Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(62)

“He was framed,” Tom said, exasperation leaking into his voice. “Can’t you see that?”

When she didn’t answer, Tom crossed his arms, his smile gone. “Andy Walton had cancer, Helen. Don’t you think it’s possible that he wanted to make things right before he died? That he didn’t want blood on his hands when he passed through the Pearly Gates?”

Helen shook her hand. “Tom, you are the world’s last noble man. Andy Walton wasn’t like that. Not the Andy I knew.”

“You might be surprised,” Tom said, standing up and tossing a five-dollar bill on the table. “Things aren’t always as black and white as they seem, Helen.”





44


At exactly 1:30 a.m. the lights in the storage closet for Unit 203 flicked on—just as they had the three previous mornings. As there was no way to see inside the closet from the outside, no one passing by could tell that the lights had been turned on.

No one was up that hour of night anyway. The grounds crew for the condominium left at 5:00 p.m. sharp, and though some of the units were occupied by guests, there wasn’t a huge crowd. Each of the owners in the complex had their very own one-car garage as well as a private storage unit. Though there were several signs on the wall urging the tenants to make sure to close their garage doors each night, sometimes people forgot.

Sometimes teenage girls might go out for a swim through the garage door and forget to close it when they scampered back in. Or perhaps a tired father had gone across the highway for groceries and in the process of trying to load up everything and take it upstairs to his condo, forgot to hit the button for the door.

JimBone Wheeler enjoyed thinking over these scenarios as he recounted his good fortune. He had always been a good swimmer, and the distance from the dock at The Boathouse to the other side of the harbor was about a thousand yards. Ten football fields. Bone had made it across, spending most of his time under the water, in about twenty-five minutes. Literally just seconds before the place was covered with cop cars.

He’d come ashore at a restaurant called Louisiana Lagniappe and had immediately begun walking down the sidewalk of Gulf Shore Drive. He knew he didn’t have much time, so he began to jog. He had managed to keep his cap, so he twisted it on backwards, hoping that a man out for a run at just past midnight wouldn’t cause any alarm. Luckily, he saw no one on the sidewalk.

At first Bone thought he’d steal a car and try to get out of town, but the sounds of the sirens backed him off that plan. He’d have to squat somewhere for a time, so he started looking for a quiet place to do just that. About midway down he saw a white building with tennis courts and a pool out front and, like all the complexes along Holiday Isle, the Gulf of Mexico in the back.

Of greater significance, Bone saw an open garage door.

As nonchalantly as he could manage, he walked through the entrance. Seeing what appeared to be a series of one-car garages side by side, Bone scoured the place, looking for a place to hide. He noticed numbers on a series of doors, and he started trying to open each one of them, hitting pay dirt when he came to Unit 203. Quickly, he stepped inside and locked the door, hiding behind a large orange inflatable boat that covered almost half of the space.

For over twenty-four hours Bone stayed in the storage closet, barely moving, knowing that the owners of the unit could open the door at any moment. However, after a while his body demanded that he move, so he explored the closet, striking pay dirt again. Next to the light switch there were two hooks, each with a set of keys. One set had a keyless entry device attached, so Bone knew it had to open a car. The device had the word “Porsche” etched on the side.

What kind of place was this? Bone wondered, eventually coming to the conclusion that it was a private condominium where only owners were allowed on the premises. Perhaps one of the wealthy owners kept his Porsche down here full-time to ride around town during his trips to the Gulf.

The other set contained three keys that were color coded. Knowing he couldn’t stay in the closet forever, Bone had opened the door on Sunday morning at 1:30 a.m. The garage area was deserted, so Bone turned to the closet and began seeing if any of the color-coded keys fit in the lock. The orange one did.

Heart rate picking up, Bone looked at the door to the closet. It had the number 203 written on it. Then he inspected the other two keys. If one of the keys opened the closet, then one should open the door to the unit. And if no one had opened the storage closet with all the beach toys in over twenty-four hours . . .

. . . they aren’t here, Bone knew, smiling.

He took the stairs up to the second floor and tried the other two keys in the lock to Unit 203. The purple one wouldn’t fit, but the door swung open when Bone inserted the green one.

Bingo, Bone thought as he quickly scanned the empty unit. Two bedrooms, two baths, a fridge with some food and beer in it, and a bathroom with a toothbrush, razor, and other essentials. Whoever owned this condo obviously came on a regular basis.

In the master he’d found a drawer full of summer clothes and, in the master bath, a rack of beach caps.

Bone knew that the owner could show up at any moment, but he doubted he or she would come at two in the morning. Turning as few lights on as possible, Bone began to go about his work.

First he took scissors and began to cut his hair. When he had all of the chunky parts off, he took the razor and shampoo and shaved his head. The entire process took an hour. Then after a quick shower, he applied the scissors to his beard. Then the razor. When he was done, he looked like Mr. Clean. He put on a pair of loose-fitting athletic shorts he’d found in the clothes drawer and an extralarge T-shirt that read “The Back Porch.” Then, heading into the kitchen, Bone made himself two peanut butter sandwiches and wolfed them down in less than three minutes. He cleaned up his mess and then went into the bedroom and allowed himself to sleep for two hours on the bed. Before the sun started to rise, he locked the unit back up and returned to the storage closet.