ideas about the connection between Fats and Simmermon?"

  "Beats me. Both of them have a history in the Keys, but that's about all I can see that would tie them together."

  "That and Varn. Fats knew Varn from his days with the drug lords, and Michelle had Varn killed. I didn't think to ask her if Simmermon knew about his killing."

  I dialed Galls' number.

  "Paul," I said, "any luck with the bomber down there?"

  "No, but I just got off the phone with David Sims. Sounds like you might have stumbled onto something."

  "Yeah, but we'll play hell finding Fats in Orlando tonight."

  "I've been in contact with Atlanta PD. They tell me the bomber there was going to hit a large Baptist church near downtown. I don't know if that could be a pattern, but we're not pulling any of our people off all the other churches down here."

  "Do you have Michelle Browne stashed somewhere close?"

  "Yeah. She's in isolation in the county jail, about a hundred yards from my office."

  "I need you to ask her about Fats. I also need to know if Simmermon knew about the hit she put on Varn or Yardley or whatever they called him."

  "I'll see what she can tell me."

  "Don't be gentle, Paul. A lot is riding on this."

  "I gotcha. I'll get back to you in a few minutes."

  I didn't know what else to do. I had to wait for calls from Debbie and Paul Galls, and hope they had some information that would lead us toward our bomber.

  The night was passing by with the speed of an out-of-control freight train on a downhill grade. Every minute, every second, moved us closer to a catastrophe that could change the world. Even if the president's address to the nation stopped the reaction Simmermon hoped for, a lot of good people would die on a quiet Sunday morning in Orlando. We had to stop this madness, but damned if I knew how.

  I was tired. I dozed in my chair, waiting for a phone call. My head fell to my chest and woke me up. I looked around the room, my brain slowly coming into focus. Logan had nodded off in his chair, his head tilted at an uncomfortable angle. A snore escaped from his open mouth with every breath. I got up to get another cup of coffee. My phone rang, its irritating jangle waking Logan.

  "Matt," said Paul Galls, "I don't have much for you. Michelle says that Simmermon is the one who put the hit on those guys in Bradenton. She didn't know who he used."

  "She told me she knew about Bartel and even had to get somebody else to take a shot at Logan."

  "Now she's saying that she only knew what Simmermon told her. She never met Bartel. She did agree with the Rev that there was a dangerous situation in Longboat Key because of Peggy, and thought that taking you guys out was the best way to solve the problem. She also wanted to take Peggy out, but Simmermon was falling in love and put the kibosh on that idea."

  "That sounds a little out of character for the Rev, doesn't it?"

  "Michelle said that he falls in love regularly. Usually the girls lie goes for end up in management. The affairs don't last long. Michelle was one of them. It turns out that the woman running the Orlando operation was too."

  "Okay, Paul. Thanks. I'm betting that Simmermon and Fats have been in this together for some time. Did Michelle say any more about the bombings?"

  "No. She stands by her story that she only found out about it the day you grabbed her. She thought it was just more of Simmermon's craziness."

  "And she doesn't know Fats?"

  "Says she never heard of him." He hung up.

  I looked at my watch. One o'clock. We weren't going to make it.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  A picture of Fats had been given to every law enforcement officer in the Orlando area. Off-duty police officers had been called in. It was the greatest manhunt in the city's history, and the cops weren't being told why they were looking for Fats. The powers in Washington didn't want a panic.

  The various law enforcement agencies had finished with the whorehouse, and we'd moved the command post to the Orlando police department headquarters on Hughey Street, just south of the Federal Courthouse.

  We were housed in a small room that had been set up for emergencies. There was a conference table flanked by executive desk chairs, a sideboard with coffee and water, and an array of radio gear at one end of the room.

  We sat, and we waited. The police officer manning the radio was back with us. The droning of ordinary police calls filled the small space. At two thirty a.m. my phone rang. Sims.

  "Matt," he said, "Fats Monahan is a ghost. He came to Manatee County about three years ago and started working at Hutch's. He doesn't own it, but I'll have to wait until the county courthouse opens to find out who does. He's got no record or warrants out for him. I can't find anything on him prior to his coming here. I'm betting Fats Monahan isn't his real name."

  "Thanks, Detective. We're getting more pieces of the puzzle."

  "Galls tells me you've got a big problem up there. Let me know if you need anything else." He hung up.

  Ten minutes later, Debbie called.

