John Grisham - The Whistler

Lacy, way out of her league, asked, “Who bought it?”

“Can’t say, ma’am, and really don’t know. Don’t think he ever gave a name, just wanted the car and had the cash. Happens all the time. These guys’ll buy a wreck and sell off the parts. Never seen this dude before.”

“And there are no records?”

Bo laughed and his boss grinned at her ignorance. The boss said, “No, ma’am. Once a car is totaled and the title is invalidated, no one cares what happens to it. Cash sales are not unusual in this business.”

She wasn’t sure what to ask next. She assumed they were telling the truth. She looked at the acres of wrecked vehicles and realized that a search would be fruitless.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the boss said and walked away.

–

The text from Verna read “You wanna talk?”

They exchanged a few more messages and agreed on a time.

Lacy arrived at the Hatch home after dinner. Verna was alone with the kids. The older two were doing homework at the kitchen table. Pippin and the toddler were asleep. Verna said the house had not been that quiet since before Hugo died. They sipped green tea on the patio and watched fireflies in the darkness. Verna was relieved that the relatives had finally cleared out, though her mother would be back tomorrow to help with Pippin. Verna was exhausted but sleeping more. She still awoke with the dream that Hugo was with her, but managed to work her way back to reality. With four kids she did not have the luxury of proper mourning. Life was not slowing down.

She said, “I got the life insurance check today, so the pressure is off, for now anyway.”

“That’s great, Verna.”

“We’ll be okay for a year or so, but I’ll have to find a job. Hugo made sixty thousand a year and we never saved a dime. I need to bury some of this money for the future, for the kids.”

She wanted to talk, and she wanted a listener who was not in the family. Her degree from FSU was in public health, and she’d been a social worker for a year or so before her first pregnancy. After the third, she put away any thoughts of a career. She said, “I like the thought of a job. I’ve been a full-time mother for a long time now and I’m ready for a change. Hugo and I talked about this often and we had decided that as soon as Pippin was in preschool I would go back to work. Maybe with two salaries we could swing a bigger house, maybe start saving for the kids. Hugo was so supportive, Lacy. He had the big ego and all that, he couldn’t help it, but he was not threatened by a working wife.”

Lacy listened and nodded. Verna had talked of a career a dozen times.

Verna took a sip of tea and closed her eyes for a moment. She snapped out of it with “Can you believe I’ve already had folks asking me for money? So far two of Hugo’s cousins hung around here long enough to ask for a loan. I said hell no and got rid of them, but they’ll be back. What is it about people that makes them do horrible things like that, Lacy?”

The question couldn’t be answered. Lacy responded with “I don’t know.”

Verna said, “I got way too many people giving me advice these days. Even before the funeral everybody knew I was getting a hundred thousand in life insurance and some of these leeches were already trying to worm their way in. I’m sick of them, really. Not my mom or my sisters, but some of these cousins, some of these folks Hugo and I have barely seen in the past five years.”

“Geismar said there were some lawyers in the house, plotting lawsuits.”

“I got rid of them too. One big mouth said I could collect from the insurance policy that covered the stolen truck. Turns out that’s not the case. When a vehicle is stolen like that, the policy becomes void, at least as far as liability. Lots of big lawsuits got kicked around. One was against Toyota for the faulty air bag and seat belt, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Got a question, Lacy. When you and Hugo drove to the casino that night, was his seat belt working?”

“Not really. He complained because it wouldn’t stay latched. This had never happened before. He fiddled around with it and several times got it to click into place, but something was wrong with it.”

“You think someone tampered with it?”

“I do, Verna. I believe the air bag was disarmed and the seat belt was somehow compromised.”

“And the accident was not an accident?”

“No, it was not. We were deliberately hit by a truck that weighed twice as much as the Prius.”

“But why? You gotta tell me, Lacy. I deserve to know what’s going on.”

“I’ll tell you as much as I can, but you must promise to keep it quiet.”

“Come on, Lacy. You know me.”

“Do you have a lawyer?”

“Yes. One of Hugo’s friends from law school is handling everything. I trust him.”

“Okay, but not even he needs to know the story, not now.”

“Tell me, please.”

–

It was almost ten when Roderick opened the door and said, “Mom, Pippin’s crying.”

Verna quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks and said, “Well, what a surprise. That child.”

As the women stood and walked inside, Lacy said, “I’ll stay tonight, okay? I’ll take care of Pippin and maybe we can talk some more.”

“Thank you, Lacy. I have some more questions.”

“I’m sure you do.”

The meeting took place in the FBI’s Tallahassee office, a ten-minute walk from BJC. The supervisor was an unsmiling career man named Luna, and from the moment they gathered around his wide conference table he seemed to doubt the importance of the meeting. To his right was a handsome and affable special agent named Pacheco, mid-thirties, no wedding band, and eyes that seemed to swallow Lacy the moment they said hello. At the far end of the table, as if needed but not really wanted, was the third agent, Hahn. Lacy faced Luna and Pacheco, with Geismar to her right.

She began with “First, thanks for your time. We know you’re busy and this will not be quick. Do we have time constraints here?”

Luna shook his head and said, “No. We’re listening.”

“Good. On the phone yesterday I asked you about a man named Vonn Dubose. We’re curious as to whether you know anything about him.”

Pacheco picked up a sheet of paper and said, “Yes, well, not much. Dubose has no criminal record, state or federal. The Catfish Mafia, or Coast Mafia as it came to be, has been known to us for a long time. I think you have its history. A small gang with a colorful past, but nothing of record here in Florida. About twenty years ago a man by the name of Duncan was caught with a truckload of marijuana near Winter Haven. DEA suspected he was working for an organized group, probably the same Coast Mafia, but they got nowhere because Duncan wouldn’t talk or negotiate. He served a long sentence and was paroled three years ago. Never said a word. That’s about it. As far as the man known as Vonn Dubose, we have yet to find anything.”

Luna added, “So as far as we’re concerned, there’s really no outfit known as the Coast Mafia. We spend our time these days focusing on known entities-al-Qaeda, narco-traffickers, nice guys like that.”

Lacy said, “Okay. We have an informant who we’ve grudgingly come to believe is telling the truth. He’s a former lawyer, a convicted felon, and he seems to know where the bodies are buried. Not literally, of course, but he’s convinced there is an organized gang with Dubose firmly in control. The informant contacted us about two months ago.”

Pacheco asked, “This is Greg Myers?”

“Yes, that’s the name in the complaint I sent over yesterday. But that’s a new name, not his real one. According to Myers, Vonn Dubose and his brother got shot up in a bad drug deal many years ago in south Florida. The brother died. Vonn did not. No record of that?”