The Whistler

26

Gunther was back. He disrupted a lazy Saturday morning with the news that he was flying down and would be there by mid-afternoon. Though Lacy had nothing planned, she made a feeble attempt to sound busy. He would have none of it. He missed his little sister, was worried sick about her, and repeatedly apologized for not having returned sooner. He knew she needed him.

She stood in a window of the general aviation terminal and watched the private planes take off and land. At 3:00 p.m., his expected arrival time, she observed a small twin taxi near the terminal and shut down. Gunther got out, alone. His checkered flying career had spanned the past two decades and had been interrupted on at least two occasions when the FAA jerked his license. He had trouble with authority and had argued with air traffic controllers, in flight. Such arguments are never won by pilots, and Gunther found himself grounded. Evidently, he had now finagled some way to retrieve his license.

He carried a small overnight bag, which she took as a good sign, as well as a thick briefcase undoubtedly bristling with the workings of important deals. He hugged her fiercely in the lobby, told her she looked great, and seemed on the verge of tears as he went on about how much he missed her. She did a passable job of conveying the same sentiments.

As they walked out of the terminal she said, “So you’re back in the air.”

“Yeah, those fools at FAA can’t keep a good man on the ground. Got my license back two weeks ago.”

“Cute plane.”

“Borrowed it from a buddy.”

They walked to her car, the compact Ford she was still driving, and he commented on its lack of size.

“It’s just a loaner,” she said. “I haven’t decided on a new one.”

Gunther knew everything about cars and immediately began a dissertation on the various models she should consider. He said, “If we have time, we should go car shopping.”

“That’s an idea,” she replied. His current ride was an expensive Mercedes. Lacy could recall a Maserati, a Hummer, a Porsche, a black Range Rover SUV, and there had once been talk of a Rolls-Royce. Regardless of the bumps in the real estate business, Gunther had always buzzed around Atlanta in style. He was the last person she knew who’d be helpful in selecting a new car on her budget.

They were on the street, in traffic, and her defensive driving was obvious. He asked, “You okay behind the wheel?”

“Not really, but I’m getting there.”

“I’ve never had a bad wreck. Guess it takes time to get back in the saddle.”

“A long time.”

“You look great, Lacy,” he said for the third time. “I like your hair. Have you thought about keeping it short?”

“No, not for a second,” she said with a laugh. A month after leaving the hospital, her scalp was now covered with a thin layer of fine hair that seemed a bit darker than what they’d shaved, but she wasn’t worried. At least it was growing. She had retired the scarves and hats and didn’t care if anyone stared.

He wanted to know the latest developments in her investigation of the crooked judge and the casino, and Lacy filled in some of the backstory. Gunther could keep a secret and obviously had no one to tell back in Atlanta, but Lacy could not completely ignore the rules of confidentiality. She admitted they had hit a wall when the FBI declined to get involved.

This gave Gunther a soapbox, one he didn’t yield until they arrived at her apartment. He railed against the federal government, its bloated size and countless agencies and useless bureaucrats and senseless policies. He mentioned his own run-ins with the EPA, EEOC, IRS, even the Department of Justice, though he didn’t give details of any scrape with the law and Lacy didn’t ask. How could the FBI, with a million agents and a billion dollars, decline to pursue such blatant corruption? A man has been killed, yet the “Fibbies” refused to investigate. He was flabbergasted, even angry.

Inside, he tossed his bag and briefcase in the guest room and Lacy offered tea or water. Gunther asked for a diet soda. He had been in recovery for almost ten years and was well beyond the fragility of early sobriety. His drinking days had been the lore of family legend before turning dark and frightening. At their insistence, he had rehabbed twice and without success. A DUI, a divorce, and a bankruptcy all hit at once, and at the age of thirty-two Gunther gave up booze and drugs and surrendered to a higher power. He had been radically sober for years, to the point of volunteering in a rehab clinic for teenagers. When asked, he spoke freely of his addictions.

Gunther, as she well knew, spoke freely of anything and everything. To keep the conversation away from more sensitive matters, she told the story of her meeting with Wilton Mace at a downtown hotel. This led to a lengthy narrative about the murders of Son Razko and Eileen Mace, and Junior’s trials and so on. That was not her case. Its record was public. Confidentiality was not important.

Gunther, like most white people, thought the idea of an innocent man on death row was absurd. Surely Junior was guilty of something or he wouldn’t be there. This led to a long and often heated and frustrating conversation about the criminal justice system. The law was Lacy’s life and she understood its flaws. Gunther lived and breathed real estate and making money and had little interest in anything else. He admitted he seldom read a newspaper, unless he glanced at the business section. He hadn’t heard a word about two recent, extremely high-profile DNA exonerations in Georgia, one involving a man who’d served twenty-nine years for a rape and murder committed by someone else. In Gunther’s opinion, the prisons were full because of rampant crime.

Speaking of business, he had a few phone calls to make, finally. Lacy was exhausted and needed a break herself. She showed him to a small terrace off the kitchen. A wrought-iron table was the perfect spot for him to set up shop.

–

For dinner, they chose a Thai place near the FSU campus. After they settled into their seats, Gunther suddenly reached for a pocket and whipped out a cell phone. “Gotta do this e-mail, Sis,” he said, already tapping away.

