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.
Clyde parked his car and took a seat in Hank’s black Mercedes SUV. They rode along one of the few paved streets, weaving around dozens of contractors’ trucks and vans parked haphazardly on dirt lots. Hundreds of workers hustled about. Toward the end of the street the homes were almost finished, and at the very end were three spanking-new model homes being used to entice buyers. Hank parked in one of the driveways and they went inside. The carport door was unlocked. The house was empty of people and furniture. “Follow me,” Hank said, and they climbed the stairs.
Vonn Dubose was waiting in the empty master bedroom. He was looking out a front window, as if admiring the frenzy of yet another scorched-earth development. They spoke, shook hands, and Vonn actually smiled and seemed in good spirits. Clyde had not seen him in over a year and he had not changed at all. Slim, nice tan, golf shirt, and khakis, just another affluent retiree.
Vonn said, “So, what’s on your mind?”
–
The bug was built into the Timex watch on Clyde’s left wrist, a watch identical to the one he’d been wearing for the past three years. Clyde had not noticed the watches worn by Hank or Vonn, and he was almost certain they had paid no attention to his. Men tend not to notice such things, but Pacheco and his technicians were taking no chances. The leather band was tight because of a tiny vibrator on the back facing of the watch. When the van was within range, the facing would vibrate and Clyde would know they were in business.
It was an exact replica of a FedEx delivery van, and it rolled to a stop in front of the house next door. The driver, dressed in official FedEx garb, got out and popped the hood; some mechanical failure. In the rear was the FBI-Allie Pacheco and three technicians with their gear. When they were within two hundred feet of the Timex, they pushed a button and it vibrated. Inside the bedroom, the mike in the watch would pick up a whisper from thirty feet away.
The day before, Clyde had spent four hours with Allie Pacheco and two other agents rehearsing his role. Now it was time for his big moment. Deliver Vonn Dubose, and he, Clyde Westbay, would serve a few years and grow old a free man.
–
Clyde began, “Two things, Vonn. I can’t find Zeke Foreman. I told him to disappear two weeks ago and call me every other day. We spoke a few times, then his phone went silent. I think the kid probably just freaked out and ran away.”
Vonn looked at Hank, shrugged, looked at Clyde, and said, “I know this already.”
Clyde, his stomach flipping fast enough to make sounds for the Timex, shuffled his feet and continued, “Look, Vonn, this is all my fault and I’m taking responsibility. It was a stupid mistake on my part, and, well, who knows what might happen.”
Vonn looked at Hank again and said, “I thought I told you to pass along my displeasure with what happened.” He looked at Clyde and said, “Sure, it was stupid, but it’s done and I’m over it. It looks like the damage is contained. You just do your job running the hotels and I’ll get other folks for the dirty work.”
“Thanks, Vonn,” Clyde said. “The other thing is that, I just want you to know, I’m willing to leave town for a year or so. I think it might be smart if I just, you know, took a trip and vanished until this blows over. You see, Vonn, my wife and I aren’t doing so well these days, and, frankly, it’s a good time for me to get away from her. We’re not giving up, but she’s cool if I hit the road for a while.”