Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(65)
“It’s gone,” he said, already pushing the buttons for 911 on his phone.
47
The Sleepy Head Inn was not Lawrenceburg’s finest hotel. Not by any stretch. But Bone had done the owner a favor a few years back and in return been granted a free room for the rest of his life. As there were no security cameras in the place, it made for a good arrangement.
Rarely did Bone trade his services for anything but money, but a place to stay when he ran into a snag was a valuable commodity. And like several times in the past, it was paying dividends tonight.
There were twelve rooms at The Sleepy Head, and all were decorated with the same decor. Queen-size bed, an archaic desk with a wobbly chair, and a bathroom. All units were saturated with the smell of lemon disinfectant.
Bone sat in the chair, watching Dr. George Curtis, who stood by the door. He was a thin man with pale skin and soft and pasty features. He wore glasses, and his hair was balding on top with a thin layer of silver on the sides. Dressed casually in jeans and a golf shirt, the doctor looked awkward and nervous. Adding to this impression was the fact that George’s hands were shaking so bad that he had to grab his left with his right every few seconds.
“Doctor, it is nice to finally meet you. Larry speaks highly of you.”
“L-L-Larry shouldn’t have spoken of me at all,” George said.
Bone shrugged. “Well, maybe he didn’t. I can’t remember what I hear and don’t hear anymore.” He paused. “Tell me what happened.”
George pointed toward the bathroom, where the door was closed and the sound of running water could be heard. “Sssh . . . she showed up this morning, asking to see me. She talked to my receptionist, and Dabsey wrote her name down on the guest list.” George paused, wiping his mouth with a shaky hand. “The police have been going by stores and offices, showing her picture and telling us all to be on the lookout for a lady named Martha Booher. If my receptionist wasn’t overworked and ditzy as hell, I’m sure she would’ve caught it. She didn’t mention anything today, but I won’t be surprised if it eventually hits her.” George rubbed his eyes, which Bone noticed were bloodshot from either stress or sleep deprivation. Probably both, he surmised, stifling a smile. George Curtis was clearly not someone who had spent a lot of time talking to people like the Bone.
“Anyway,” George continued, “Martha hid at my house the rest of the day, which luckily is just a couple doors down from the office. Once it was dark and most of the lights were out on the street, we headed this way.”
“Do you know how Martha got on the police radar?” Bone asked, thinking he knew the answer but wanting confirmation.
George shook his head. “No. But they’ve been passing her name and picture around for a few weeks.” He swallowed. “They’ve also been passing around your name and picture.”
Bone smiled. “Does mine look like this?” he asked, gesturing at himself with two thumbs.
George shook his head. “No. You have hair in the photograph. And you look younger in the picture.” When his right hand began to shake again, Curtis clasped it with his left and took a deep breath. “Mr. Wheeler, I think it’s time to call everything off. Things have gotten . . .” He swallowed again, staring down at the green vinyl carpet. Bone again stifled a smile. “Out of control. The police are so close now, I think it may be time to abort the mission.”
Bone slowly shook his head. “I’m not going to abort. I’ve come too far and expended too much energy.”
George shook his head violently, stepping closer to Bone. He almost sat on the bed, then hesitated and remained standing. “Bo is going down anyway, Mr. Wheeler. Helen Lewis is going to convict him of capital murder, and he’ll eventually be lethally injected in a few years. You were just an insurance policy, and I think it’s time we abort.”
“No can do, Doc,” Bone said, standing from the chair. “Bocephus Haynes has cost me a lot of money over the last fourteen months, and he’s going down. And with any luck I’m going to kill his lawyers. Drake and McMurtrie. I owe them one too.”
“Mr. Wheeler, you are a contract killer. We hired you. You work for us, and I’m telling you to abort.”
“Wrong, Doc. The Bone works for himself, and you agreed to pay me for something I was planning to do anyway. I am not going to walk away.” He paused and pulled his .38 out of his waist and pointed it at George Curtis. “Now . . . you can help me finish the game we started, or”—he cocked the pistol—“you can see what’s at the other end of this barrel.”
The bathroom door squeaked open, and Martha Booher stepped out. George’s eyes, wild with fear, glanced at her and held as she walked past Bone and lay on the bed. She was naked. “Doctor,” she said, “I believe I would like that physical now.”
“I’d like to go,” George said, turning back to Bone.
“Not before we come up with a plan,” Bone said. “I can’t take Haynes while he’s sitting in a jail cell, and it’s too risky to follow him, because he’ll likely have a police escort to the courthouse and anywhere else he’s taken over the weekend or during trial. I can’t risk being seen downtown either, as while that photo isn’t great, it’s good enough that someone might make the connection. Plus Pulaski is a small town, and I’m a stranger.” Bone paused. “Any ideas, Doc?”