He shook his head. “All the cell towers were knocked out. It could be days. Y’all really think he was murdered?”

Nick said, “Either that, or that same limb hit him three times in the head.”

“Which limb?”

Bruce pointed and the medic strained to look.

Nat returned with purpose and said, “Okay, I talked to my lieutenant and he said don’t touch the body. He’s trying to find our homicide guy.”

“I didn’t know we had a homicide guy,” Bruce said. “I can’t remember the last murder on Camino Island.”

Nat said, “It’s Hoppy Durden. He also does bank robberies.”

“I can’t remember the last bank robbery.”

“He’s not very busy.”

Bruce said, “Look, Nat, might I suggest you guys contact the state police and get an investigator in here?”

“Sir, you’re confused. Right now no one is coming onto the island. The bridge is closed and all roads are blocked. We’re trying to get injured folks off the island.”

“I get that, but at some point real soon the bridge will open so the cleanup crews can get in, then the homeowners.”

“Just stay in your lane, sir. Somebody else is in charge of that.” His radio squawked and he stepped away again. The medics were called to another emergency, and so Bruce, Bob, and Nick were again sitting in the sun on the patio watching Nelson roast. Thankfully, Nat had covered him again with the towels.

The officer returned to the patio, said he had been called away, and instructed the three to remain with the body, and don’t touch anything, and he would try and find Hoppy but he was probably busy somewhere else. It was all hands on deck and the right hand had no idea what the left hand was doing.

Luckily, Hoppy Durden arrived fifteen minutes later. Bruce knew who he was but had never met him. As far as he knew, Hoppy spent no time in his bookstore. He was a large man with an ample belly and his sweaty uniform stuck to his skin. Introductions were made and Bruce outlined their murder theory. Hoppy looked at Nelson’s wounds, as if he’d seen dozens of murder victims, then followed Nick into the condo, which was as hot as a sauna. When they emerged, Hoppy flung sweat from his forehead and said, “Looks like this might be a crime scene.” He was noticeably excited. With a real murder in the works, he had the perfect excuse to avoid more chain saw duty down along the beach.

He got his camera and began taking photos of Nelson. He strung yellow crime scene tape around the back patio, down the drive, across the front yard, and along the flower beds. Bruce wanted to ask why so much yellow tape was needed when there was no one around. He had several questions and even more suggestions but decided to keep them to himself. Hoppy kept calling for backup but no one else arrived. Using his phone, he videorecorded brief statements from Bruce, Bob, and Nick. He asked them to please stay out of the condo. As Hoppy went about his business, he offered them bottles of cold water from his cooler. They drained them.

Bob was finally excused and left to deal with his flood damage. Bruce and Nick promised to come help as soon as possible.

The same medics returned with their gurney and loaded up Nelson. Hoppy explained that he would be taken to the city hospital where there was a small morgue in the basement.

Bruce said, “I thought the hospital was evacuated.”

“It is. But it has a generator.”

“Who does the autopsy?” Bruce asked. After spending half an hour with Hoppy he was not feeling good about the investigation.

“Well, assuming we do one, I guess it’ll be the state medical examiner.”

“Come on, Officer Durden. There has to be an autopsy. If this is a murder, you have to know the cause of death, right?”

Hoppy rubbed his chin and eventually nodded. Yes.

Bruce pushed but not too aggressively. “Why not just load him up and take him to the crime lab in Jacksonville? That’s where they do autopsies, right?”

“Yes. I know the examiner there. You may be right. We can probably pull some strings and get off the island without much trouble and drive down to Jacksonville.”

“And we need to make sure his family in California is notified,” Bruce said.

“Can you do that for me? I need to get back to the staging area.”

“Sorry. That’s your job.”

“Right.”

Hoppy followed the gurney down the driveway to the ambulance. Bruce and Nick watched as they loaded it and drove away.

CHAPTER THREE

    THE LOOTERS

1.

Larry lived in a brick house a mile inland and three miles south of Mercer’s cottage. He spent the morning with his chain saw clearing limbs and debris from his front yard, then left in his pickup to explore. But it was hopeless. Trees were down everywhere and all streets were blocked. He returned home, loaded a backpack with food and water, and set out on foot to check on his properties. He looked after five of them, all vacation homes on the beach owned by old clients. The devastation was unlike any he’d seen in his fifty-plus years on the island. Trees were strewn across roofs, lawns, cars, and trucks. Trees that would take days to cut up and remove stretched across streets and roads. Entire subdivisions were isolated. It took two hours to get to Fernando Street, the main drag along the beach. There he found less damage, primarily because there were fewer trees. The dunes had served their purpose and held back the storm surge, but the homes and cottages had been battered by the wind.