Free Wyatt's Revenge: A Matt Royal Mystery by H. Terrell Griffin Page B

stood around, talking quietly. Many of my neighbors had moved into the parking lot and were standing in clumps, talking and watching the activity. In a few minutes, I saw Bill Lester pull up in his unmarked car. He talked briefly to his officer and then started toward the building. He saw me and waved.
    He got off the elevator and shook my hand. “You okay, Matt?”
    “Yeah. I guess. Somebody meant that bomb for me.”
    “Without a doubt. Let’s go inside and talk.”
    “Fresh coffee’s brewing.”
    “Good. I need it.”
    We sat in my living room, drinking coffee and talking. “Who wants you dead?” asked Bill.
    “I don’t know of anybody.” I was telling the truth.
    “I’ve called in Manatee County. They’ll handle the murder investigation and the state will look into the arson angle.”
    Longboat Key is about ten miles long and divided in the middle by the county line. The northern half is part of Manatee County, and the southern end lies in Sarasota County. The Longboat Key Police Department was very professional, and that was one of the reasons crime was an anomaly on our island. When the rare major crime did occur, the county sheriff was called in to investigate. The deputies worked for the sheriff, but reported to Bill Lester.
    “Is this connected to Wyatt’s death?” he asked.
    “Bill, I’ve got no idea. Maybe it was mistaken identity.”
    “I don’t think so. You own the only Explorer in this complex. Anybody smart enough to put that bomb together isn’t stupid enough to make that kind of mistake.”
    “You’re probably right. But I can’t think of any reason anyone would want to kill me.”
    “Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms is coming in to look at the mess. Maybe they’ll find some sort of signature. Bombers tend to use the same technique, and the ATF boys can usually find a connection between bombings. We’ll see what turns up. In the meantime, you need to be careful.”

CHAPTER TWENTY
    I was responsible for young Jimmy’s death. Not directly, but I must have gotten too close to somebody, and now they were trying to kill me. They’d gotten Jimmy instead. The army called it collateral damage, but that wouldn’t be much comfort to the young man’s family. He was still dead.
    I called Logan’s cell phone.
    “Somebody just tried to blow me up.”
    “What?”
    “Somebody put a bomb in my car last night.”
    “Are you all right?”
    “Yeah, but the kid from the auto repair shop was killed.”
    “Shit. I’m on my way.”
    “Where are you?”
    “At Marie’s.”
    “Stay there. I’m fine.”
    “She’s about to leave for work. I’ll be at your place in ten minutes.”
    I could always count on Logan. He’d have been on his way to me even if Marie were still naked in bed begging him to stay.
    My phone rang just as I hung up. It was Austin Dwyer.
    “Matt, that’s strange company you’re hanging around with.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Most of the people on the list you sent me are Nazis. Or at least, they were. They’re all dead now. The Klarsfelds are still alive. They’re French Nazi hunters. They’ve spent most of their lives bringing old Nazis to justice.”
    “Nazis?”
    “Yes. As in Germany, Third Reich, all that.”
    “Shit.” I told him about the list, Wyatt’s and Sauer’s murders, and that the only thing the killer had taken out of Wyatt’s apartment was his laptop. I also told him that Sauer’s hard drive was missing from his computer. “I thought the list might be a lead to who killed them and why.”
    “There is an interesting coincidence to the names on the list. Most of the people were involved in the ratlines.”
    “Ratlines? Isn’t that something on a sailboat?”
    “I think so, but in this case it’s a reference to escape routes the Nazis used to get out of Europe after the war. Are you familiar with ODESSA?”
    “The city?”
    “No, the Organisation de ehemaligen SS-Angehörigen, which translates as the Association of Former SS