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J.D.
    In a minute or two, an attractive woman came from the back of the department and introduced herself to me as Tina Rudek. I introduced her to J.D. “Come on back,” she said. “Mr. Bailey is resting easy and Detective Galis is with him.”
    She led us to a treatment room where I found a Key West patrolman sitting by the door. “Mr. Royal?” he asked.
    â€œI am, and this is Detective J. D. Duncan, Longboat Key PD.” J.D. flashed her badge.
    The cop nodded and opened the door, “Detective Galis is waiting for you.”
    Paul Galis and I had met each other a few years back when I was visiting Key West. Jock had been with me and he and Galis had becomefriends. A year or so later, Jock saved Paul’s life when a dicey situation that also involved J.D. turned murderous. Galis shook my hand and hugged J.D. “How is he?” I asked.
    â€œDrunk and shot,” Galis said. “The gunshot is superficial, the drunk took some work.”
    â€œDo you have any idea what happened?”
    Galis looked at the social worker. “Tina, would you excuse us?”
    She nodded and walked out the door.
    â€œKey West PD is investigating, but they don’t have a lot to go on. Jock was in a bar on Duval Street, and, according to the bartender, had been there since they opened at nine this morning. The bartender said he was flying low when he got there. He must have been drinking for some time. He didn’t eat anything all day, didn’t talk to anybody, just sat in a corner and sipped scotch. Around three o’clock this afternoon, he fell off his chair and the manager cut him off and told him to leave.”
    â€œWe know he flew from Tampa to Miami last night,” J.D. said. “He got to Miami about one this morning. I wonder how he got from Miami to Key West.”
    â€œHe could have driven it in three hours or so at that time of the night,” Galis said. “Or he could have chartered a plane. Our airport’s open all night.”
    â€œI’m betting on the plane,” I said. “He would have been here easily by three o’clock. That’d have given him six hours to drink before he got to the bar on Duval.”
    â€œBut where would he have gone to drink?” J.D. asked.
    â€œThere are a lot of places that don’t pay too much attention to our liquor laws,” Galis said. “Who’s he running from?”
    â€œHimself.”
    â€œWhat’s going on, Matt?”
    â€œHe’s in bad shape. His last mission must have been rough. Hecan’t seem to pull out of it. He’s been with me on Longboat for the past week trying to sort things out. He disappeared last night and his boss tracked him to Miami.”
    â€œHave you told his boss he’s here?” Galis asked.
    â€œNo. I wanted to make sure it was really Jock before I made the call. How did he end up in the hospital?”
    â€œWe’re not sure. We think someone saw him lying on the sidewalk and called a taxi to come get him and take him home. Jock woke up enough to tell the driver to bring him here, then passed out again. The driver didn’t know he was shot. Just thought he was another drunk.”
    â€œWhat time was that?”
    â€œHe got here about three this afternoon and passed out in the reception area. They brought him back here and discovered the gunshot wound. When they went through his wallet, they found your name and number.”
    â€œJock would never have taken that information with him on a mission. He must have been planning to disappear, but wanted me to know if he ended up dead. I take it the gunshot wound wasn’t serious.”
    â€œGrazed his left shoulder. Barely a flesh wound.”
    â€œDoesn’t it seem a little bizarre that he got shot in broad daylight on a busy street and there are no witnesses?” J.D. asked.
    â€œBizarre as hell,” Galis said. “I’m guessing whoever shot him must have used a