John Grisham - The Whistler

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

The door swung open and Hugo appeared. He said, “Sorry I’m late. Another rough night.” He tossed his briefcase on the table and took a sip from a tall coffee. “I would have been here sooner but I’ve been on the phone with a guy who won’t give me his name.”

Geismar nodded, waiting, still holding one of the photos. Lacy said, “Okay?”

“He called first around five this morning, a bit early but I just happened to be awake. Said he worked at the casino and had some information that might be useful. Said he knew we were investigating the tribe and the judge and he could help. I pressed a little and he hung up. About an hour ago, he called again, from a different number, and said he wanted to meet and talk about a deal. I asked what kind of deal and he got pretty vague. He said there was a lot of shady stuff going on and it was just a matter of time before it blew up. He’s a member of the tribe, knows the Chief and the folks who run the casino, and doesn’t want to get caught in the storm when it all hits the fan.”

Hugo was pacing around the room, as was his habit of late. Sitting made him sleepy.

Lacy said, “This could be interesting.”

Geismar fell into his swivel and locked his hands behind his head. “Nothing else?”

“No, but he wants to meet tonight. Said he works a late shift and is not free until after 9:00 p.m.”

“You think he’s for real?” Geismar asked.

“Who knows? He certainly sounded nervous and he used two different phones, probably disposable. He repeatedly asked me about secrecy and wanted to know how we can protect his identity. He said a lot of his people are fed up with the corruption but afraid to talk.”

“Where does he want to meet?” Lacy asked.

“He lives not far from the casino, on the reservation. He said he’ll find a spot and call us when we get close.”

“We gotta be careful here,” Geismar said. “This could be a setup.”

“I don’t think so,” Hugo said. “I got the impression I was talking to a guy who needs help and wants to help.”

“Which cell phone are you using?”

“BJC’s. I know the rules, Boss.”

“Okay, how did he get your number?” Geismar asked. “So far, in this investigation, who have you given your numbers to? Both of you.”

Hugo and Lacy looked at each other and tried to remember. She said, “Myers, Junior Mace, the authorities at the prison, Wilton Mace, Razko’s widow, Al Bennett, the lawyer who ran against McDover five years ago, Naylor at the Gaming Commission, and I think that’s it.”

“That’s all,” Hugo said. “Driving in, I asked myself the same question.”

“Sounds like enough to spring a leak,” Geismar said.

“But none of those people are even remotely involved with Dubose and the corruption,” Lacy said.

“As far as we know,” Hugo said.

“So, you want to go?” Geismar asked.

“Of course we’re going,” Lacy said.

Geismar stood and walked to his narrow window. He said, “This could be the break. Someone on the inside.”

“We’re going,” Lacy said.

“Okay, but please be careful.”

–

They sat in Lacy’s car at the far end of the casino parking lot until almost 11:00 p.m., waiting for the informant to check in. It was a Monday night, a slow evening at the tables and slots. Hugo, of course, catnapped while Lacy was online with her iPad. At 10:56, he called with directions. They left the casino, drove two miles along a dark, narrow, winding road, and stopped at an abandoned metal building. An ancient portable sign informed them that it had once been a bingo hall. One home was visible in the distance. The bright lights of Treasure Key were far away. The night was hot and sticky and thick with mosquitoes. Hugo got out of the car and stretched his legs. At six feet two and two hundred pounds, and still with the all-American’s cockiness, he did not scare easily. Lacy was comforted by his presence. She would not have made the trip alone. Hugo redialed the most recent number but there was no answer.

Something moved in the shadows along the side of the building. “Hello,” Hugo called into the darkness. Lacy got out of the car.

A voice said, “Take a few steps this way.” A silhouette was partially visible and not moving. The man was wearing a cap and the red ember of a cigarette moved back and forth from his mouth. Together they inched forward until he said, “That’s far enough. You’re not going to see my face.”

“Well, I guess you can see ours, right?” Hugo said.

“That’s far enough. You are Mr. Hatch, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Who’s the girl?”

“My name is Lacy Stoltz. We’re colleagues.”

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing a woman out here.”

“You didn’t ask,” Hugo shot back. “She’s my partner and we’re working together.”

“I don’t like this.”

“Too bad.”

A pause as he took a puff and sized them up. He cleared his throat, spat, and said, “I understand you’re hot on the trail of Judge McDover.”

“We work for the Florida Board on Judicial Conduct,” Lacy said. “We’re lawyers, not cops. Our job is to investigate complaints against judges.”

“That judge needs to be in prison, along with a bunch of others.” His voice was quick and nervous. He blew a lungful of smoke and the cloud drifted into the thick air.

“You said you work in the casino,” Hugo said.

A long pause, then, “That’s right. What do you know about the judge?”

Lacy said, “A complaint has been filed alleging some bad behavior. We’re not at liberty to go into details.”

“Bad behavior, huh?” he said and offered a nervous laugh. He flicked the cigarette to the ground, where it glowed for a second. “Can you guys arrest people or are you just, you know, like, sticking your noses into this business?”

Hugo said, “No, we don’t arrest people.”

Another nervous laugh from the shadows. “Then I’m wasting my time. I need to talk to somebody with some clout.”

Lacy said, “We have the authority to investigate and remove a judge if necessary.”

“The judge is not the biggest problem here.”

They waited for more but got nothing but silence. They strained to see the silhouette but it had apparently vanished. The man had eased away. Hugo took a few steps closer and said, “Are you there?” No response.

“That’s far enough,” Lacy whispered. “I think he’s gone.”

A few seconds passed in the uneasy stillness, and Hugo said, “I think you’re right.”

“I don’t like this. Let’s get out of here.”

They quickly opened their doors and got in the car. As she backed away, Lacy swept the side of the building with her headlights. No sign of anyone. She turned onto the road and headed in the direction of the casino. “Pretty strange,” Hugo said. “We could have had that conversation on the phone.”

Headlights approached in the distance.

“You think I scared him away?” she asked.

“Who knows? If he’s legit, then he’s thinking about passing on information that could ruin some people. Naturally, he’s reluctant. I guess he got cold feet and ran.”

Hugo tapped his waist and said, “This seat belt has come unlatched again. That’s the third time tonight. Why don’t you get it fixed?”

Lacy glanced over and was about to say something when Hugo screamed. Blinding lights were in their lane. A pickup truck had crossed the center line. The collision was head-on, bumper to bumper, with a force so violent that her Prius went airborne and spun 180 degrees. At six thousand pounds and twice the weight of the Prius, the truck, a Dodge Ram 2500, got the better end of the collision. It came to rest on the shoulder of the narrow road, its mangled front end almost in a shallow ditch.