“No, not at all. The complaint we are investigating centers on allegations that the judge is involved in a conspiracy to take bribes and such. It all revolves around the casino.”
“I prefer not to talk about the casino. It is a blight on my people.”
Great, Louise! If we can’t talk about the casino and we can’t talk about your husband’s murder, then why exactly did I drive all the way over here? Lacy scribbled on a notepad, as if deep in thought. “Have any of your family members ever worked in the casino?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because we need information about the casino and it’s proving rather hard to find. Someone on the inside could be of great assistance.”
“You can forget that. No one will talk to you. The people who work there are happy to have jobs and to get the checks. The people who cannot work there are envious, maybe even bitter, but also content with their checks. No one is going to upset the casino.”
“Have you ever heard the name of Vonn Dubose?”
“No. Who is he?”
“What if I told you he is probably the man who killed your husband to get him out of the way so he could build a casino? Would you believe that?” Lacy did in fact believe it; the problem was that she had so little proof. She made the rather bold suggestion in an effort to jolt Louise into a conversation.
Louise took another sip and stared through a window. Lacy was learning a few things about the Tappacola. First, and not surprisingly, they did not trust outsiders. Couldn’t blame them for that. Second, they were in no hurry when discussing matters. They were prone to slow, thoughtful speech, and long gaps in the conversation never seemed to bother them.
Finally, Louise looked at Lacy and said, “Junior Mace killed my husband. It was proven in court. I was humiliated.”
As firmly as possible, Lacy said, “What if Junior did not kill your husband? What if he and Eileen Mace were killed by the same criminals who convinced the Tappacola to build the casino, the same people who’ve made a fortune from the developments around the casino, the same people who are in all likelihood skimming large amounts of cash from the business? And these same people are in business with Judge McDover. Does this shock you, Louise?”
Her eyes watered and a tear spilled onto her right cheek. “How do you know this?” she asked. After having believed one version for so many years, it would be difficult to suddenly believe something else.
“Because we’re investigators. That’s what we do.”
“But the crime was investigated by the police many years ago.”
“It was a bogus trial that produced a wrongful conviction. The two star witnesses were both jailhouse snitches who were coerced by the cops and prosecutors to lie to the jury.”
“I said I didn’t want to talk about the murders.”
“Right. So let’s talk about the casino. I don’t expect you to cooperate until you’ve thought about it carefully. But we need names of people, your people, who know what’s happening. If you give us a name or two no one will ever know. I promise. It’s our job to protect the identity of our witnesses.”
“I know nothing, Ms. Stoltz. I have never set foot in the casino; never will. My family too. Most of us have moved away. Sure, we take the checks because it’s our land, but the casino has destroyed the soul of our people. I know nothing about it. I despise the place and the people who run it.”
She was convincing and Lacy knew the conversation was over.
Another check in the box.
10
Michael Geismar paced along one wall of his office, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, with the harried look of an investigator who’d bumped into too many dead ends. Lacy was holding a photo of one of McDover’s condos and wondering how it could be of any value. Hugo, as usual, was sipping another caffeine-laced energy drink and trying to stay awake. Sadelle was pecking on her laptop, chasing another elusive fact.
Michael said, “We got nothing. Four condos owned by offshore companies owned by somebody deep in the shadows, somebody we can’t identify. When confronted, Judge McDover, through her legal team no doubt, will simply deny ownership or claim she bought the condos as investments. Such investing might give the impression of impropriety, given her salary, but it’s hardly a breach of judicial ethics. I don’t have to remind you that she will lawyer up with enough legal talent to stall for the next decade. We need a lot more dirt.”
Hugo said, “I’m not playing any more golf. What a waste of time, in more ways than one.”
Michael replied, “Okay, bad call on my part. You have any better ideas?”
Lacy said, “We’re not giving up, Michael. We’ve uncovered enough to believe that Greg Myers is telling the truth, or at least something very close to it. We can’t walk away.”
“I’m not suggesting that, not now. In three weeks, we have to either serve the complaint on McDover or inform Greg Myers that our initial assessment leads us to believe that his complaint has no merit. I think we all agree that it has merit. So, we serve the complaint, then subpoenas for all of her files and records. At that point, she’ll be hiding behind a wall of lawyers, so every request we make will be contested. Let’s say we eventually get her files. Court files, legal files, files relating to the cases she has heard or is currently handling. We still subpoena her personal financial records unless we have probable cause to believe that she has committed theft, bribery, or embezzlement.”
“We know the statute,” Hugo said.
“Of course we do, Hugo, but just humor me, okay? I’m trying to assess where we are, and since I’m the boss I’m allowed to do so. You want to go back to the golf course?”
“Please, no.”
“Anyone sophisticated enough to operate behind such elaborate shell companies is probably not going to keep her personal financial records in any place where we might find them, right?”
Lacy and Hugo nodded, pleasantly humoring the boss.
And then there was silence. Michael kept pacing and scratching his head. Hugo sipped his caffeine and tried to activate his brain. Lacy doodled on her legal pad, thinking. The only sound was the pecking from Sadelle’s keyboard.
Michael finally said, “Sadelle, you’ve been quiet.”
“I’m just a paralegal,” she reminded them. Then she coughed, almost gagged, and continued, “I’ve gone back eleven years and tracked thirty-three construction projects in Brunswick County, everything from golf courses, shopping centers, subdivisions, the mini-mall at Sea Stall, even a movie theater with fourteen screens. Nylan Title from the Bahamas is involved in many of them, but there are dozens of other offshore companies that own other offshore companies, and LLCs that are owned by foreign corporations. Personally, I think it’s a clear sign of somebody trying real hard to keep things secret. It smells bad. It’s also unprecedented, really, to see so many offshore companies paying so much attention to a backward place like Brunswick County. I’ve dug some in the records of the other Panhandle counties-Okaloosa, Walton, even Escambia, where Pensacola sits-and while all of them have had far more development than Brunswick, they have far fewer offshore companies involved.”
“No luck with Nylan Title?” Hugo asked.
“None. The laws and procedures in the Bahamas are impossible to penetrate. Impossible, unless of course the FBI gets involved.”
“That will have to wait.” Michael looked at Lacy and asked, “Have you talked to Myers lately?”
“Oh no. I talk to Myers only when he decides he wants to talk.”
“Well, it’s time for a conversation. It’s time to inform Mr. Myers that his complaint is in jeopardy. If he can’t come through with more information, and quickly, then we might have to dismiss it.”
“Are you serious?” Lacy asked.