Chapter TWENTY
The emergency room of Blake Hospital was full of officers from Longboat Key, some in uniform and the off-duty ones in civilian clothes, a mixture of jeans, shorts, T-shirts, golf shirts, running shoes, flip-flops, and boat shoes. J.D. and I sat with Jock and Chief Bill Lester. We were all waiting for an update on Steve Carey’s condition.
In the more than fifty years of the existence of the Town of Longboat Key, no police officer had ever been shot. I wondered if we would make another half century without more bloodshed. The world was changing, coarsening, becoming more violent, and it was only natural that some of that would bleed across the bridges onto our island paradise. Technically, Steve had been shot on Anna Maria Island, not Longboat Key, but the difference was only one of degree. Leffis Key was only a few hundred yards north of the bridge leading to Longboat Key, and Steve Carey was certainly one of us, a Longboater.
A woman in blue scrubs came through the doors that led to the treatment rooms and walked toward us. Bill Lester stood. He was in civilian clothes. He intercepted the woman. “I’m Bill Lester,” he said. “Chief of police on Longboat Key. How’s Officer Carey?”
“I’m Dr. Montoya,” she said. “Where is Officer Carey’s family? I need to talk to them.”
“We’re his family,” said Lester. “Talk to me.”
She let out a breath, smiled. “Way too much testosterone in here. He’s in good shape. The bullet went through his upper arm without hitting anything important. I stitched him up and he’ll be sore for a few days, but he’ll ultimately be good as new.”
I could see the relief written on the faces of all the men and women who had gathered in a tight circle around the chief and the doctor. Steve had been lucky, and each of the officers had spent at least a moment or two contemplating the fact that he or she could have been the one shot. And that the shot might not have missed something vital.
“Can I see him?” asked the chief.
“Sure,” said the doctor. “We’re going to keep him overnight to make sure an infection doesn’t set in. Go on back before we send him upstairs.”
“I need these three with me,” the chief said, gesturing toward J.D., Jock, and me.
The doctor nodded and led us back to a treatment room.
Carey was sitting up in bed, his arm bandaged and in a sling. He was grinning when we walked in. “Chief, you got to start paying me hazardous-duty pay.”
“What did you do to piss off the shooter?” asked Lester.
Steve turned serious. “He wasn’t after me, Chief. That shot was meant for J.D.”
“Why do you think that?” asked J.D., surprise in her voice.
“I had just moved in front of you, between you and the shooter, when he fired. If he hadn’t winged me, I think that round would have gotten you.”
J.D. was quiet for a moment. Then, “Were you trying to protect me, Steve?”
“No. I saw the gunman and started moving toward him. I never thought about him shooting at you. Not until afterward, anyway. The shot came so quick after I took that step that he had to have zeroed in on you. You were the target, J.D., not me.”
J.D. stood for another moment, mulling that over. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. “But you saved my butt, Steve, whether you meant to or not. I owe you big-time.”
“Bring me a six-pack of Bud and we’ll call it even,” he said.
That broke the icy tension that had settled over the small room. We laughed for the first time that day. “I’ll see what I can do,” J.D. said. “You get some rest. I’ll check in on you this afternoon.”
• • •
J.D., Jock, and I were in my Explorer headed back to Leffis Key to get J.D.’s car. “Do we know who called this in?” I asked J.D.
“Yeah, a guy named Don Buckler.”
“Is he a suspect?”
“No. I met Don last spring. He’s from Louisville and comes to visit his daughter. He’s an artist and was out birding, planning to sketch some species they don’t have in Kentucky. He parked in the lot and walked right into the body. Called 911 and waited for the law to show up.”
“Was he able to give you any more information than that he found the body?”
“No. The Bradenton Beach lieutenant took a pretty detailed statement. He told me what Don had to say. I’ll get a copy of the recorded statement as soon as it’s transcribed.”
“Is there going to be a turf war over who gets the lead on the case?” asked Jock.
“No. I told the lieutenant about the murders in Miami and the threats to me here, so he’s happy to let Longboat run the show.”
“Threats?” I asked. “As in more than one?”
“Well, there was the phone call on Saturday evening when we were leaving Moore’s, then the attempt to kill me in the parking lot at the Lazy Lobster.”
I shrugged. “I kind of figured those were one and the same. The caller trying to make good on his threat.”
“And of course, there was the call I got last night.”
I sat up straighter. “You got another threat?”
“Yeah, about midnight.”
“Same voice as at Moore’s?”
“I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t swear to it.”
“What did he say?”
“I hope you enjoyed today’s sunset, bitch. It could be your last.”