The Whistler (The Whistler #1)(59)

“Geismar said there were some lawyers in the house, plotting lawsuits.”

“I got rid of them too. One big mouth said I could collect from the insurance policy that covered the stolen truck. Turns out that’s not the case. When a vehicle is stolen like that, the policy becomes void, at least as far as liability. Lots of big lawsuits got kicked around. One was against Toyota for the faulty air bag and seat belt, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Got a question, Lacy. When you and Hugo drove to the casino that night, was his seat belt working?”

“Not really. He complained because it wouldn’t stay latched. This had never happened before. He fiddled around with it and several times got it to click into place, but something was wrong with it.”

“You think someone tampered with it?”

“I do, Verna. I believe the air bag was disarmed and the seat belt was somehow compromised.”

“And the accident was not an accident?”

“No, it was not. We were deliberately hit by a truck that weighed twice as much as the Prius.”

“But why? You gotta tell me, Lacy. I deserve to know what’s going on.”

“I’ll tell you as much as I can, but you must promise to keep it quiet.”

“Come on, Lacy. You know me.”

“Do you have a lawyer?”

“Yes. One of Hugo’s friends from law school is handling everything. I trust him.”

“Okay, but not even he needs to know the story, not now.”

“Tell me, please.”

—

It was almost ten when Roderick opened the door and said, “Mom, Pippin’s crying.”

Verna quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks and said, “Well, what a surprise. That child.”

As the women stood and walked inside, Lacy said, “I’ll stay tonight, okay? I’ll take care of Pippin and maybe we can talk some more.”

“Thank you, Lacy. I have some more questions.”

“I’m sure you do.”





24





The meeting took place in the FBI’s Tallahassee office, a ten-minute walk from BJC. The supervisor was an unsmiling career man named Luna, and from the moment they gathered around his wide conference table he seemed to doubt the importance of the meeting. To his right was a handsome and affable special agent named Pacheco, mid-thirties, no wedding band, and eyes that seemed to swallow Lacy the moment they said hello. At the far end of the table, as if needed but not really wanted, was the third agent, Hahn. Lacy faced Luna and Pacheco, with Geismar to her right.

She began with “First, thanks for your time. We know you’re busy and this will not be quick. Do we have time constraints here?”

Luna shook his head and said, “No. We’re listening.”

“Good. On the phone yesterday I asked you about a man named Vonn Dubose. We’re curious as to whether you know anything about him.”

Pacheco picked up a sheet of paper and said, “Yes, well, not much. Dubose has no criminal record, state or federal. The Catfish Mafia, or Coast Mafia as it came to be, has been known to us for a long time. I think you have its history. A small gang with a colorful past, but nothing of record here in Florida. About twenty years ago a man by the name of Duncan was caught with a truckload of marijuana near Winter Haven. DEA suspected he was working for an organized group, probably the same Coast Mafia, but they got nowhere because Duncan wouldn’t talk or negotiate. He served a long sentence and was paroled three years ago. Never said a word. That’s about it. As far as the man known as Vonn Dubose, we have yet to find anything.”

Luna added, “So as far as we’re concerned, there’s really no outfit known as the Coast Mafia. We spend our time these days focusing on known entities—al-Qaeda, narco-traffickers, nice guys like that.”

Lacy said, “Okay. We have an informant who we’ve grudgingly come to believe is telling the truth. He’s a former lawyer, a convicted felon, and he seems to know where the bodies are buried. Not literally, of course, but he’s convinced there is an organized gang with Dubose firmly in control. The informant contacted us about two months ago.”

Pacheco asked, “This is Greg Myers?”

“Yes, that’s the name in the complaint I sent over yesterday. But that’s a new name, not his real one. According to Myers, Vonn Dubose and his brother got shot up in a bad drug deal many years ago in south Florida. The brother died. Vonn did not. No record of that?”

Pacheco was shaking his head. “Nothing. How would Myers know this?”

“I have no idea. He is on the run and very secretive.”

“Who’s he running from?” Luna asked.

“Not sure, but not you or any branch of law enforcement. When he pled guilty he squealed on a bunch of people and now he feels threatened.”

Pacheco said, “Were his charges federal?”

“Yes, they were, and he served time in a federal facility. But please, for reasons I may be able to give you later, don’t waste your time trying to find the real Greg Myers. He is not the reason we are here. You’ve read the formal complaint that’s been filed against Judge McDover. We did our assessment and felt it had merit. The real story goes much deeper than what’s in the complaint. According to Myers, Vonn Dubose and the Tappacola tribe struck a deal almost twenty years ago to build a casino and they’ve been skimming off the top since day one. Lots of cash, some of which is now shared with Judge McDover.”