by Bill H Myers
Still holding the bat, Chance took two steps back. He frowned and said, “I wasn't driving the Corvette. I wasn't even in it when it hit you. I can prove it.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
“You can prove you weren't in the Corvette?”
“I can. But we need to get something clear first.”
We were still standing in the foyer outside of Chance's condo. He was still holding a baseball bat.
He pointed it toward my head and said, “If you came up here to hurt me, you made a mistake. You stepped into my home without my permission. I have a right to use deadly force to protect myself.”
I held up both hands and said, “Chance, the last thing I want to do is hurt you. You and I both have had a run of bad luck. You wrecking your friend's car and me being in the motorhome you ran into.
“But it looks like you came out way better than me. You were able to walk away from the crash. I wasn't. I spent ten days in the hospital and have a month of recovery in front of me.
“You still have a place to live in; I don't. The motorhome was my home. Now that you've destroyed it, I’m homeless. And it's your fault.
“Since it was you who destroyed my home and almost killed me, the question is are you going to man up and cover the damages?
“Fifty thousand ought to do it.”
Chance shook his head and chuckled. “You don't get it, do you? I wasn't driving the Vette. It wasn't me that crashed into you. I can prove it. But like I said, you have to promise me two things before I show you the proof.
“First, you have to promise you're not going to hurt me. Because if you try, I'll get my gun and we'll see where it goes from there.”
I didn't see a gun, but just in case he had one, I said, “I didn't come here to hurt you. I just want to find the truth.”
He pointed at my head again, this time without the baseball bat. “Sorry about the black eye. I shouldn't have punched you. I was having a bad day. That's no excuse. I shouldn't have done it.”
His apology caught me off guard. He was supposed to be a bad guy, someone who beat up on women. But now he was being nice. I couldn't figure out why, but I didn't let my guard down. “Okay, so I've agreed not to hurt you, even though you sucker punched me. What's the second thing you want me to promise?”
Chance looked around like he was undecided about whether he should tell me the second thing or not.
Eventually, he made up his mind. “You have to promise never to repeat or tell anyone what I'm going to show you. No matter what you think about me, you absolutely cannot tell anyone.
“Think before you answer because this is serious. You let it slip, and it could ruin innocent lives. It could hurt people who had nothing to do with the crash. Unless you can give me your word, I'm not going to show you the proof, and you can leave right now.”
I was still pretty sure that Chance was driving the Vette, but if he had proof that showed otherwise, I wanted to see it. Even if it meant I couldn’t share what he showed me with anyone else.
“Okay, I promise I won't tell anyone. You have my word.”
Chance nodded and said, “Come inside; there's something I want you to see.”
He stepped into the living room of his condo and walked over to a small desk. On the desk were a keyboard and a joystick, above them a widescreen computer monitor showing six different camera views. Each had the date and time across the bottom.
He pointed at the display and asked, “You know what that is?”
“Yeah, your security camera feeds.”
“Good, so you'll understand what we'll be looking at.”
He then asked, “What day was the accident?”
I told him, and he entered the date on the keyboard. The monitor view changed, showing six separate camera images, each date-stamped with the date of the accident.
Two of the cameras showed the parking area, one showed the ground floor elevator foyer, another showed the top floor foyer. Another was a view of the balcony of the living room. The last camera showed two people sleeping in a bed.
Chance pointed at the one showing the bed. “Watch that one.”
He fast forwarded until the time stamp was six am, the day of the crash.
The video showed one of the people getting up out of the bed, a man about Chance's age. He stood, stretched and then walked away. The other person didn't get up.
Chance fast forwarded to seven o’clock.
He pointed to the screen. “That's me in bed. Still there at seven in the morning.
“What time was the crash?”
“The police report said it happened at eight forty-seven.”
Chance nodded. “OK, let's see what I was doing at eight forty-seven that morning.”
He fast forwarded the video until it got to eight forty and then set it to normal speed. It showed Chance sitting in bed talking on the phone. There was no doubt it was him.
“See, I told you I could prove it wasn't me. I was still at home when you got hit.”
If I believed what I saw on the video, it did prove he couldn’t have been driving the Vette. But maybe it was a trick.
“You could have altered the video. You could have changed the date.”
He looked at me and asked, “Do I look like someone who has the computer skills to alter the time stamp on a security system like this? If I could, don't you think I would have deleted the parts showing who my guest was that evening?”
I hadn't gotten a good look at his bed mate. I could see it was a man but not someone I recognized.
“Okay, you weren't the driver. Who was? Was it your guest? He left early enough. He could have been driving.”
Chance scrolled the video back to when his guest had left his bed. He paused on the frame that showed his guest's face.
“That's Chippy. The guy whose father owns the Vette. We had taken it to a club in Sarasota the night before. We stayed until around eleven and then came back here. I couldn't find the remote to open the gates, so we parked the Vette next door and came up here.
