The Bradenton Beach Police station was small. It nestled between a boatyard and the approach to the Cortez Bridge. The waiting room was tiny, with a couple of green vinyl and metal armchairs sitting next to a table that held year-old magazines. The walls were painted in light beige, a color intended to soothe the fears of those who visited. A civilian sat behind a partition near a glass-enclosed opening, working on something on his desk that I couldn't see. The room was chilly, the air conditioning cranked up too high for this time of year. A large round clock on the opposite wall told me it was nearing nine o'clock.
The lieutenant had escorted Logan into the back of the station to take his statement. He told me he would be with me as soon as he finished with my friend. I assumed he wanted to make sure that I wasn't influenced by what Logan had to say.
Time moved slowly. The room was quiet. The occasional crackle of a police radio slipped from behind the glass of the receptionist's area. The faint sound of a siren came from the bridge, a signal to motorists that the span was about to open for boat traffic. Probably a large trawler coming from the north, heading for the fish houses that lined the bay next to the Coast Guard station.
When the clock read nine thirty, the lieutenant appeared with Logan, and asked me to step back to his office. Logan grinned and winked as he passed me. The lieutenant caught it and looked a little miffed. Maybe he thought Logan wasn't taking this thing seriously enough. He didn't know that Logan seldom took anything seriously.
The lieutenant's office was small, with barely enough room for a desk and two chairs. The top of the desk was cluttered with loose documents, a couple of wanted posters, and a framed picture of a pretty young woman holding a blonde girl of about three years old.
"Why would someone try to kill you on my island, Mr. Royal?" he asked.
"I wish I knew."
"I know who you are."
"Is that good?"
"I know about some of your escapades on Longboat," he said.
"Then you know I'm one of the good guys."
"Yeah. I already called Chief Lester. He vouched for you."
"He always does," I said, smiling.
"This happen a lot?"
"No. But when it does, I can always count on Bill Lester."
"I know you've been involved with law enforcement in the past," he said, "and that you killed some bad guys. Is this shooting tonight related?"
"I don't see how it could be. There wasn't anyone left from the last fiasco to come after me."
"Did you ever think that practicing law might be safer than your retirement?"
"Lately, I have. But I don't go looking for trouble. It just seems to have a way of finding me."
"Where were you today?"
I told him about our visit with Jake Yardley, and what I had learned from Chris at the Sea Club. I explained why I was looking for Peggy, and told him I didn't think there was any reason for anybody to try to kill me because I was looking for a teenager.
He agreed. "Maybe it was some sort of mistaken identity," he said. "If you find out anything different, you let me know."
An officer drove us home, dropping me at my place and going on to Logan's. I didn't sleep well that night, and I didn't think the shooting was random. It must have had something to do with Peggy. I'd have to take a good look at Jake Yardley. He had to be part of the riddle.
And I was going to start carrying a pistol. You never know when you might need one.