Read Matt Royal Mystery - 03 - Blood Island for Free Online

buddy, but that is Jake Yardley."
    "That's what his driver's license says."
    "How did you know I knew him?"
    "The Bradenton Beach Police Chief sent me the statements you and
Logan gave the other night. He knows you guys are friends of mine. It was
a courtesy."
    "What happened?" I asked.

    "Don't know. Mrs. Johnson was walking her dog at first light and
found him," he said, pointing to the distressed woman with the dog.
"Called us on the emergency phone."
    "It looks like Jake was posed after he was killed. I don't get that."
    "Neither do I. Maybe we'll know more when the crime lab guys get
finished."
    "Chief?" It was the cop at the tape. "CSI's here."
    "About time," Lester said. He turned and went up the boardwalk to
meet them. "Take Mrs. Johnson back to the station and get a statement,"
he said to the officer. "Matt, can you and Logan meet me for lunch at Mar
Vista?"
    The Mar Vista restaurant, known to locals as The Pub, is in the Village at
the north end of Longboat Key. This was the original settlement on the
island, and a place where working people and poorer retirees could still
afford to live. It had been a thriving community for many years before the
developers discovered our island and began to build bigger and bigger
condominium projects for wealthy refugees from the Midwest and New
England.
    The Mar Vista hugs the shoreline of a little lagoon that meanders off
upper Sarasota Bay. Tables and chairs are arranged on a patio overlooking
the water. Servers were trudging back and forth between the kitchen and
the tables, delivering lunch to the patrons.
    Logan and I sat on the patio and ordered soft drinks. Logan told the
server we were waiting for one more person. The noon sun was warm and
a light breeze blew off the water, rustling the fronds of the palm trees that
provided sparse shade to the diners. A large yacht, gleaming with white
paint and polished bright work, cruised the Intracoastal, heading north
toward Tampa Bay. A go-fast boat bounced over the yacht's wake, and with
unmuffled engines roaring, passed to port.
    Chief Lester arrived, walking among the diners, stopping to say hello
to some of them. Bill was mid-forties about five foot eight, and while not
overweight, sported a little paunch that didn't quite hang over his belt. He
was wearing the same clothes as that morning: a navy blue golf shirt with a Longboat Key Police badge embroidered over the left breast, khaki pants,
and black athletic shoes. No weapon was visible.

    He took a seat at our table, grinned, and said, "You guys get into more
trouble. I don't know how you do it."
    Logan laughed. "It ain't easy," he said. "Not at all."
    "What'd you find out about Yardley?" I asked.
    "First off, lie's not Yardley," said Bill. "His real name is Clyde Varn.
He's got quite a rap sheet. Fingerprints confirmed it."
    "What else?"
    "He didn't live in that condo in Tampa, where you met him. His driver's license, the one with the name Yardley, had an address in Brooksville,
but Varn hasn't lived there in years."
    Logan leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "Who is he?" he
asked.
    "He used to be hired muscle for some of the drug rings that work
out of south Florida. Apparently, he was some kind of a freelancer; worked
for whichever group needed him. He's been arrested a dozen times, but
only convicted once. Possession of marijuana. Did thirty days in the county
lockup in Miami-Dade."
    I said, "What about the condo in Tampa?"
    "Owned by a Bahamian corporation. We're trying to find out who
the shareholders are. That could take a while."
    Logan took a sip of his cola. "Did the crime lab people find anything?"
    The chief shook his head. "Not much. He'd only been dead about an
hour when Mrs. Johnson found him. He was shot on the boardwalk, about
fifty feet from the gazebo where we found him. There was blood splatter
in the area, and they found scuffmarks on the boards. Looks like the killer
dragged him to the gazebo and propped him