“Chippy spent the night and left early the next morning, with the Vette.”
He paused, and when he did, I asked the obvious question.
“So are you saying it was Chippy who was driving? According to the police, he has an alibi. They say he was in New York that day.”
Chance nodded. “They're right; he was in New York. When he left my place, he went to the Venice Airport, where his father's private jet was waiting. He boarded and flew to LaGuardia.
“He arrived there around ten. You can check the flight records. They'll show I'm telling the truth.”
I nodded. “So now you're saying Chippy took the Corvette to the airport and left for New York soon after. Which means neither one of you was driving. If I believe that, the question is who was?”
Chance went to his keyboard and pressed a key. The monitor above it switched back to real time. He stood and said, “If you want to know who was driving, find out who took Chippy to the airport; they were supposed to bring the car back to his place and leave it there.
“Apparently, they didn't.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chance's video pretty much convinced me that neither he nor Chipster was driving the Vette when it crashed into me.
But I had a question for Chance. “Why were your keys found in the Vette?”
He smiled and said, “That's the set I gave Chippy. When he's in town, he usually stays with me. He keeps those keys in his car so he can get in here when I'm not home.”
It sounded plausible, and since I didn't want to know more about Chance and Chippy's relationship, I moved on to another question. “What about the remote found on the beach? How'd it get there?”
Chance looked confused and didn't answer right away. Then he asked, “What remote? What beach?”
I answered quickly. “The remote to the Vette. It was found on the beach in front of the reality house.”
He shook his head. “I don't know anything about that. I sur
e didn't put it there.”
It was getting close to eleven. I needed to call Abby and let her know about Chance's innocence before she met at his father's office. But I had one last question.
“You said you didn't know who drove Chip's Vette back from the airport. What about who picked him up that morning? That should be on your video, right?”
He shook his head. “It should be, but it isn't. I went through all the parking lot footage and didn't see anyone come in.
“Then I remembered Chip's Vette was parked next door, where we left it the night before. It was out of range of my parking cam.
“I checked the elevator cam to see if it showed his driver, but it didn’t. Either the driver knew where the security cameras were, and stayed out of range, or he waited for Chippy in the other parking lot.”
Chance looked at his iWatch and then back to me. “I'm glad we've had this little talk, but I need to get ready for today's shoot. It's time for you to go.”
He led me to the elevator. As the doors were closing, I asked, “Do you know who was driving?”
He smiled and said, “You're a smart guy. You'll figure it out.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Back on the ground floor, when the elevator doors opened, Taylor was nowhere in sight. Looking around, I saw that she was hiding behind one of the support columns, just out of the camera's view.
She whispered, “Come on; let's go.”
I walked over, and she said, “I was just about to call to find out what happened to you. I saw the elevator doors close and didn't know if you were locked in or if the elevator was going up on its own or not. Chance could have seen you coming and might have been waiting for you when the doors opened.
“You were gone a long time. Tell me what happened.”
I smiled and pointed toward the hall that led back out to the beach. “Let's go. I need to get back to the house and make a call. I'll tell you everything on the way.”
She nodded, and as we headed to the beach, she made sure to stay out of the range of the security cameras.
As soon as we hit the sand, she stopped and said, “Tell me what happened.”
I took a deep breath. “Not until we get to the car. We have to hurry because I need to call Abby.”
We moved along the edge of the beach, avoiding the sun seekers sprawled out on their towels, and made good time getting to the Miata.
When we got in, Taylor demanded, “Tell me what happened. Did you talk to Chance?”
I pointed out the windshield and said, “Drive. Get me home.”
She started the Miata, put it in first gear, and headed back to the house. I figured we'd be there in five minutes. Maybe sooner.
I gave her the short version of what happened after I stepped in the elevator. “Chance was home. He was waiting for me with a baseball bat when the doors opened. He wanted to know why I was trespassing.
“I told him I was bringing his keys back and that I thought he was driving the Vette when it hit me.
“That's when he laughed and claimed he wasn't the driver. He said he didn't know who was, but it wasn't him.
“I didn't believe him, but he showed me something that proved he couldn't have been. He had an airtight alibi, one that I couldn't punch any holes in.
“That was pretty much the extent of our conversation. I gave him the keys and left.”
Taylor wanted to know more. “He claimed he wasn't driving? And you believed him?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that's what he said. I'm pretty sure he was telling the truth.”
She shook her head. “I don't know. Everything adds up to him being the driver. But if it wasn't him, who did he say it was?”
“He didn't say. He just said, 'You'll figure it out.' I don’t know what he meant by that. I'm not sure I'll figure it out or whether I want to or not. There really is no point in finding out who was driving.
“They were probably drunk or on drugs and didn't do it on purpose. They didn't plan to crash. It just happened.”
I shrugged.
Taylor kept asking questions. “So did you tell him you were almost killed?”
“Yeah, I told him. He said he felt bad but it wasn't his fault. He wasn't driving.”
