The Whistler (The Whistler #1)(67)
Lacy noticed a bench and said, “I’d like to sit down.” She and Gunther took a seat—he held her hand—as Cooley lit another cigarette and watched the traffic. No other pedestrians were close.
Lacy said, “Greg’s story was that he’d been living on the run for several years, that he’d made a lot of enemies when he got in trouble. Could that part of his past have caught up with him?”
Cooley blew a cloud of smoke. “I doubt it. We met in prison. I was once a lawyer too until they asked me to leave the profession. So we were just a couple disbarred boys doing time in a federal joint in Texas. From another con I’d heard the story of Vonn Dubose and the Indian casino, so when I got out I came back to Florida and started sniffing around. It’s a long story, but I knew the mole and got that ball rolling. Now it looks pretty foolish. You’ve been hurt. Your buddy is dead. Myers is probably drifting with the currents, a hundred feet down with a brick around his neck.”
“You think it’s Dubose?” Gunther asked.
“He gets my vote. Sure Greg had enemies, but that story goes back a long way. And I know some of the people he squealed on. They were not organized crooks. Sure they screwed up, but they’re not the type of people who’d spend years looking for Greg so they could put a bullet in his head and further complicate their lives. Kubiak, the ringleader, is still serving time. Now Greg signs his name on the complaint and threatens the Dubose clan, and, lo and behold, within a matter of days he’s vanished. A procedural question?”
Lacy shrugged. Whatever.
“Can the formal complaint Myers filed against Judge McDover go forward if the complaining party disappears?”
Lacy thought about it for a moment. “I’m not sure. To my knowledge, it’s never happened before.”
“Are you sure you want it to go forward?” Gunther asked.
Neither Cooley nor Lacy responded. Cooley slowly finished his cigarette and casually flipped the butt onto the sidewalk, a thoughtless act of littering that she might have said something about. Now, though, it was unimportant.
“What’s our priority?” she asked.
Cooley said, “Carlita can’t stay on the boat much longer. She’s low on food and water and the harbormaster is pestering her for docking fees. I’d like to rescue her some way and secure his stuff—phones, files, anything that needs protecting. But, again, it’s just too risky. There’s a good chance someone is watching and waiting.”
“I can do it,” Gunther said.
“No way,” Lacy said, surprised. “You’re not getting near this.”
“Listen, I have a small plane at the airport. I can be in Key Largo in two hours. They, if they are really there, have no idea who I am. Carlita will know I’m coming so she’ll be ready. She’ll tell us exactly where the boat is located. I’ll be in and out before anybody knows what’s happening. If they wake up and somehow manage to follow us to the airport, there’s no way they can scramble a plane fast enough to chase us. I’ll drop her off somewhere along the way and she can catch a bus to wherever she wants to go.”
“What if someone tries to confront you?” Cooley asked.
“You heard my sister, sir. I like guns and I’ll have one in my pocket. I don’t frighten too easily anyway.”
“I don’t know, Gunther,” Lacy said. Cooley was quickly warming up to the idea. Lacy was not.
“We’re going to do it, okay, Sis? It’s low risk, high reward. I’m doing it to help the team and to protect you.”
27
Geismar nixed the plan late Saturday night. He was furious that Gunther had once again managed to stick his nose into the McDover affair, and he scolded Lacy over her breach of professional discretion. She pushed back as much as possible by explaining that Cooley had called during their dinner and there was no way to hide it from her brother, who, as they well knew by now, had big ears and was quite pushy. She reminded her boss that he himself had told Gunther far too much over coffee in the hospital while she was still in a coma. This was not their typical investigation, and it required different rules.
The much larger issue was Myers’s disappearance and all the sticky issues it created. Lacy insisted that they meet early Sunday morning at BJC. Geismar eventually relented, but insisted that Gunther not be present. So her brother waited in the car, barking nonstop on the phone at a banker he’d pulled out of bed.
Geismar had slept off his anger and was willing to listen. Lacy relayed the latest news from Cooley. He had spoken to Carlita early that morning and there had been no change. Certainly no sign of Myers. She was bustling around the boat as if all was well, cleaning the deck, washing windows, trying to make things appear normal, and really doing nothing but watching the movements of everyone in sight. She was heartbroken, terrified, stranded, and ready to go home, to Tampa, but had almost no money and no plan. She had gone through Myers’s papers but was not sure what was relevant. There was a box of “his legal stuff” under the bed, but he kept most of “his papers” somewhere in Myrtle Beach. There were also two phones and a laptop. Cooley promised that help was on the way, but said so only to keep her calm.
Lacy argued that they had an obligation to rescue her, if it could be done without too much risk. Obviously, her situation was a direct result of their investigation. At the moment, there was no one else in a position to help her. She had possession of records, phones, and a laptop that could be damaging. Gunther was admittedly a loose cannon, but he was willing to fly down and back at his own expense. Otherwise, the drive was at least ten hours one way. Time was crucial.