I'd been staying in touch with Laura by e-mail, and I wanted to run some names by her. I doubted she would have ever heard of Wayne Lee, Fats Monahan, or Clyde Varn, but it was worth a try. Truth to tell, I just wanted to hear her voice.
I called her after lunch. Her husband, Jeff, answered the phone. I identified myself and asked if Laura was available.
"Matt, I've been meaning to call you all morning. Laura's missing." He was agitated, talking too loud, a little out of breath.
"What do you mean, missing?"
"I came home for lunch yesterday and she wasn't here. She hasn't been back."
"Police?"
"When she didn't come home by suppertime, I called them. Her purse was here, her cell phone, her car was in the garage. There was no note, nothing. That's not like her. If she was going out unexpectedly, she'd always leave a note."
"What are the police telling you?"
"Nothing, so far. They didn't even start looking until she didn't come home all night."
"They're doing something now, I hope."
"Something, I guess. But I don't know how serious they're taking this. They keep asking me if we're having marital problems. I think they think she just took off."
"Any chance that's the case?" I asked.
"None. Certainly not now, not while Peggy's missing. Have you found out anything?"
"Nothing more than what I've told Laura so far."
There was no reason to alarm him further with the deaths that may or may not be connected to his daughter. He had enough on his plate right now.
I said, "Did you tell the police that Peggy's missing?"
"Yeah, but they don't see any connection. Laura was here and Peggy was in Florida. I was trying to call you to find out if Laura had contacted you. I guess not."
"No, but if she does, I'll call you right away. Keep me posted."
"I will, Matt. And thanks. Oh, before you go, there is one other thing that's kind of curious. I got a call this morning, but the caller hung up before I could get to the phone. My caller ID had a three-oh-five area code number, so I called it back. It was a pay phone in a bar in Key West called the Sharkstooth. Nobody knew who had called. And, my home phone is unlisted."
"Maybe it was just a wrong number," I said. I didn't believe that, but why worry a guy more than he already was?
As soon as I hung up, I called Bill Lester. "Bill," I said, "can you call the Atlanta PD and find out about a missing person?" I filled him in on Laura's disappearance.
"I'll see what I can do," he said.
I paced my living room. This thing was getting out of hand. Peggy had been missing for four weeks, and now Laura drops off the planet. There had to be a connection, but I couldn't see it. None of it made any sense. Why were dead people cropping up all over the place? And why was somebody trying to take Logan and me out of the picture?
I was trying to make sense of my day. I'd killed a man, and even though he'd left me no choice, I was in some sort of a state of mourning. I didn't know the guy, and the world was better off without him, but the taking of a human life alters you forever. I'd killed before, in war and in selfdefense, and each time the same awful feeling of regret ate at my soul. John Donne famously wrote that "any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind." Maybe he was right. Especially when I'd caused the death.
On top of this, Laura was missing. Where had she gone and why? Did she go on her own volition, or were there sinister forces at work? Laura would never leave without letting some one know where she was going. Her disappearance was troubling. Was it connected to Peggy? There was no other reason for Laura to go missing. The fact that Peggy had been in Florida and Laura was in Atlanta didn't mean the two things weren't connected.
I called Detective Sims's cell phone. He'd given me the number in case I came up with any good reason for why people were trying to kill me.
"Did you get any ID on the guy I shot this morning?"
"Yeah. He's an ex-con named Brad Bartel. Did five years in Raiford for assault down in the Keys. Before that, he did a deuce for possession of cocaine with intent to sell. That was another Monroe County bust in the Lower Keys, Stock Island. He was released from Raiford two months ago."
"Any idea what he was doing up here?"
"None. A detective I know in Key West said this guy was suspected in a couple of murders, but they couldn't get the evidence to pin them on him. He was a pretty bad dude and Key West is glad to be rid of him."
"Anybody know where he's been since he left prison?"
"Went back to Key West. Seemed to have a little money and spent most of the time drinking on Duval Street."
"His drinking days are over," I said.
"You don't seem too broken up over the whole thing."
"I'm not, Detective. He's not the first man I've killed."
"So I heard." He hung up.
Why would anyone in our area hire a hit man from Key West, if that's what Bartel was? I was sure there were any number of out-of-work bad guys in Tampa. On the other hand, both Fats and Varn had worked for drug runners in South Florida. Maybe that was the connection. Maybe Bartel wasn't after me at all. Just Fats.
But if that were the case, why would someone lure me to Hutch's? Maybe Fats was the target, and somebody thought they might as well take me out while they were getting Fats. Just in case I knew something I wasn't supposed to know.
But what was I supposed to know?
My phone rang. It was Logan.
"Matt, you'd better get over to my place. We're in a heap of shit."