“Did you really give his keys back?”
“I did. I figured the keys weren't going to do me any good. I didn't have any reason to go back to his place. Me keeping them would just create problems. So I gave them back.
Taylor nodded but didn't say anything. She just kept driving.
Three minutes later, we got to our house. As I reached for the door handle to get out of the Miata, I turned to her and said, “I need to call Abby. You mind waiting out here?”
“No, not at all. I've got a call I need to make.”
I headed for the door and saw that FedEx had dropped off two packages, both from the insurance company. One would have a twenty-thousand-dollar check in it, the other a contract for ten thousand more if I signed it.
I opened the front door and dropped the packages on the kitchen counter and immediately called Abby.
She answered on the third ring. Without even saying hello, she asked, “Did the keys fit?”
I could have given her a long, drawn out answer, telling her all about my meeting with Chance. Instead, I just said, “The keys did fit. I went up to his place, and we had a little chat.”
She interrupted me. “You didn't hurt him, did you? Tell me you didn't get into a fight again?”
“No Abby, I didn't get into a fight. And I didn't hurt him. Like I said, we had a little chat, and he proved that there was no way he could have been driving the Vette. He said he felt bad about the accident, but he wasn't responsible and wasn't going to pay for damages.”
“You believed him?”
“Yes, I did. He showed me a video from his security camera that proved he couldn't have been driving the Vette. Boudin's son couldn't have been driving either.
“He claimed he didn't know who was but said I'd figure it out. After our little chat, I gave him his house keys and left.”
There was a pause on the line, and after a moment, Abby said, “Well, I guess it's good that I didn't get a chance to confront his father. His assistant canceled our meeting, saying that something had come up.
“But I did get something; a free night at the casino the guy owns and a hundred-dollar casino credit. I didn’t even have to ask. They offered it as soon as I got there, giving me the feeling they wanted me to leave town.
“I plan to do just that. I'm heading to Atlantic City tonight. I'll catch a flight back to Florida tomorrow.”
When she paused to take a breath, I asked, “Any news on Bob? Anyone call saying they found him?”
She didn't hesitate with her answer. “I've gotten a lot of calls, mostly from people wanting to know if I wanted a replacement cat, but none from anyone who sounded like they’d really seen him.”
She paused then said, “Walker, it's been almost two weeks. You may not find him. Prepare yourself.”
I started to tell her she was wrong, that I would find Bob alive, but before I could, she said, “They've just called my flight. I need to go.”
She ended the call, and I put my phone away. I'd forgotten to ask her about the FedEx packages. The day before, she'd said not to sign the contract before she saw it. She'd said something about how signing might mess up her planned meeting.
But since her meeting had been canceled, I saw no reason not to sign. I ripped open the envelope, looked over the one-page contract and signed a copy.
I slid it into the envelope and sealed it up.
I knew there was a FedEx drop box in the Walmart parking lot next to the Verizon store. If I went there, I could send the package and go to Verizon and get my busted phone replaced.
I grabbed the broken phone and the FedEx package and went outside to talk to Taylor.
She was leaning against her car, her back to me. Phone in hand, I heard her say, “That's the story we have to stick to. I'll ma
ke sure he does.”
She ended the call.
When she turned back around and saw me, she said, “Everything good, boss?”
Chapter Fifty
The FedEx drop point was about seven miles from our beach house. Taylor had agreed to take me there, and we were sitting side by side in the cramped cabin of her Miata. She was driving.
She hadn't asked me about my phone call, and I hadn't asked her about hers. I didn't know who she was calling, but it sounded like they agreed on something.
Usually, during snowbird season, the road from the beach on Manasota Key into Venice is crowded, all the beach goers in a hurry to stake out their place on the sand and the locals going into town to get away from the crowds.
Some days, though, when the weather threatens rain, the snowbirds will stay away from the beach, not wanting to get caught when storms with lightning roll in.
It was one of those days. Dark clouds were starting to pile up over the gulf. The wind was pushing them in our direction.
Taylor pointed to the sky. “It's going to rain. That means they're not shooting today. That's why Chance was home.”
I nodded. What she'd said made sense. They didn't want their camera crew and their expensive equipment on the beach when a storm rolled in. They'd wait for a better day; one with sunshine and blue skies.
I didn't mind the rain. In fact, I liked it. It cleansed the air and washed away some of the grime from the beaches. On hot days, it cooled things down, at least until the humidity built back up.
The rain was still holding off when we reached the FedEx drop point in the Walmart shopping center. Taylor pulled up to the drop box, close enough for me to put the package in without having to get out of her car.
After I dropped it off, Taylor turned to me and asked, “Where to next, boss?”
I showed her my busted phone and said, “Take me to the Verizon store. It's in this same parking lot.”
I'd gone long enough without a reliable phone. The burner that Abby had left me with didn't have internet and couldn't connect to my old phone's voice or text messages.