CHAPTER TWENTY
My doorbell rang. I looked out the window to see Chief Bill Lester’s unmarked parked in front of my house. “Door’s open,” I called.
Bill came in, a worried look on his face. “You okay, Matt?”
“Yeah. A little shook up, but none the worse for wear.”
“Morning, Chief,” said J.D. “Want some coffee?”
“I could use a cup. Tell me what happened.”
I related the facts to him. Including the ethnicity of my attackers.
He frowned. “Does the fact that they were Asians mean anything to you?”
J.D. broke in and told him what we had learned about Jim Desmond’s time in Laos, and that we thought there might be an Asian hit team that went after Jim.
Bill said, “You don’t think they’d still be hanging around almost two months after the murder.”
“No,” I said, “but it seems a pretty big coincidence that for reasons I don’t understand a couple of Asians tried to take me out.”
Bill was quiet for a moment, sipping his coffee. “I wonder why they didn’t just shoot you. Why the knife?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” I said. “There was nobody on the beach or in the parking lot, but you know those North Shore condos are right next to the boardwalk. It was very quiet out there and a gunshot would have drawn attention.”
“Not if they’d used a silencer.”
“True. I hadn’t thought about that. Maybe they didn’t have a silencer.
Or maybe the guy just likes knives.”
“What happened to the knife?” J.D. asked.
“I forgot about it in the rush to get home. It’s on the front seat of my car.”
“I’ll go get it,” J.D. said and got up and walked out the front door.
“You know,” the chief said, “those folks on Dulcimer were killed with a knife or knives. Big ones.”
“Was the M.E. able to come up with the kind of knife that was used?”
“Only in general terms. It may have been the same knife or it could have been two different ones. Whichever, they were big knives with straight edges. They could have been KA-BARS, like the ones issued to Marines.”
“That’s what this guy came at me with.”
J.D. came in with the knife wrapped in a cloth. “Maybe there’ll be prints on this.”
“I doubt it,” I said. “After I took it away from him I would have obliterated his prints with mine.”
“You said he was hurt,” Lester said.
“I’m pretty sure I broke his elbow. Probably ripped up all the ten-dons. He’s going to need medical attention. Soon. The pain has got to be terrible.”
The chief’s cell phone rang. He answered, grunted into it a couple of times, and hung up. “The car they were in was reported stolen yesterday from a Wal-Mart in Sarasota. They haven’t found it yet.”
“They’re in the wind,” I said. “If they were somehow tied to the Dulcimer killings, why would they be after me? Unless there’s some connection with Jim’s murder.”
“Even so,” said J.D., “I don’t understand how they even knew about you being involved in the investigation.”
“It’s a small island,” said the chief. “Word gets around pretty quickly. Maybe Matt tripped over some alarm wires when he was in Georgia.”
“Can I see the files on the Dulcimer murders?” I asked. “Don’t see why not,” the chief said. “J.D. can bring them around later today.”
J.D. stood. “I’ve got to get this knife to the crime-scene investigators. I’ll pick up the files and stop back by this afternoon.”
“Don’t forget that Jock’s coming in,” I said.
“Shit,” said the chief. “Every time Jock shows up, my island goes to hell.”
“We’ll be careful, Bill.”
“Okay. Let’s try to grab a beer while he’s here. Do you need to see a doctor?”
“I don’t think so. Nurse Duncan fixed me up fine.”
“Nurse Duncan?” asked J.D., raising an eyebrow.
“Well, you know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I’ll see you this afternoon.”