The Whistler (The Whistler #1)(70)

“Great,” Gunther said. “We’ll give it to you, everything, and you give it to the police. They’ll take things far more seriously if they’re notified by the FBI.”

“That might work,” Pacheco said. “Is there a chance Myers simply walked away? Given his past, and his present, that’s not completely far-fetched.”

Lacy said, “Sure, I’ve thought about it. Maybe something frightened him. Maybe he got tired of the boat, or the woman, or both, and decided to vanish. He was at least thinking about dropping the complaint. When he came here to my apartment, he offered to drop it and walk away. He was sorry about Hugo, blamed himself, and said he wished he’d never started all this. He could have ditched the records, scrubbed his computer, and hit the road.”

“You don’t believe that,” Gunther said.

“No, I don’t. I’ve had this conversation with Cooley, and he’ll never be convinced that Myers would run and hide again. Myers needs the money. He’s an ex-con who’s sixty years old and without much of a future. He was banking on a huge windfall from the whistle-blower statute. He knew that law inside and out and was already counting his money. He believed McDover and Dubose have stolen tens of millions and that a lot of the money can be recovered. I don’t know how he paid for the boat but he was very proud of it. He loved island hopping and puttering around the Keys. He was a happy guy about to strike it rich. So, no, I don’t think he walked away.”

Pacheco said, “Well, the disappearance is now five days old and the investigation has not even started. That makes for an awfully cold trail.”

“And there’s nothing the FBI can do?” Gunther asked.

“Not really. The locals have to go in first. If there’s a kidnapping or something like that, they could call us. But I doubt it. Frankly, I’d say the chances of finding Myers alive are pretty slim.”

“All the more reason to go after Dubose,” Lacy said.

“I agree, but I’m not making that decision.”

“How many more dead folks do you need?” Gunther asked.

“Again, it’s not my decision. Lacy can tell you that I would have jumped in a week ago.” Gunther stormed out of the room and returned to his terrace.

“Sorry,” Lacy said.

Pacheco had entered her apartment with thoughts of a pleasant drink with a pretty lady. He left with Myers’s courier bag and backpack and no clear idea of what to do next.





28





Lacy awoke early Monday morning with a new plan to get rid of her brother. It would take a trip to death row, a place he would not be welcome. And she would go by herself because the rules at BJC simply could not be bent enough to allow him to tag along. She rehearsed her story as the coffee brewed. She was pleasantly surprised when he appeared freshly showered and fully dressed. Not surprisingly, a deal was collapsing and he informed her he was needed at home. Indeed, he barely had enough time to devour a piece of toast before they hustled out the door and to her car. At the airport she thanked him again and made sure he promised to return. As the Beech lifted off, she smiled and took a deep breath and was thankful she was not on it.

At the office, she met with Michael and described in detail the trip to Key Largo. She detailed the contents of Myers’s courier bag and backpack, and explained that they, along with his laptop, were in the possession of the FBI.

“You met with the FBI?” Michael asked, irritated.

“Pacheco has the hots for me and he stopped by yesterday for a drink. One thing led to another, and, with Gunther’s eager assistance, we got around to discussing Myers. Pacheco agreed to contact the police and report him missing. He thought it best if the FBI had possession of the stuff from the boat.”

“Please tell me your brother is leaving town.”

“Already gone, left this morning.”

“Thank heavens. Please tell me, Lacy, that he can keep his mouth shut.”

“Don’t worry. No one in Atlanta cares, and, besides, he will always do what’s best for me. Relax.”

“Relax? This is the biggest case in our history and it’s collapsing on all fronts. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Killebrew.”

“No, and I don’t expect to. They have eighteen days left to respond, and I’m sure they’ll play it cool until the last minute. Any excitement on their part would be premature and might tip their hand. They’re too smart to contact us now. The subpoena was served last Friday and I’m sure they’re mulling it over.”

“All we can do is wait.”

“I can’t sit around, Michael. I’m going to see Junior Mace on death row. Just want you to know my whereabouts.”

“Didn’t realize you represented Junior Mace.”

“Of course I don’t, but I promised to visit him. His D.C. lawyers will meet with him this afternoon. Salzman, the lead counsel, invited me to sit in. Junior doesn’t mind. He likes me.”

“Don’t get too close.”

“Salzman is confident that it will be delayed. If the snitch comes through and recants his testimony, Salzman thinks they stop the execution and maybe even get a new trial.”

“A new trial, after, what, fifteen years?”

“Something like that.”