She watched with a frown, and when he finished she said, “Here’s the deal. All phones on the table, on mute, and the first one that vibrates gets the check.”

“I was going to treat anyway.”

“I’m sure you will.” From her purse she removed her iPhone and the new BlackBerry issued by BJC. He matched her two with two of his own. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the BlackBerry.

“State issue. Its predecessor was the one stolen from the car.”

“And no trace?”

“Nothing. Our tech guys said there’s no way to hack in. I guess we’re safe.” She reached for a front pocket of her slacks and said, “Oh, almost forgot.” She pulled out the prepaid burner Myers had given her.

“You have three phones?” Gunther asked.

“This doesn’t really count,” she said, placing the burner in a neat row with the others. “It’s what Myers uses. I think he goes through several each month.”

“Smart guy. When’s the last time you talked to him?”

“A few weeks back. The day he gave me this phone.”

An exotic Asian girl appeared to take their orders. Gunther ordered tea and encouraged Lacy to order a glass of wine. This was a ritual they had gone through a hundred times. She would do nothing to tempt him, but he took pride in being beyond temptation. Besides, he had never been a wine drinker. Too mild, too civilized. Lacy asked for a glass of Chablis. They decided on a plate of crispy spring rolls to start with. When the drinks arrived, and they were comparing their latest conversations with their mother, Ann, one of the phones made a soft noise. Of the impressive collection in the center of the table, it was the least expected.

Myers was checking in. Lacy sighed, hesitated, then said, “I guess I’d better take this.”

“Of course. And you can take the check too.”

She slowly opened the phone, glancing around as she did so, and quietly said, “This better be good.”

A strange voice replied, “I’m trying to find Lacy Stoltz.”

She hesitated again, certain that it was not Greg Myers. “I’m Lacy. Who is this?”

“We’ve never met but we both know Greg. I’m the intermediary, the middleman, the guy who handles the mole. We need to talk.”

This was so wrong that Lacy’s lungs froze and she felt faint. Her face must have registered horror because Gunther reached over and gently touched her arm. “Where’s Greg?” she asked. Gunther’s eyes narrowed with concern.

“I don’t know. That’s what we need to talk about. I’m in town, not far from you. How soon can we meet?”

“I’m having dinner. I-”

“Two hours then. Let’s say straight-up ten o’clock. Between the Capitol and the Old Capitol Building there is a courtyard. I’ll meet you at the front steps there at ten.”

“What is the danger level right now, if I might ask?”

“Right now, between the two of us, I’d say there’s no immediate danger.”

“Okay, but I’m bringing my brother, and he likes to play with guns. Should he bring one just in case?”

“No, Lacy, we are on the same side.”

“Has something happened to Greg?”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“I’ve lost my appetite. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

–

The Capitol Grounds were well lit and a few other pedestrians were milling about. It was, after all, Saturday night and all state workers were enjoying the weekend. The lone figure near the steps of the Old Capitol was dressed in shorts, sneakers, and a baseball cap, and would not have attracted attention anywhere in town. He took one last drag of his cigarette, stepped on the butt, and walked to them. “You must be Lacy,” he said with an outstretched hand.

“I am. This is my brother, Gunther.”

“My name’s Cooley,” he said as everyone quickly shook hands. He nodded and said, “Let’s walk.” They strolled without purpose across the courtyard in the direction of the House Office Building. Cooley said, “Don’t know how much you know about me, probably very little.”

“I’ve never known your name,” she said. “What’s going on?” By then she knew something had happened to Greg; otherwise, Cooley would not be in the picture and they would not be meeting.

Cooley spoke softly as they walked. “Four days ago, Myers and his girl, Carlita, were in Key Largo scuba diving.”

“I met Carlita.”

“They docked and he said he was going to a bar to meet someone. He walked down the pier and she stayed on the boat. He didn’t come back. After a few hours she began to worry. Around dark, she noticed a couple of strangers looking at his boat from a distance, or so she thought. The harbor was busy, lots of boats and folks partying on the decks, and the two men didn’t stay long. She called me that night, as was our contingency plan. Needless to say, she’s distraught and frantic and has no idea what to do next. Greg rarely went ashore, and when he did she knew exactly when he would return. They bought supplies here and there, but Carlita usually did the shopping. They would venture off to a movie or a restaurant, but always together. Greg was careful and planned his movements.”

They were on Duval Street, drifting away from the Capitol, just three friends out for a stroll on a hot night.

Lacy asked, “What about his phones, laptop, files, records?”

“There’s some stuff on the boat, still being watched by her. Frankly, I don’t know what’s there. He doesn’t know the identity of the mole. He and I talked either face-to-face or on disposable phones, careful not to leave a trail. But he’s a lawyer, right? So there’s the chance that he’s got notes and records. For now, Carlita’s staying put and waiting. Waiting for him to return, waiting for me to tell her what to do. I can’t run the risk of going there.”

“Could they identify you?” Lacy asked.

“Wanna take a crack at who they might be? No, I don’t think I could be recognized in person, but who knows? I can’t go get her.”

“And she can’t move the boat?” Gunther asked.

“No way. She can’t even start the engines and put it in reverse. And where would she go?”

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.”