Darker Than Any Shadow

Chapter Twenty-six

I found the storage facility with no problem—it was located right off I-285, a bright set of interconnected buildings surrounded by thick woods. This was a common sight in Atlanta. Little forests dotted the city, sometimes with a single skyscraper jutting from the middle, verdant green mingled with steel.

But that was the end of my success. One look at the facility’s website told me I wouldn’t be doing any surreptitious snooping. Each unit had an individual door alarm, plus there were multiple video surveillance cameras. You needed either an entry code to get through the gate, or a ladder to get over the eight-foot-tall barbed-wire security fence. I had neither.

I’d given up and was returning to my car when I heard footsteps coming from the woods. The voice that came with them was rough. “You looking for something?”

A disheveled man rounded the corner. He wore a dirty checkered camp shirt and khaki shorts. Flips flops too, thick ones that looked like tire rubber.

“Maybe. Are you the manager?”

He laughed. Deep in the woods behind him, I saw a camouflage pup tent.

He followed my gaze. “It’s better than those places in the city. They’ll rob you blind there.”

“I can imagine.” I took out my photograph of Lex. “Any chance you’ve seen this guy?”

“That guy, sure. He’s hard to miss. But I haven’t seen him in a while. The woman, however, that’s a different story.”

“What woman?”

He smiled. “I’ll tell you for something to eat. It’s tough remembering things on an empty stomach.”

“What do you want?”

“Krispy Kremes. A dozen.”

“I’ve got an orange in my car.”

He shook his head. “Krispy Kremes. Fresh ones, mind you.”

***

So I drove back into town, got a dozen glazed to go, hot and still semi-solid from their dip in the oil. One whiff, and I made it a dozen and two and added a coffee. Then I made it two coffees to show my gratitude, throwing a handful of napkins in as well. I figured homeless guys could always use napkins.

When I got back to the facility, the guy was sitting beside his tent. He ate two doughnuts in about thirty seconds.

“So this woman?” I prompted.

“Chopped-up brown hair, thick glasses, weird scarf,” he said around a mouthful of doughnut. “Kinda wishy-washy, not like you. You’re a hoss.”

He grinned. This was obviously a compliment.

“Was her name Debbie?”

“Didn’t get a name. She was in a hurry, got out of a taxi and drove this van right out. Manager made her. He said she wasn’t allowed to have live animals in there.”

“Animals like in snakes?”

He shrugged. “Never saw no snake, just heard them arguing about it.”

“When was this?”

“Last night. That guy brought the car in Thursday of last week. The woman came and got it today.”

“When today?”

“Couple of hours ago. She told somebody on the phone that she had a place and told them to meet her there.”

“Did you catch a name?”

“Yeah, strange name. Starts with P.”

“Padre?”

The man made a noise. “Not that strange. More like Perry.”

That didn’t ring a bell. “Did she say where they were meeting?”

“Some gallery.”

Oh boy, was this starting to make sense—the storage space was air-conditioned, a perfect place to keep an animal away from prying eyes. But why would you need to hide an animal, even a snake? I didn’t know that yet, but I had an idea where to start finding the answer.

“Here,” I said, “have a coffee. You’ve earned it.”

He made a face. “Coffee? You’re kidding, right? It’s hotter than the devil’s armpit out here.”

***

When I got to Frankie’s gallery, the CLOSED sign was up and the lights out. I parked and walked around back. The pavement reeked heat, and the sun was so bright I had to shield my eyes, even with sunglasses on. And then I saw it—a navy blue Suburban, blatantly sitting there like the plum in the pudding, doors wide open.

I looked around. The parking area was deserted, the silence broken only by the hum of air conditioners. I pulled the least sticky napkin I could find out of my bag, grabbed the back door handle, and hoisted myself up.

Inside, a rattletrap collection of knickknacks greeted me—coffee mugs, cross stitch samplers, a tin of silverware. I saw a shopping bag full of jewelry boxes too—long skinny boxes for necklaces, square ones for brooches and bracelets, ring boxes. The sundries weren’t all peachy-pink innocent, however. A pair of handcuffs dangled from a hook, along with a red satin blindfold tufted with feathers.

Omigod, I thought, it’s an S&M yard sale.

I snapped a couple of photos with my phone. A rolled-up sleeping bag rested in the front seat alongside a closed suitcase. On the floorboard, I saw a gallon of water in a plastic jug, plus empty food containers and dozens of energy drink cans. Lex had obviously been living in it.

I kept taking pictures, searching for anything that might store data, but coming up short. And then I saw what looked like a casket covered with a tarp. I took a deep breath and smelled cedar shavings. I lifted the tarp with two fingers and peeked underneath.

It concealed a rodent hutch, complete with water dispenser and pellet-filled food bowl. But no rodents—no rabbits, no guinea pigs, no chinchillas. I’d barely framed it in my viewfinder when a voice interrupted me.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I spun around. Debbie stood at the door, grimy and disheveled, red-faced and sweaty. Splotches of dirt spotted her mini-dress and cowboy boots. She wore a different scarf this time, purple with fuzzy pom-poms, but it was as dirty as the rest of her.

She squinted at me. “I know you.”

I jumped down. “I know you too. But this is my first introduction to Lex’s SUV.”

“Get off my property!”

“It’s not your property, it’s Frankie’s, but since you still have Mom and Dad to answer to, I suppose it’s your only option for hiding this here vehicle.”

She snatched out her phone. “I’m calling the cops!”

“You don’t really want to do that, do you? I mean, there’s a dead man’s missing car sitting right here.”

“Lex left it to me. Nothing illegal about that.”

“There is if the cops don’t know about it.”

She slammed the door. “So? I’ll point out how this here vehicle has your fingerprints all over it!”

“It does not!”

She waved at the napkin in my hand. “You think that little shred of paper is foolproof? You think maybe your hair and skin and spit all stayed put while you were in there?”

“That’s not spit, it’s glaze!”

She glared. I glared. She didn’t want me to call the cops. I didn’t want her to call them either, since I didn’t want to explain why my fingerprints and DNA and doughnut glaze were maybe all over the inside of a dead man’s car.

I saw the open door to the gallery. She’d been unloading things from his van into the still-dark shop. And there was only one reason I could think of to hide a cargo hold full of merchandise.

“It’s all stolen, isn’t it? Every single thing in there.”

She got out her cell phone. “I’m calling the cops.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s going to get you in more trouble than me.”

“You’re the one sneaking around on private property.”

She stood there, finger on the send button. I held up my hands.

“Fine. I’m going. But I want you to think about one thing, and think about it hard. Lex is dead, and whatever he was into, chances are good it got him killed. So yeah, you might actually want to call the cops. They might be your last best hope.”

She glared at me and slammed the door to the gallery. Then I heard the deadbolt click into place.

***

I sat in my car, staring at the phone. Oh boy, had I gotten myself into a mess. And damn skippy, I needed some help getting out of it. But how could I explain this to Trey, the original dyed-in-the-wool straight arrow? Every now and then, the curtain over the front window would part and Debbie would glare at me. She made no move to leave, however.

Fifteen minutes into my surveillance, I saw a silver sedan pull up to the front door. A man in khakis and a golf shirt got out. He pushed his way into the gallery, and I slumped down in the seat as far as I could. Shit shit shit.

I took a deep breath and punched in Trey’s number.