Gannon had met Sergeant Jeremy three years before working for a small resort on Windermere Island. A tourist kid out sea kayaking had gone missing in the Atlantic, and he and Sergeant Jeremy had gone out in the Rambler looking for him.

For hours, they had scoured the entire treacherous rocky east shore. The kid had turned out not to have gone kayaking at all, thank goodness, but during the search, he and the good sergeant had commiserated on everything from fatherhood to eighties music to the current insane state of the world.

Sergeant Jeremy, who was a deacon at St. Anne’s up in Rock Sound, often roped Gannon into usher duty during his sporadic church attendance, and they sometimes played poker.

Gannon turned back, checking to see if the sergeant could notice the Gator and tanks back there in the bed of his pickup under the carport.

Maybe, maybe not, he thought.

“You’re here early for the poker game. Isn’t it at Teddy’s next week?” he said.

“No, no. It’s not a social visit, Michael. I was wondering if you might be able to help me. Did you hear about the accident?”

Gannon looked at him.

“Accident?”

“You didn’t hear?”

“I didn’t turn on the radio today. What’s up?”

“There was a plane crash in the water on the north side of Little Abaco last night. My son’s friend Alan in the coast guard got called in.”

“That’s terrible. Bad? Was it an airliner or something?”

“I don’t know. Probably not or it would be an even bigger deal. Lot of activity, though. I know you fish up around there sometimes. I thought maybe you might have seen or heard something.”

Gee, thanks for remembering, Gannon thought.

“That’s crazy. No. I didn’t see anything,” Gannon said.

“You did go fishing, though, yesterday, right? Like you usually do Mondays?”

Gannon looked at him. Sergeant Jeremy seemed cheery and laid-back as they came, but he was nobody’s fool. There wasn’t much in the island’s resorts—and even more so with the island’s residents—that happened without his knowledge. Especially on his beat in the lower southern part.

“Yep. I went out in the morning as usual. But I actually didn’t go out that far. I tried my spot off Governor’s Harbour first and got a hit. It was a white marlin, but it went under the bow and the damn line broke my radio antenna. So I stayed in close to shore here at home.”

Sergeant Jeremy tapped a finger against his lip. Then he smiled.

“Any extra fresh swordfish you’d like to share with your good friend?”

Gannon took a hit of his beer and wiped at his mouth with his fingers.

“No. Sorry, friend,” he said, swiping his hand on his shorts. “None for me either. After all that, the big nasty son of a gun spit the hook five feet from the boat. You should have seen this thing.”

“Ah, yes. The one that got away. Big as my Jeep, was it?”