John Grisham - The Whistler

Back in the air, with Gunther occupied with flying, Lacy opened the courier bag. She pulled out Myers’s thin laptop and turned it on, but was stopped at the pass code. She found a prepaid cell phone and some files. One contained the boat’s registration, to a company in the Bahamas, along with warranties, operating procedures, and a thick stack of fine print about insurance. Another file was filled with old cases involving corrupt judges. Lacy found not a single word about McDover, the Tappacola, Cooley, the mole, or herself. The backpack was just as clean; nothing but old research and newspaper clippings about Ramsey Mix, a.k.a. Greg Myers. Evidently, he kept the current materials somewhere onshore, at least the written ones. She suspected his laptop was loaded with evidence that could have been devastating in the wrong hands.

When they landed in Tallahassee, Lacy was hoping Gunther might simply stay on the plane and continue back to Atlanta. Apparently, that never crossed his mind. As they drove to her apartment, it became clear that Gunther now considered himself an active member of the BJC investigative team. He planned to stay a few more days, to keep an eye on his sister.

Lacy called Geismar again with a full update. They agreed to meet early Monday morning. Late in the afternoon, as Gunther paced around her terrace calling one partner or lawyer or accountant or banker after another, Lacy was returning e-mails when she got a surprise from Allie Pacheco. His text was simply “Got time for a drink?”

She responded, “Unofficial, after hours, no business?”

He replied, “Of course.”

But business was exactly what she had in mind. She invited him to her apartment, warned him that her brother was there and that things would not be that private.

Pacheco arrived in shorts and a polo at 7:30. Lacy poured him a beer and introduced him to Gunther, who wanted to grill him. The unofficial status of the little rendezvous lasted for about five minutes, until Gunther blurted, “We gotta talk about Myers.”

Pacheco put down his glass, looked at Lacy, and asked, “Okay, what’s up with Myers?”

“He’s been missing for five days,” she said. “That’s his laptop on the counter. We got it off his boat this morning in Key Largo.”

“It’s a long story,” Gunther said.

Pacheco stared at both of them. He raised both hands, showed them his palms, said, “This is way off-limits, okay? Tell me all you can tell me, then I’ll decide what to do with it.”

Gunther was remarkably quiet as Lacy told the story.

–

Sipping his second beer, Pacheco finally said, “The boat needs to be secured, and to do that the police need to be notified. There’s no federal issue here, not yet anyway, so we can’t do it.”

“But you can notify the police, right?” Lacy asked. “I’d rather not make the call, because then I would have to answer a lot of questions. I’d rather not have my name attached to a missing person case.”

“You’re already attached to it because you have his laptop and files.”

“But they have nothing to do with his disappearance.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what’s in the laptop. There may be a trail there, some reference to a meeting the day he disappeared.”

“Great,” Gunther said. “We’ll give it to you, everything, and you give it to the police. They’ll take things far more seriously if they’re notified by the FBI.”

“That might work,” Pacheco said. “Is there a chance Myers simply walked away? Given his past, and his present, that’s not completely far-fetched.”

Lacy said, “Sure, I’ve thought about it. Maybe something frightened him. Maybe he got tired of the boat, or the woman, or both, and decided to vanish. He was at least thinking about dropping the complaint. When he came here to my apartment, he offered to drop it and walk away. He was sorry about Hugo, blamed himself, and said he wished he’d never started all this. He could have ditched the records, scrubbed his computer, and hit the road.”

“You don’t believe that,” Gunther said.

“No, I don’t. I’ve had this conversation with Cooley, and he’ll never be convinced that Myers would run and hide again. Myers needs the money. He’s an ex-con who’s sixty years old and without much of a future. He was banking on a huge windfall from the whistle-blower statute. He knew that law inside and out and was already counting his money. He believed McDover and Dubose have stolen tens of millions and that a lot of the money can be recovered. I don’t know how he paid for the boat but he was very proud of it. He loved island hopping and puttering around the Keys. He was a happy guy about to strike it rich. So, no, I don’t think he walked away.”

Pacheco said, “Well, the disappearance is now five days old and the investigation has not even started. That makes for an awfully cold trail.”

“And there’s nothing the FBI can do?” Gunther asked.

“Not really. The locals have to go in first. If there’s a kidnapping or something like that, they could call us. But I doubt it. Frankly, I’d say the chances of finding Myers alive are pretty slim.”

“All the more reason to go after Dubose,” Lacy said.

“I agree, but I’m not making that decision.”

“How many more dead folks do you need?” Gunther asked.

“Again, it’s not my decision. Lacy can tell you that I would have jumped in a week ago.” Gunther stormed out of the room and returned to his terrace.

“Sorry,” Lacy said.

Pacheco had entered her apartment with thoughts of a pleasant drink with a pretty lady. He left with Myers’s courier bag and backpack and no clear idea of what to do next.

Lacy awoke early Monday morning with a new plan to get rid of her brother. It would take a trip to death row, a place he would not be welcome. And she would go by herself because the rules at BJC simply could not be bent enough to allow him to tag along. She rehearsed her story as the coffee brewed. She was pleasantly surprised when he appeared freshly showered and fully dressed. Not surprisingly, a deal was collapsing and he informed her he was needed at home. Indeed, he barely had enough time to devour a piece of toast before they hustled out the door and to her car. At the airport she thanked him again and made sure he promised to return. As the Beech lifted off, she smiled and took a deep breath and was thankful she was not on it.

At the office, she met with Michael and described in detail the trip to Key Largo. She detailed the contents of Myers’s courier bag and backpack, and explained that they, along with his laptop, were in the possession of the FBI.

“You met with the FBI?” Michael asked, irritated.

“Pacheco has the hots for me and he stopped by yesterday for a drink. One thing led to another, and, with Gunther’s eager assistance, we got around to discussing Myers. Pacheco agreed to contact the police and report him missing. He thought it best if the FBI had possession of the stuff from the boat.”

“Please tell me your brother is leaving town.”

“Already gone, left this morning.”

“Thank heavens. Please tell me, Lacy, that he can keep his mouth shut.”

“Don’t worry. No one in Atlanta cares, and, besides, he will always do what’s best for me. Relax.”

“Relax? This is the biggest case in our history and it’s collapsing on all fronts. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Killebrew.”

“No, and I don’t expect to. They have eighteen days left to respond, and I’m sure they’ll play it cool until the last minute. Any excitement on their part would be premature and might tip their hand. They’re too smart to contact us now. The subpoena was served last Friday and I’m sure they’re mulling it over.”