The Whistler (The Whistler #1)(60)

“The judge is taking cash?” Luna asked.

“Yes, according to Myers.”

“And why would they give her the cash?”

“The formal complaint is our Exhibit A. You have a copy. Here is our Exhibit B.” Geismar slid copies across the table. Lacy continued, “It’s a concise summary of the Tappacola, their land, their federal recognition, and their efforts to build a casino. It involves at least two murders and a man named Junior Mace, who is now sitting on death row at Starke. I suggest you take a few minutes and read the exhibit.”

They were already reading, slowly. So far, the story had their attention. Methodically, they flipped pages, with Pacheco a bit quicker on the draw. At the far end, Hahn plowed through in silence. The air was heavy as they weighed every word. Lacy scribbled meaningless notes on a legal pad, while Michael read e-mails on his phone.

When they finished, Lacy said, “Our Exhibit C is a rather detailed history of the construction of the casino, the building of a toll road, and all of the litigation that surrounded both. With a judge in his pocket, Dubose was able to fight off anyone who got in his way, and Treasure Key opened in 2000.” Geismar slid across copies of Exhibit C.

“And you want us to read this now?” Luna asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay. Would you like some coffee while we read?”

“That would be nice, thanks.” Hahn snapped to attention and hustled off to find a receptionist. The coffee arrived in real mugs—no paper—but neither Luna nor Pacheco seemed to notice. They were lost in Exhibit C.

Pacheco finished first, and rather than interrupt his boss, he made notes in the margins and waited. Luna lowered his copy and said, “A question. This Junior Mace on death row, are we to suspect that maybe he did not commit the two murders referenced in the earlier exhibit?”

Michael replied, “Frankly, we don’t know, but Greg Myers believes Mr. Mace was framed and is innocent.”

Lacy added, “I’ve met with Mace on death row, and he certainly claims to be innocent.”

Pacheco quipped, “Doubt if he’s the only one there who says he didn’t do it.”

Smiles but no laughs. Luna glanced at his watch, stared at the paperwork in front of Geismar, and asked, “How many of these exhibits do you have?”

“Not many.”

Lacy said, “Well, in Exhibit D, you meet the judge.” Geismar slid them over. “First you’ll see photos of her at one of her condos at Rabbit Run.”

Pacheco looked at the photos and said, “She’s not exactly posing for the camera. Who took these?”

“We don’t know,” Lacy said. “Greg Myers has an informant whose name we do not know because Myers doesn’t know. They correspond through an intermediary.”

From the far end Hahn exhaled as if in disbelief.

“It’s a complicated story and it only gets better,” Lacy said, glancing at Hahn. “Back to the exhibit. There’s some background on McDover, not much, though, because she keeps a low profile. Her partner in crime, or one of her partners, is an estate lawyer in Mobile named Phyllis Turban. Her photo was taken from the local bar directory. These women go way back, are very close, like to travel in style and always together. They spend far more than they earn. The exhibit summarizes their travel over the past seven years.”

Obviously intrigued, the three agents were already zipping through D. The room was silent again as they flipped the pages.

Lacy’s coffee cup was empty. They had been at the table for an hour, and she was delighted at the reception so far. She and Michael did not know what to expect coming in. They assumed the story they were about to tell would be captivating, but they had no idea how it would be received. Now they had the FBI’s attention. Though the agents were conscious of time, they seemed to be in no hurry.

Luna was looking at her. “Next.”

“Next is Exhibit E, the thinnest one so far, and it’s a timeline of our involvement in the case,” she said as Geismar spread more paperwork. They read it thoroughly.

Pacheco asked, “How did McDover react when she was served with the complaint?”

“She was pretty cool,” Lacy said. “Denied everything, of course.”

Michael said, “I thought she looked scared, but my two colleagues disagreed. Not sure that it matters that much.”

Pacheco said, “Well, she must be guilty of something if she hired Edgar Killebrew.”

Hahn surprised them with “That’s my first reaction. What a shyster.”

Luna raised a hand slightly to cut him off, and asked, “One more exhibit?”

Lacy replied, “Yes, the last one. I’m sure you saw that our colleague Hugo Hatch died in a car wreck on the reservation.”

They nodded sadly.

“Well, I was driving the car when it happened. I’m wearing a scarf because my head was shaved in the hospital. I had cuts and abrasions, a bunch of stitches, a concussion, but I was lucky. I don’t remember much about it but things are coming back. Anyway, my friend and colleague died at the scene and his death was not an accident. We believe he was murdered.” Geismar slid over copies of F, which they grabbed with a bit more eagerness.

Photos of the Prius and the Dodge Ram; photos of the scene; summaries of conversations with the constable; a description of the air bag and seat belt that didn’t work; the missing phones and iPad; and the conclusion that someone was behind the accident, thus the murder, and that someone was Vonn Dubose and his gang. She and Hugo allowed themselves to be lured to the back side of the reservation with the promise of information, and got ambushed. The motive was to frighten them, to intimidate them, to show them that they were in way over their heads, and that Dubose would resort to any measure to protect his empire. According to Myers, and they had no reason to doubt him, no one with authority had ever snooped around the casino and asked questions. BJC was the first, and Dubose moved decisively to send a message. He knew the limits of BJC’s investigative authority, and assumed, correctly, that the agency had almost no crime-fighting capability. He assumed a good scare would scatter them.