John Grisham - The Whistler

“Who does his legal work?” Lacy asked.

“A small firm in Biloxi, a couple of tax lawyers who are skilled at dirty work. They’ve represented the Dubose gang for years.”

Lacy said, “It sounds as though Judge McDover is not afraid of Dubose.”

“Dubose is too smart to take out a judge, though I’m sure he’s thought about it. He needs her. She needs him. Think about it. You’re an ambitious and crooked real estate developer in Florida, plus you practically own a casino, which is illegal of course, so you need a lot of protection. What could be more valuable than having a well-respected judge in your back pocket?”

“This has RICO stamped all over it,” Hugo said.

“Yes, but we’re not going RICO, are we, Mr. Hatch? RICO is federal; federal is FBI. I don’t care what happens to Dubose. I want to bust Judge McDover so my client can collect a small fortune for blowing the whistle.”

“How small?” Lacy asked.

Myers finished a beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t know. I guess your job is to find out.” Carlita stepped up from the cabin and said, “Lunch is ready.”

Myers stood and said, “Please join me.”

Lacy and Hugo exchanged quick glances. They had been there for two hours, were starving and not sure where they would find lunch, but suddenly uncertain as to whether it was a good idea to eat on the boat. Myers, though, was already stepping below. “Come on, come on,” he said, and they followed him down into the cabin. Three places were set at a glass-top table in the cramped galley. An air conditioner somewhere was hard at work and the air was refreshingly cool. The smell of grilled fish hung heavy. Carlita scurried about, obviously delighted to have someone to cook for. She served a platter of fish tacos, poured sparkling water from a bottle, and asked if anyone wanted wine. No one did, and she disappeared deeper into the cabin.

Myers did not touch his food, but instead resumed his narrative. “This complaint is not the one I want to file. In this one I allege corruption only to the extent of the condos owned by Judge McDover in Rabbit Run. The real money in this little conspiracy is her portion of the monthly skim from the casino. That’s what I’m really after because it’s a gold mine for my client. If I can nail that down, I’ll amend the complaint. If not, there are sufficient allegations to get her removed from the bench, and probably indicted.”

“Do you mention the name of Vonn Dubose in the complaint?” Lacy asked.

“No. I refer to his corporations as ‘criminal entities.’ ”

“That’s original,” Lacy said.

“You got a better idea, Ms. Stoltz?” Myers shot back.

“Can we drop the Mister and Missus stuff ?” Hugo asked. “She’s Lacy. You’re Greg. I’m Hugo.”

“Fair enough.” All three took a bite, and as he chewed rapidly Myers kept talking, with his mouth barely closed. “A question. The statute says you have forty-five days from today to serve a copy of the complaint on Judge McDover. From now until then, you do your investigation, the, uh, what’s it called?”

“Assessment.”

“Right. Well, that worries me. I’m convinced these people have no idea that anyone is onto their enterprise, their dealings, and when Judge McDover gets a copy of this complaint she’ll be shocked. Her first phone call will be to Dubose, and at that point a lot of crazy stuff could start happening. She’ll lawyer up immediately, deny everything vehemently, and probably start moving assets around. Dubose will panic, circle the wagons, maybe even start looking for someone to intimidate.”

“Your question?”

“Okay, how long can you really wait before you lay this on her? How long can you stall? It seems to me it’s crucial to do as much investigating as possible before she knows you’re doing it.”

Lacy and Hugo studied each other. She shrugged and said, “We’re bureaucrats so we know how to stall. However, if she attacks the way you predict, her lawyers will nitpick everything. If we don’t follow the statute to the letter, they’ll push hard to dismiss the complaint.”

Hugo added, “Let’s play it safe and say we’ll have forty-five days to do our assessment.”

“That’s not enough time,” Myers said.

“That’s all we have,” Lacy said.

“What can you tell us about your mysterious client?” Hugo asked. “How does he know what he knows?”

Myers sipped some water and smiled. “Once again, you assume the person is a ‘he.’ ”

“Okay, what do you want to call him, or her?”

“There are only three links in our little chain. Me, the middleman who referred the client to me, and the client himself or herself. The middleman and I refer to the client as the mole. The mole could be male or female, old or young, black or white or brown, doesn’t really matter right now.”

Lacy said, “The mole? That’s not very original.”

“What difference does it make? You got a more descriptive name?”

“I guess it will have to do. How does the mole know so much?”

Myers crammed half a soft taco into his mouth and chewed slowly. The boat rocked in the wake of something larger out there. Finally, he said, “The mole is very close to Judge McDover, and is trusted implicitly by Her Honor. Trusted too much, it appears. That’s all I can say right now.”

After a gap in the conversation, Lacy said, “I have another question. You said these people, meaning Dubose and his gang, are very smart and use good lawyers. Obviously, McDover also needs a good lawyer to clean her share of the dirty money. Who does she hire?”

“Phyllis Turban, a trust and estate lawyer in Mobile.”

“Wow, the girls are getting a black eye in this story,” Lacy said.

“She and McDover were in law school together, both divorced with no children, and very close. So close that they might be more than just friends.”

They swallowed hard and digested this. Lacy said, “So to summarize the case so far, our target, Judge Claudia McDover, takes bribes from thugs, skims casino cash from the Indians, and somehow launders the money with the help of a very close friend who happens to be an estate lawyer.”

Myers smiled and said, “I’d say you’re on the right track. I need a beer. Anybody want a beer? Carlita!”

–

They left him on the pier, waving good-bye and promising to keep in touch. He had dropped hints about disappearing into even deeper cover, now that the complaint was filed and would soon cause trouble. Lacy and Hugo had detected nothing that would indicate how or why Vonn Dubose and Claudia McDover would suspect Greg Myers, formerly known as Ramsey Mix and a man they had supposedly never met. It was another gap in his story, of which there were far too many.

They spent the next day in the office, brainstorming with Geismar and putting together a plan. With the complaint on file, the clock was ticking. If things stayed on schedule, Lacy and Hugo would soon drive to the small town of Sterling and serve a copy of it upon the Honorable Claudia McDover. By then it would be imperative to know as much as possible.

First, though, they needed to visit death row. Hugo had been there once, on a field trip in law school. Lacy had heard about Starke her entire career, but had never found the excuse to see it. They left early enough to beat the morning rush around Tallahassee, and by the time the traffic thinned on I-10 Hugo was nodding off. The prison was two and a half hours away. Lacy had not been forced to walk the floors with a crying baby all night, but she had not slept much either. She and Hugo, as well as Geismar, felt as though they were probably sticking their noses into a mess that someone else should clean up. If Greg Myers could be believed, serious criminal activity had been rampant in Brunswick County for a long time. Investigators with far more resources and experience should get the nod on this one. They were lawyers, after all, not cops. They didn’t want to carry guns. They were trained to go after corrupt judges, not organized crime syndicates.