“If you don’t mind my saying so,” Justin said, “I don’t think we’re really cut out for this. If this criminal activity is really happening, what the hell are we doing poking around it? This is for guys with guns and badges and all that crap.”
“Agreed. And I suppose your question is one I’ll take to my grave. We thought there might be an element of danger, and our plan was to sort of sniff around the edges and see what we could find. Keep in mind, a formal complaint was filed, and once it was on our desk we had no choice but to investigate. I guess we should have been more careful. I should have told them not to go to the reservation Monday night.”
“True, but those two don’t scare easily,” Maddy said.
There was a long, heavy pause as they thought of their colleagues. Finally, Maddy asked, “When can we see Lacy?”
“They plan to ease her out of the coma soon. I’ll be there in the morning. If all goes well, I’ll have the chance to talk to her. Someone has to break the news about Hugo. Maybe in a couple of days you can visit. Remember, the funeral is Saturday and we’ll all be there.”
“Can’t wait,” Justin said.
–
The police in Foley, Alabama, were informed that the stolen Dodge Ram truck they were looking for had come to rest in a salvage yard on Indian land over in Florida. They notified the owner, who notified his insurance company. On Wednesday afternoon, a man appeared at the police station and said he knew something about the theft. He was a private investigator, known to some of the cops, and he was being paid to follow a young housewife because her husband suspected she was seeing someone else. The investigator had been hiding in his car in a shopping center lot when he saw a Honda pickup with Florida tags park near the Dodge Ram in question. Two men were in the Honda but they did not get out. They watched passing cars and pedestrians for about fifteen minutes and seemed out of place. The passenger eased out and approached the Dodge. At that point, the investigator, because he was bored and really had nothing else to do, pulled out his cell phone and started a video recording.
The thief deftly opened the driver’s door with a flat blade-it was obvious he had experience-and within seconds cranked the engine and drove off, followed by his pal in the Honda. The video clearly showed the Honda’s Florida license plates. Few auto thefts are so easily solved, and the Foley police kept the video and thanked the concerned citizen. They tracked the license plates to a man in DeFuniak Springs, Florida, in Walton County, about fifteen miles from the casino. The man, one Berl Munger, had a long and colorful record as a small-time felon and was currently on parole. Because it was only the theft of a truck and not a more serious crime, and because it would involve reaching into another state, the Foley police put the file in a basket for items to be done soon, but not tomorrow.
–
Greg Myers and his beloved boat were docked in Naples, Florida. He was having a late-afternoon drink on the Conspirator when he went through his daily routine of scanning the newspapers from Pensacola, Tallahassee, and Jacksonville. Living on a boat gave him a sense of rootlessness, of never being sure where he would be tomorrow. Keeping up with the news from his old haunts tied him to the past, the good days anyway, and had become important. Besides, he had a lot of enemies back there and they occasionally got their names in the papers.
He was shocked to read about Hugo, killed in an auto accident late at night on the Tappacola reservation, and his partner, Lacy Stoltz, badly injured. Terrible news, and for more than one reason. Investigations would follow, leads would be chased, fingers eventually pointed. As always, he suspected the worst-that Dubose was behind the accident, which wasn’t at all what it seemed.
The more he read the worse he felt. Though he had met with Lacy and Hugo on only three occasions, he liked and admired them. They were smart and unpretentious, didn’t make a lot of money, but were dedicated to their work. Because of him, they were on the trail of a crooked judge and her confederates. Because of him, Hugo was now dead.
Greg left the boat and walked along the pier. He found a bench overlooking the bay and sat there for a long time, cursing himself for what had happened. A dark little conspiracy had suddenly become far more dangerous.
15
Geismar was at the hospital by 8:00 Thursday morning. He stopped by the waiting room to check on Ann Stoltz, who was alone. Lacy’s vitals remained strong. The doctors had cut off the barbiturates the night before and she was slowly waking up. Thirty minutes later, a nurse came for Ann and said her daughter was alert. “I’ll break the news about Hugo,” Geismar said. “You go ahead for a few minutes and I’ll be right behind you.”
Because she was still in the ICU, Michael had not asked to see her. When he entered the room, he was stunned at the condition of her face. It was bruised, red and purple, with abrasions and small cuts, and swollen to the point of being unrecognizable. Through narrow, puffy slits he could barely see her pupils. The endotracheal tube was wedged into the corner of her mouth and taped into place. He gently touched her hand and said hello.
She nodded and tried to mumble something, but the tube was in the way. Ann Stoltz sat in a chair and wiped her eyes.
“How ya doing, Lacy?” Michael asked, himself on the verge of emotion. Such a beautiful face reduced to such a mess.
She nodded slightly.
Ann whispered, “I told her nothing.” A nurse slipped into the room and stood next to Ann.
Michael eased closer and said, “You guys were hit head-on. A terrible crash, Lacy.” He swallowed hard, glanced at Ann, and said, “Lacy, Hugo didn’t make it, okay? Hugo was killed.”
She groaned pitifully and closed the narrow slits. She squeezed his hand.
Michael’s eyes watered and he pressed on. “It wasn’t your fault, Lacy, you gotta understand it. It wasn’t your fault.”
She groaned again, and moved her head slightly from side to side.
A doctor eased to the side of the bed opposite Michael and stared at the patient. He said, “Lacy, I’m Dr. Hunt. You were unconscious for over forty-eight hours. Do you hear me?”
She nodded again, and took a deep breath. A small tear managed to find its way through the swelling and dropped onto her left cheek.
He proceeded with a quick exam of asking short questions, holding up fingers, and having her look at objects across the room. She responded well, though with some hesitation. “Does your head hurt?” he asked.
She nodded. Yes.
Dr. Hunt looked at the nurse and ordered a painkiller. He looked at Michael and said, “You can chat a few more minutes, but nothing about the accident. I understand the police want to talk to her, but that’s not going to happen anytime soon. We’ll see how she feels in a couple of days.” He backed away from the bed and left the room without another word.
Michael looked at Ann and said, “We need to discuss something confidential. If you don’t mind. Just take a second.” Ann nodded and slipped out of the room.
He said, “Lacy, did you have your BJC phone with you Monday night?”
She nodded yes.
“It’s missing; so is Hugo’s. The police searched your car and the accident scene. They’ve looked everywhere, no cell phones. Don’t ask me to explain, because I can’t. But if the wrong people hacked into your phone, we have to assume they can find Myers.”
Her swollen eyes widened slightly and she kept nodding go on.
He said, “Our tech guy says it’s virtually impossible to hack the phones, but there’s the chance. Do you have Myers’s number?”
She nodded. Yes.
“In the file?”
She nodded. Yes.
“Great. I’ll get to work on it.”
Another doctor popped in and wanted to poke around. Michael had had enough for one visit. His dreaded mission was accomplished, and evidently he would not be asking any more questions about what happened Monday night. He leaned a bit closer and said, “Lacy, I need to go. I’ll tell Verna that you’re okay and thinking about the family.”