  "Tell me you've got something good," I said into my phone.

  "I'm not sure what I've got, but it's interesting."

  "Tell me about it."

  "Colin Edinfield was born in Troy, Alabama, at about the same time as Simmermon. He went to Troy State, dropped out when Simmermon did, and then showed up in Key West about the same time as Simmermon. I can find no record of Edinfield working during the three years he spent in Key West, but he had utility bills, credit cards, a bank account, the whole nine yards."

  "Maybe Edinfield and Simmermon are friends."

  "Or maybe there're the same person," said Debbie.

  "Go on."

  "Edinfield drops out of sight at the about same time that Simmermon shows up in Colorado. Edenfield's bank account was closed and he stopped paying rent and utilities. He just disappeared. There's no record of him anywhere after that."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I've mined every database there is. He's gone."

  "I hear a `but' in there somewhere."

  "I did find a record of Edinfield spending two years in a state mental institution in Alabama. The two years after he dropped out of Troy State."

  "What do you make of it?"

  "Either Edinfield is dead or Simmermon is dead and Edinfield has taken his identity."

  "Simmermon is probably a schizophrenic," I said. "Maybe Edinfield was in the institution because of schizophrenia, and when he got out he hooked up with Simmermon."

  "Or maybe," Debbie said, "Edinfield is Simmermon."

  "Why do you think that?"

  "There's a pretty good record on Edinfield from his birth until he leaves Key West. Then, nothing. The record on Simmermon during the same years is very spotty and doesn't make a lot of sense. How did he live in Key West with no rental or utility history? Or in Colorado, without a job?"

  "Maybe he lived with Edinfield."

  "Maybe," she said, "but I don't think so. There's no record of Simmermon ever living in Key West except for the pay records from a defunct company. That's real easy to doctor up. He's got rent and utilities, credit cards, and all that in Colorado, but no job."

  "What high school did they go to?"

  She gave me the name.

  "What did you find on Albert Thomas?" I asked.

  "This is a strange one too. He was a certified public accountant in Miami. Seemed to have a good practice, married, owned a home in Kendall. Turns out he was working for some drug dealers. He was charged with an assortment of financial crimes and turned state's evidence. He testified in the same trial Varn did, and then he disappeared. No further record of him, except that his wife divorced him."

  "That's got to be Fats. He told me part of this."

  "Well, I've got some stuff on Fats too."

  "Let me guess. He showed up as the
owner of Hutch's, and there's no record of him before he appeared in Bradenton."

  Debbie laughed. "You're almost right. Actually, he doesn't own the property or the liquor license. He just works there. Guess who the owner is?"

  "Circle Ltd."

  "You got it, kid. Have fun doing whatever you're doing." She hung up.

  I asked Logan to go find the FBI while I called Jock.

  "Jock, things are happening up here." I told him what I knew. "I'm beginning to think these guys, Simmermon, Fats, and Varn are all alumni of the Witness Security Program."

  "Sounds plausible. See what you can find out about that. I'm on my way to the airport. I'll be in Orlando in about an hour. There's nothing else I can do here. We may have gotten a break. Galls is following up on it."

  "What?"

  "One of the girls from the island finally got coherent enough to talk to us. Said she and her boyfriend were believers, and joined Simmermon's entourage when he was in Jacksonville. The boyfriend's not one of those we took into custody and he's not one of the dead. We think he might be one of the bombers, either in Orlando or here. We've got the name of the bomber in Atlanta, and he's not the boyfriend."

  "Any idea where the boyfriend might be?"

  "The girl says he has an aunt in Key West. Galls is on his way there now. He'll let me know what he finds. Gotta go. I'm at the airport."

  The FBI agent walked into the room, Logan following behind. I told him what I'd learned about Simmermon, Thomas, and Edinfield. "We need to get to somebody in the school administration in Troy and find out what we can about Simmermon and Edinfield," I said.

  "I'll get right on it," the agent said. "We'll have to get some people out of bed."

  I explained my theory about the Witness Security Program. "Can you find out if these guys were part of it?"

  "That's run by the U. S. Marshals Service. They don't like to give out information on the people in the program. Not even to law enforcement."

  "Make some calls. Get me some information."

  "I'll try." He turned to leave.

  "FBI man," I said, the edge to my voice bringing him up short. "Do it. We're about out of time."

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  At three thirty, Galls called. "We got the bastard," he said, without preamble.