The Whistler (The Whistler #1)(5)

He paused, took a drink from his bottle, and gave them a smug look, satisfied that he had their complete attention. “The question is, do you want to get involved? It could be dangerous.”

“Why call us?” Hugo asked. “Why not go to the FBI?”

“I’ve dealt with the FBI, Mr. Hatch, and things went badly. I don’t trust them or anyone with a badge, especially in this state.”

Lacy said, “Again, Mr. Myers, we are not armed. We’re not criminal investigators. It sounds like you need several branches of the federal government.”

“But you have subpoena power,” Myers said. “You have statutes that give you the right to obtain subpoenas. You can require any judge in this state to produce every record maintained in his or her office. You have considerable power, Ms. Stoltz. So in many ways you do investigate criminal activity.”

Hugo said, “True, but we’re not equipped to deal with gangsters. If your story is true, it sounds like the bad guys are well organized.”

“Ever hear of the Catfish Mafia?” Myers asked after another long pull on the bottle.

“No,” Hugo replied. Lacy shook her head.

“Well, it’s another long story. Yes, Mr. Hatch, it’s a gang that’s well organized. They have a long history of committing crimes that are none of your concern because they do not involve members of the judiciary. But, there is one enterprise in which they’ve purchased a judge. And that does concern you.”

The Conspirator rocked in the wake of an old shrimp boat and for a moment all three were quiet. Lacy asked, “What if we decline to get involved? What happens to your story?”

“If I file a formal complaint, aren’t you required to get involved?”

“In theory, yes. As I’m sure you know, we have forty-five days to do an assessment to determine if the complaint has some merit. We then notify the target, the judge, and ruin his day. But we can also be very adept at ignoring complaints.”

Hugo said with a smile, “Oh yes. We’re bureaucrats. We can duck and delay with the best of them.”

“You can’t duck this one,” Myers said. “It’s too big.”

“If it’s so big, why hasn’t it been discovered before now?” Lacy asked.

“Because it’s still unfolding. Because the time hasn’t been right. Because of a lot of reasons, Ms. Stoltz, the most important being the fact that no one with the knowledge has been willing to step forward until now. I’m stepping forward. The question is simply this: Does the Board on Judicial Conduct want to investigate the most corrupt judge in the history of American jurisprudence?”

“One of our very own?” Lacy asked.

“You got it.”

“When do we get his name?” Hugo asked.

“You’re assuming it’s a male.”

“We’re not assuming anything.”

“That’s a good way to start.”

—

The tepid breeze finally gave up, and the oscillating fan rattling above them did little more than shove around the sticky air. Myers seemed to be the last of the three to realize their shirts were sticking to their skin and, as host of the little gathering, finally made a move. “Let’s take a stroll over to the restaurant there and have a drink,” he said. “They have a bar inside with plenty of AC.” He clutched an olive-colored leather courier bag, well used and seemingly attached to his body. Lacy wondered what was inside. A small pistol? Cash, a fake passport? Perhaps another file?

As they walked along the pier, Lacy asked, “Is this one of your hangouts?”

“Why would I answer that?” Myers retorted, and Lacy wished she’d said nothing. She was dealing with an invisible man, one who lived as if his neck was always near the block, and not some casual sailor who bounced from port to port. Hugo shook his head. Lacy kicked herself in the rump.

The restaurant was empty now, and they took a table inside, overlooking the harbor. After roasting in the heat for the past hour, they found the air almost too frigid. Iced tea for the investigators, coffee for Mr. Myers. They were alone; no one could possibly hear them.

“What if we’re not too enthused about this case?” Hugo asked.

“Then I suppose I’ll eventually go to Plan B, but I don’t really want to. Plan B involves the press, a couple of reporters I know, neither of whom is completely reliable. One is in Mobile, the other in Miami. Frankly, I think they’ll spook easily.”

“What makes you so sure we won’t spook easily, Mr. Myers?” Lacy asked. “As we’ve said, we’re not accustomed to dealing with gangsters. We have a full caseload anyway.”

“I’m sure you do. No shortage of bad judges.”

“Actually, there aren’t many. Just a few bad apples, but there are enough disgruntled litigants to keep us busy. Lots of complaints, most of which have little merit.”

“Right.” Myers slowly removed his aviator shades and placed them on the table. His eyes were puffy and red, like a drinker’s, and they were encircled by pale skin, a contrast that gave him the resemblance to an inverted raccoon. It was obvious he rarely took the glasses off. He glanced around once more, as if to make sure those after him were not in the restaurant, and he seemed to relax.

Hugo said, “About this Catfish Mafia.”