The Whistler (The Whistler #1)(94)

“Where’d you stay last night?” he asked. He and his wife were infamous for their curiosity and lack of discretion. They monitored things on the street and wanted to know everyone’s business.

“My sister’s,” JoHelen replied, knowing the question was coming.

“Where does she live?”

“Pensacola.”

With the house apparently safe, she said, “On second thought, let’s go have a soda with Gloria.”

“Oh, she’d love that.”

They sat in the shade of the Armstrongs’ back porch and sipped beverages through straws. Fortunately, the shingles were on Gloria’s lower back and a proper viewing would reveal a bit too much skin. JoHelen was spared the examination.

“You got a clogged drain?” Mr. Armstrong asked.

“Don’t think so. Why?”

“That plumber showed up around nine this morning.”

Plumber? JoHelen quickly decided not to worry them. She said, “Got a leak, but he was supposed to come Monday.”

“Pushy guy, I’ll tell you that. Wouldn’t trust him if I were you.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I watched him go to the door and ring the bell. Then he started fiddling with the door, you know, even reached into his pocket and pulled out a blade of some sort like he was breaking in. Hope you don’t mind, but I yelled at him and went over. Asked what the hell he was doing. He stuck the blade or whatever it was back in his pocket and tried to act like it was nothing. I said you were not home. He mumbled something about coming back later and couldn’t wait to get out of here. Me, I’d find me another plumber. I swear he was suspicious.”

“You just can’t trust anybody these days,” JoHelen said, and returned to the shingles, a subject Gloria was keen to discuss at length. As she talked about them, her third episode in twenty years, JoHelen’s mind was racing.

Abruptly, Gloria asked her husband, “Did you tell her about that pest control guy yesterday?”

“No, I forgot. I was on the golf course, and Gloria swears a pest control guy was in your house for at least an hour yesterday.”

Again, preferring not to alarm them and provoke a hundred other questions, JoHelen said, “Oh, that’s just the new guy, Freddie. He’s got a key.”

“Sure takes his time,” Gloria said.

At the next opportunity, JoHelen wiggled out of the conversation and said she was going to call the plumbing company and lodge a complaint. She said good-bye and crossed the street. She went straight to the burner, called Lacy, and reported in.





38





The current federal grand jury was convened at 1:00 p.m. on Friday, October 14. When organized four months earlier, it had twenty-three members, all registered voters and otherwise duly qualified residents from the six counties that constituted Florida’s Northern District. Serving was a demanding job, especially for citizens who didn’t exactly volunteer. The pay was low, $40 a day, and their expenses were barely covered. However, the job was important and at times exciting, especially when the FBI and the U.S. Attorney’s Office were on the trail of organized criminals.

Seventeen were able to answer the bell on short notice, and since only sixteen were needed for a quorum they quickly got down to business. With the investigation growing by the hour, and with the rare possibility of indicting rich white men for capital murder, the U.S. Attorney had seized control of the case. Her name was Paula Galloway, an Obama appointee and a veteran prosecutor. Her top assistant was Rebecca Webb, who by then knew more about the case than anyone but Allie Pacheco, who was called as the first witness.

Since they had already indicted Zeke Foreman and Clyde Westbay, the grand jurors already knew the facts surrounding the death of Hugo Hatch. Allie recapped them quickly and answered a few questions from around the table. Ms. Galloway surprised them by calling as her next witness the driver himself.

From the depths of the Feds’ witness protection world, Zeke Foreman appeared and swore to tell the truth. Neither his plea agreement nor his whereabouts were to be discussed. He told his story, and the grand jurors were captivated by it. Since they had already indicted him, they seemed pleased with their decision and fascinated by his detailed account of the events of August 22. They asked a lot of questions and Zeke handled himself well. He was relaxed, remorseful, and completely believable. Galloway, Webb, Pacheco, and the other FBI agents in the room watched him carefully. He would one day testify in court against the Cousins, and their lawyers would attempt to annihilate him.

The next witness was Clyde Westbay, who seemed to be at ease in the presence of the same federal grand jury that had indicted him for murder less than a week earlier. Clyde had just survived his first big test, a face-to-face chat with the boss himself while wearing a wire and snagging incriminating statements. For the first hour, Clyde discussed his role in the car crash. For the next two hours he talked about the Dubose organization and his part in it. He knew nothing of the skimming at the casino, but enthralled the grand jurors with his descriptions of laundering money at its blackjack tables.

One juror, a Mr. Craft from Apalachicola, confessed a fondness for blackjack and said he spent a lot of time at Treasure Key. He was fascinated by the laundering scheme and asked so many detailed questions that Ms. Galloway suggested they move along to more testimony.