The swamp buggy lumbered toward them, ripping a broad V of shallow wake in the water behind it, its passengers carried high above the saw grass on a jacked-up undercarriage over huge, nubby tires.

Deb stood up beside him. As the buggy drew closer, Jenner saw that the banner across the passenger enclosure read QUEEG’S AIRBOAT RIDES, EVERGLADES CITY FL. Under the canopy, the sheriff sat next to the driver, like a raja and his mahout riding an elephant into court. Behind them was Port Fontaine’s mayor and, wearing a bright yellow gas-station convenience store raincoat, Detective Rudge. Behind Rudge, snapping away on a digital camera, a young man who Jenner guessed was a reporter.

Deb pressed Jenner’s arm, motioning him to sit as the truck slowed, the arriving wake now rocking the airboats. They watched Anders climb down the steps, gingerly stretch out a foot, and ease himself onto land. The sheriff turned to watch the mayor descend, then held up a hand to hold back Rudge so the reporter could slip by. Rudge sat back down heavily, a look of distaste on his face as he surveyed the dense undergrowth of the hammock, and the wider landscape of water and marsh grass.

The sheriff lifted an arm to gesture toward the clearing, casually self-conscious; Jenner realized he was posing. The photographer snapped his shots, then the sheriff, turning to a three-quarter profile, called to Jenner, “What happened, doctor? Run into a door?”

Jenner reflexively reached a hand to his swollen eye.

The sheriff smiled, then looked soberly at the camera.

“They’re in there, eh?”

Jenner nodded. Where else would they be? It was an island in the middle of a swamp.

“Sheriff, you might want to wait a little. I don’t think they’re done processing yet.”

The sheriff gave a dismissive wave. “Doctor, Port Fontaine may not be New York City, but we’ve handled our share of significant cases. We know what to do.” He turned to the mayor and the journalist and added, “Wouldn’t you say, Bruce? Jimmy?”

There was firm nodding, and the men disappeared excitedly into the trees.

Rudge climbed awkwardly down the ladder and stood on the hammock, hands on his wide hips, glowering at Jenner, who grinned back broadly.

He growled, “Yeah, Jenner, that’s right: I brought the A-Team! And we are some stalwart motherfuckers…”

He spied Deb’s thermos, and his face lit up. “Sweet Jesus! If there’s whiskey in there, this sinner shall stray no more!”

Jenner grinned at him. “No sir, Detective Rudge. But you’re welcome to enjoy a calming sip of hot chai tea…”

“Jesus, Jenner. How you want to play me like that?” Rudge shook his head, aggrieved, then shrugged. “I go now to find my Fearless Leader.”

Rudge followed through the bushes after the sheriff, his muttered cursing clearly audible through the tangle of green.