The Whistler (The Whistler #1)(44)

At about the time Hugo was being buried, Lacy left the hospital in Panama City in an ambulance for the two-hour drive to Tallahassee. Gunther left too, but not before leveling a few parting shots at the staff. He followed his sister in his Mercedes-Benz S600 sedan, pitch-black in color and gobbling up $3,100 a month on a four-year lease. Evidently, the folks in Panama City had called ahead and warned the folks in Tallahassee. As Lacy’s gurney was being wheeled onto the elevator for the ride to a private room on the fourth floor, two large security guards joined her and glared at Gunther, who glared right back.

“Let it go,” Lacy hissed at her brother.

The new room was larger than the last one, and Gunther had a fine time rearranging the furniture into another cozy work space. After the doctors and nurses checked in, Gunther looked at his sister and announced, “We’re going for a walk. I can tell already these doctors are far better than the other ones, and they say it’s important to move around. You’re probably getting bedsores. Your legs are fine, so let’s go.”

He gently wrestled her out of bed, put her feet into a pair of cheap cotton hospital slippers, and said, “Grab my elbow.” They eased out of the room and into a wide hallway. He nodded to a large window at the far end and said, “We’re walking all the way down there and back. Okay?”

“Okay, but I’m very sore. Everything aches.”

“I know. Take your time, and if you feel faint, just say so.”

“Got it.”

They shuffled along, ignoring the casual glances from the nurses, clutching each other as Lacy’s feet and legs began to work. Her left knee was severely bruised and cut and painful to move. She gritted her teeth, determined to impress her brother. His grip was strong and comforting. He was not taking no for an answer. They touched the window and turned around. Her room seemed a mile away, and by the time they approached it her left knee was screaming. He helped her into bed and said, “Okay, we’re doing that once an hour until bedtime. Got it?”

“If you can do it, I can do it.”

“Attagirl.” He tucked in the sheets around her and sat on the edge of her bed. He patted her arm and said, “Your face is looking better by the hour.”

“My face looks like hamburger meat.”

“Okay, but sirloin, maybe, grade A, organic, and pasture fed. Look, Lacy, we’re going to talk and talk until you cannot talk anymore. Yesterday I spent some time with Michael, good guy, and he filled me in. I don’t know everything about the investigation, and I shouldn’t, but I know enough. I know you and Hugo went to the reservation Monday night to meet an informant. It was a trap, a setup, a situation too dangerous to walk into. Once they lured you there, they had you dead to rights, and on their property. The wreck was no accident. You were deliberately rammed head-on by a guy driving a stolen truck, and immediately after the collision he, or someone with him, went through your car and took both cell phones and your iPad. Then these *s disappeared into the night and will probably never be found. Are you with me?”

“I think so.”

“So here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to start with you and Hugo driving to the reservation—time, route, what was on the radio, what did you talk about, everything. Same thing while you were sitting in your car waiting at the casino. Time, conversation, radio, e-mails, everything. And we’re going to drive your car down the road to meet the informant. I’ll do the questions, hundreds of them, and you come up with the answers. And after I grill you for thirty minutes, we’ll take a time-out and you can nap if you want, then we’re walking to the end of the hallway again. Sound like fun?”

“No.”

“Sorry, kid, you have no choice. We’ve got the legs working, now it’s time for the brain. Okay? First question: What time did you leave Tallahassee Monday evening?”

She closed her eyes and licked her swollen lips. “It was early evening but not dark. I guess around seven thirty or so.”

“Was there a reason you waited so late?”

She thought for a second, then began nodding, with a smile. “Yes, the guy worked until nine, a later shift in the casino.”

“Perfect. What were you wearing?”

She opened her eyes. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious, Lacy. Think hard and answer my questions. This is not a game.”

“Uh, jeans, I think, and a light shirt. It was hot and we were casual.”

“What route did you take?”

“Interstate 10, same as always. There’s only one way to get there. Exit onto State 288, go south for ten miles, turn left onto the tollway.”

“Did you guys listen to the radio?”

“It’s always on, but almost muted. I think Hugo was sleeping.” She groaned and immediately started crying. Her swollen lips quivered and tears ran down her cheeks. He wiped them for her with a tissue but said nothing. “His funeral was today, right?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I wish I could’ve gone.”

“Why? Hugo wouldn’t know if you showed up or not. Funerals are such a waste of time. Nothing but a show for the living. The dead don’t care. The trend now is not to have a funeral, but a ‘celebration.’ To celebrate what? The dead guy damned sure ain’t celebrating.”