Free Found: A Matt Royal Mystery by H. Terrell Griffin Page B

don’t like that.”
    “I don’t either,” I said. “Maybe you ought to talk to him.”
    “Maybe, but I’m not sure I want him to know that I know he’s following me.”
    “What’s the downside?”
    She thought about that for a couple of beats. “I don’t know, come to think of it. Maybe I ought to let him know I’m on to him. That might scare him off. But I’m so jammed up with this murder and Katie, I just don’t have time to go see him.”
    “What if I set up a meeting with him? I could drive up to Tampa this morning.”
    She was quiet for a moment and then nodded. “I don’t see why not. Do you mind?”
    “Not at all.” I smiled to myself. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.
    “I’ll see if our dispatcher can run down a number for him.”
    I was at the apex of the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, one hundred seventy-five feet above the ship channel that runs through Tampa Bay. I always get a bit nervous as I cross this beautiful span. It’s a long way down.
    I was on my way to a meeting with Ben Appleby. I and the Rohrbaugh R9’s 9mm pistol in the holster I carried stuffed into my pants at the smallof my back. I wasn’t sure what I was going to run into and I thought the little six-shot weapon would provide me with a bit of confidence.
    I’d called Appleby an hour before and apparently awoken him from a deep sleep. “Mr. Appleby,” I said. “My name’s Matt Royal. Does that mean anything to you?” He might already have connected me to J.D., since he was parked outside my house. I’d decided it didn’t matter. Either he’d meet me or I’d go find him.
    “No. Should it?”
    “Probably not. I’m a lawyer and I need some investigative work done. You were recommended. Can I meet with you this morning?”
    “Recommended by whom?”
    “I don’t remember. Somebody I met at a bar luncheon recently.”
    “What’s it about?”
    “Some surveillance on an errant husband.”
    He laughed. “Guy fucking around, huh?”
    “Something like that. I need some dirt as soon as possible.”
    “Okay. Meet me at eleven.”
    “Give me your office address.”
    “I’ll come to your office.”
    “Sorry,” I said. “That’s not possible. I’ll explain when I see you.”
    “Okay. I don’t actually have an office. I pretty much work out of my car. Can you meet me out by the Tampa airport?”
    “Not a problem.”
    “Okay. There’s a Denny’s on Highway 92 about three blocks north of its intersection with I-275. How will I know you?”
    “Don’t worry. I’ll find you,” I said. J.D. had given me a photo taken from Appleby’s Department of Motor Vehicles file, the one that shows up on his driver’s license. It was not what I expected.
    I had envisioned Appleby as a small, dark man, but he was actually blond, tall, and thin as a rail. He was sitting in a booth in the back of the restaurant, a cup of coffee in front of him. He looked tired. The midnight surveillance wasn’t working too well for him.
    “Mr. Appleby?” I asked. “I’m Matt Royal.”
    “Sit down. You want coffee?”
    I shook my head and took a seat across from him. “What I want is to know why you’re following Detective Duncan.”
    A look of puzzlement crossed his face. “What? I thought we were here to talk about a divorce case.”
    “Listen to me,” I said, my voice low and hard. “I want to know why you were following Detective Duncan yesterday and why you were parked in front of my house in the wee hours of this morning.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, moving to extricate himself from the booth.
    “Yes, you do, and if you get out of that seat, I’m going to follow you to the parking lot and beat the shit out of you.”
    He leered at me. “That might be harder to do than you think.”
    “I doubt it.”
    “You’re not a cop.” A statement, not a question.
    “I’m not.”
    “Who are you?”
    “I told you. I’m a lawyer.”
    “I’m not impressed.”
    “I’m also Detective