The Whistler (The Whistler #1)(51)



“No, it wasn’t.”

“Okay. I’m listening.”

“We’ll talk, but first a question. Do you still use the same phones you were using a month ago?”

He thought for a second and said, “One of them.”

“And where is it right now?”

“On the boat. Palm Harbor.”

“Is Carlita on the boat?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Can you call Carlita right now, tell her to get the phone and toss it overboard? Now! You have no choice.”

“Sure.” Myers whipped out a burner and did as instructed. When he ended the call, he said, “Okay, what was that all about?”

“It’s part of the story.”

“Let’s hear it.”



Throughout the narrative, Myers at times showed remorse, and at times seemed indifferent to the tragedy. “What a mistake,” he mumbled more than once as Lacy described taking the bait from the informant.

“Was there an autopsy?” he asked. As far as Lacy knew, an autopsy had never been mentioned.

“No. Why would they do an autopsy?”

“I don’t know. Just curious.”

Lacy closed her eyes and began tapping her forehead as if in a trance.

“What is it?” Myers asked.

“He had a light, a light on his head, like a miner or something.”

“A headlamp.”

“I guess. I can see it now. He looked at me through my window, which was shattered.”

“Did you see his face?”

“No, the light was too bright.” She covered her face with both hands and gently massaged her forehead with her fingertips. A minute passed, then another. Gently, Myers asked, “Did you see the other guy?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s gone now. I know there were two of them, two figures moving around. One with the headlamp thing, and I think the other had a regular flashlight. I heard their footsteps as they stepped on the broken glass.”

“Did they say anything?”

“Nothing I remember. I was stunned.”

“Sure you were, Lacy. You had a concussion. That’ll screw up your memory.”

She smiled, stood, walked to the fridge, and took out some orange juice. Myers said, “What kinds of cell phones?”

“Older BlackBerry models, issued by BJC.” She poured two glasses and set them on the table. “I have an iPhone but I left it here. Hugo used the state phone for everything. I’m not sure he had another. Our IT guy says it’s impossible to hack into the state phones.”

“But it can be done. For the right money, they can hire the hackers.”

“Our guy says not to worry. He’s also tried to track the phones but there’s no signal, which means they’re probably at the bottom of the ocean.”

“I worry about everything. That’s why I’m still alive.”

Lacy walked to a tall kitchen window and looked at the clouds. With her back to Myers she posed the question, “So, tell me, Greg, what did they gain by killing Hugo?”

Myers stood and stretched his legs. He took a sip of orange juice and said, “Intimidation. Somehow they got wind you guys were snooping around, so they reacted. As far as the police are concerned, it looks like an accident. But taking the cell phones also sent the message to you and BJC.”

“Could I be next?”

“I doubt it. They had you on the ropes and could have easily finished you off. One dead guy is warning enough. If something happened to you now it would bring the full weight of the federal government.”

“And what about you?”

“Oh, I’ll never be safe. Their first objective will be to find Greg Myers, whoever the hell he is, and take him, me, out quietly. But they’ll never find me.”

“Can they find the mole?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“A lot of uncertainties, Greg.”

He walked to the window and stood beside her. The rain had started and drops were hitting the glass. “You want to quit?” he asked. “I can withdraw the complaint and get on with life. Same for you. You’ve shed enough blood. Life is too short.”

“I can’t do that, Greg, not now. If we walk away, the bad guys win again. Hugo died for nothing. BJC would be a joke. No. I’m still in.”

“And what’s the endgame?”

“The corruption is exposed. McDover and Dubose and company are indicted and prosecuted. The mole gets his rewards. Hugo’s death is investigated and those responsible are brought to justice. Junior Mace walks after fifteen years on death row. And whoever killed Son Razko and Eileen Mace is put on trial.”

“Anything else?”

“No, that should keep me busy for the next month or so.”

“You can’t do it by yourself, Lacy. You need a lot of help.”

“Yes, I do, and that’s where the FBI comes in. They have the resources and expertise; we don’t. If you want this case cracked and the bad guys rounded up, then you have to ease up on the FBI.”

“You’re assuming they will investigate?”

“Yes, and that might be assuming too much.”

“When do you approach them?”

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