The Whistler (The Whistler #1)(91)
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JoHelen had never spoken to Greg Myers. She knew his name, but he knew nothing about her. Through Cooley, she had received a copy of the complaint filed against her boss by Myers. He was willing to run the risk of exposing the corruption for a slice of the pie, though none of the three—Myers, Cooley, JoHelen—had any conceivable idea of when the whistle-blower claim would be filed. Myers, the lawyer and accuser, was to spearhead the legal efforts to claim the money. Cooley, the ex-lawyer, would handle Myers and JoHelen and facilitate matters for a healthy cut. Same for Myers. She would get the rest. The deal was nice and tidy and looked good in theory.
Now Myers was presumed dead. Cooley had cracked up and fled. And JoHelen Hooper was hiding in a cheap motel, staring at a disposable prepaid cell phone with only one number to call. There was no one else. It was almost 10:00 p.m. when she said, “Ms. Stoltz, my name is JoHelen Hooper. Cooley gave me your number. You remember him?”
“Yes.”
“And this is the phone he gave you?”
“Yes. You’re the informant?”
“That’s me. The mole, the source, the informant. Actually, Cooley said Myers liked to refer to me as the Whistler because I’m supposed to blow the whistle on Judge McDover. What do you know about me?”
“Nothing, didn’t even know you were a woman. Why are you calling me?”
“Because Cooley gave me your number, said you had a burner, said to call you if things got bad and I got scared. Well, I’m scared.”
“Where’s Cooley?”
“Don’t know. He cracked up and ran away, said he was leaving the country before Dubose found him. He found Myers, you know. I have no one else to talk to.”
“Okay, let’s talk. How do you know Judge McDover?”
“I’ve been her court reporter for the past eight years, but that’s another story for another day. While we were in court today a man broke into my home and went through every inch of the place. I know this because I have hidden cameras in my home with an app that allows real-time surveillance on my phone. He took nothing because he wasn’t a thief. He found nothing because I do not keep sensitive stuff at home, for obvious reasons. Cooley and I started planning this little adventure years ago, and we’ve been very cautious. So he added home security, the burners, the off-site storage of records, and a lot of other protective measures and habits.”
“Does anyone else live there?”
“Oh no. I’m single, divorced, no kids.”
“Any idea who your visitor was?”
“None, but I would recognize him, I think, though I doubt I’ll get the chance. I’m sure he works for Dubose in some capacity, and I suspect they’re closing in on me. The information I gave Cooley and Myers about Claudia could come from only a small number of people. I’m on the list. I’m sorry about your friend.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m serious. He would be alive if I hadn’t decided to bring down the judge.”
“Why are you bringing down the judge?”
“It’s another story. Let’s save it for later. Right now I need advice, and I have no one else to turn to. I’m hiding in a motel because I could not stay at home tonight. I’m not sure about tomorrow. If I don’t show up for work, warning bells go off. I haven’t missed many days in eight years, and Claudia is already suspicious. If I go to work, I run the risk of walking back to her turf and that makes me nervous. What if they, whoever the hell they are, have made the decision that I need to go? I’m a sitting duck at work, or going or coming. You know how dangerous the roads can be.”
“Call in sick, a stomach virus that’s highly contagious. Happens to everyone.”
JoHelen smiled. So simple, why hadn’t she thought of it? Perhaps because her mind was spinning and nothing was clear. “Maybe, but what do I do tomorrow?”
“Keep moving around.”
“Did you know that Cooley hid a tracking device on the inside of Claudia’s car? He paid $300 for it and it took him about a minute to install. Said it was a piece of cake. Did you know about that?”
“We knew that she was being tracked, yes. Didn’t know who or how.”
“My point is that it’s easy to follow people, so moving around is not the answer. They can bug my car, hack my cell phone, who knows what else. Dubose has the money to buy what it takes. I’m feeling pretty vulnerable right now, Ms. Stoltz.”
“Call me Lacy. Is there a bar in the motel?”
“I think so.”
“Go hang out in the bar until it closes. If an incredibly handsome young man with a flat stomach hits on you, take him back to your room for the night. If you don’t get lucky, get in your car and find an all-night diner, maybe a truck stop. Kill a few hours. If the motel has a night clerk, hang out in the lobby until sunrise. Call me then.”
“I can do that.”
“Just stay around other people.”
“Thanks, Lacy.”
37
As instructed, Clyde met Hank Skoley at a sprawling construction site two miles west of Panama City and a mile north of the Gulf. Huge signs announced the arrival of Honey Grove, a planned community with lovely homes, fantastic shopping, golf galore, all just minutes from the Emerald Coast. In the distance bulldozers leveled a forest. Closer, crews were putting in curbs and gutters. And near the main road homes were going up.