"Wayne," I said, "it's important that you remember where you first met Yardley."
"Oh, I first met him at his house."
"In Tampa?"
"No. At the trailer park on Cortez Road, out near the fish houses."
"He lived there?"
"Yeah, with some young girls."
"Girls? How many? How old?"
"There was two of them. Probably twenty or so. Well developed, if you know what I mean." He held his hands in front of his chest and tried for a leer, but didn't quite make it.
"Who were they?"
"I don't know. He never said."
Talking to drunks is difficult. Logan often complains about it after I've had too many.
"How did you meet Yardley?" I asked.
"I help out in the trailer park sometimes, raking stuff up when the boats ain't running. I was working out there one day last summer, and Jake invited me in and offered me a beer."
"And the girls were there?"
"Yeah, but they didn't stay long. They was gone within a couple of weeks."
"Do you know where they went?"
Wayne took another long swallow of his beer, shook the bottle, and held it up to the sparse light from the bar. He stared pointedly at its emptiness.
"No. He never said. I figured they got tired of hanging out with an old man and took off."
"I heard that you and Yardley go out drinking together a lot."
"Yeah, when he's around. Which ain't much anymore. He moved out of the trailer park. Can I get another beer, Matt?"
"When?"
"Now"
Logan stood. "I'll get it," he said, and walked toward the bar.
"What I meant," I said, "is when did Yardley move out of the trailer park?"
"Months ago."
"Where'd he move to?"
"Don't know. But he shows up sometimes and buys me beer."
"How does he know where to find you?"
"Don't know. He just comes into the bars where I like to go:'
Logan returned with another beer for Lee. Mine was still untouched.
"Who'd want to kill Yardley?" I asked.
"Nobody. He's a nice guy."
"Somebody killed him yesterday. Planted him in Durante Park."
"You're kidding."
"Nope. He was shot."
"Wow."
"And his name's not Yardley. It's Clyde Varn."
"Son of a bitch," Lee said, taking another long pull on his beer.
"What else do you know about him?" I asked.
"Nothing."
"Did he ever say where he was from?"
"Not really. South Florida, I think. Maybe the Keys. He used to talk about the fishing down there."
"Did he ever say anything about the girls who were living with him?"
"No. But they were sisters."
"How do you know that?"
"Because they always called each other `sister."'
"And you don't know where they went?"
"No," he said. "One day they just weren't there anymore."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"That's a spooky guy," said Logan.
We were driving back to Longboat Key. It was near midnight and the streets were quiet. A rain squall had moved through the area while we were in the bar with Wayne Lee. The streets were wet, the lights reflecting off the sheen on the asphalt of Cortez Road.
"I feel sorry for him," I said. "He's a drunk, and he's getting worse. Pretty soon, they won't let him work the boats anymore, and he's going to end up on the streets."
"He's almost there now"
"That's why Captain Cobol tries to take care of him. He won'tjeop- ardize his boat with a drunk, though. When Nestor won't take him out anymore, it'll be over for Wayne."
"What do you think about what he said about Varn?" Logan asked.
"Not much to go on. Who were the two girls living with him last summer, and where did they go?"
"Yeah. And if Varn was hired muscle for the drug runners in Miami, what's his connection to the Keys? Maybe Wayne will remember something else and call you."
I'd left my business card with him in case he sobered up enough to dredge more information from his booze-soaked brain.
"I'm not counting on it," I said. "I think I'll ask our friend Debbie to see what she can find out about Varn on the Internet."
"Debbie? From Moore's?
"Yeah. She's been taking computer classes. She swears she can find anybody or anything. I think she's figured out how to hack into a lot of databases."
I called Debbie at home early the next morning. She was a night owl, and I knew I'd wake her up, but I needed information. She'd forgive me. Sooner or later.
"Deb," I said. "Matt Royal."
"Do you know what time it is?"
"Yeah. Almost eight."
"Geez. This better be good, Royal."
"Can you get on your computer and see what you can find out about a guy named Clyde Varn?"
"Call me back this afternoon. It's way too early."
"This is important, Deb."
"Who is he?"
"I think lie may have something to do with the missing girl I was telling you about yesterday."
"Okay. I'll get back to you in an hour."
"Bill Lester tells me Varn was convicted on a marijuana charge some years ago. The FBI files don't show anything else. Maybe that'll help you find the right guy. Check out Jake Yardley while you're at it," I said, and hung up.
I was drinking coffee on my sunporch, reading the morning paper. The wind was up, and the bay was roiled and gray, punctuated by little white caps. The sun was shining, and in the quiet I could hear the moan of the wind as it cut through the palm trees and around the building.
My phone rang again.
"Matt, Bill Lester."
"Morning, Bill."
"Do you know Wayne Lee?"
"Yeah. Why? Is he in trouble?"
"He's dead."
"What?" I was shocked. "I saw him last night."
"Bradenton PD found your business card in his pocket. They called me. I'm calling you. Talk to me."
I explained why Logan and I were with Wayne the night before and how we came to find him. "We left him at the bar, drinking. I gave him a twenty for more beer, and Logan and I left."
"He just had some pocket change on him. He probably drank up die twenty."
"How did he die?"
"Shot through the heart. Small caliber, maybe a. 38. The same caliber that killed Varn."
"Same weapon?"
"We don't know yet. The crime lab will compare it and let us know"
"Where did they find him?"
"On the street, about a block from where he lived."
"Bill, why is it that two people I just talked to about Peggy turn up dead?"
"That's what I'd like to know," he said, and hung up.
I called Logan to tell him what had happened.
"The poor bastard," Logan said.
"We've got two dead guys that you and I are connected to. All within two days. They have to be involved somehow in Peggy's disappearance. That's the only common thread between us and them."
"Stay safe, Matt. I don't know what we've stumbled into."
"I'm beginning to think the shooting at Coquina Beach wasn't random. It must be connected somehow to Yardley and Lee, and to Peggy. You got your gun?"
"Nearby at all times."
"Mine too."
My day was not off to a good start. I couldn't concentrate on the morning rag. No good news anyway. Curiously, there was nothing on the missing body from the vulture pit. Sarasota PD was keeping a lid on it. I put the paper down and poured myself another cup of coffee.
If the placement of Varn's body was supposed to be a message to me, it would be clear to the killers that I didn't get it. I had spent time with Wayne Lee. Would they be coming for me next?
That was not a pleasant thought, but I was pretty confident I could take care of myself. I'd stayed in shape, and the Army had long ago taught me a lot about self-defense. Those lessons are drilled into the soldier with such intensity that they're not likely to be forgotten. The memory resides in the muscles, and reactions become automatic, instinctive, and violent. Plus, I knew how to use my nine millimeter.