The Whistler (The Whistler #1)

“Excitement. No eight to five, behind-the-desk routine. When you’re chasing crooks—big ones, small ones, smart ones, dumb ones—there aren’t too many dull moments. And you? What made you want to investigate judges?”

“Well, it wasn’t something I was dreaming about when I started law school. The job market was pretty soft when I graduated, plus I had no desire to do the big-firm routine. They’re finally hiring a lot of women, half my class was female, but I didn’t want to work a hundred hours a week. I have friends who went that route and they’re all miserable. My parents had retired to Florida. I was here and I saw an ad for a job with the Board on Judicial Conduct.”

“You interviewed and got the job. What a surprise.”

The oysters arrived on platters of ice, and the conversation stopped as they went about the ritual, New Orleans style, of squeezing lemons and adding horseradish to the cocktail sauce. Pacheco gulped his from the shells while Lacy used saltines, both acceptable methods.

He said, “So you visited Junior Mace yesterday.”

“I did, for the second time. Ever been to death row?”

“No, but I’m sure I will one day. Anything interesting?”

“Are you fishing for information?”

“Always. I can’t help it. It’s in my DNA.”

“Maybe a tip, a lead, or something. Junior may have information. Mainly, though, I think he just enjoys visitors.”

“So you’re not going to tell me anything new?”

“No, well, maybe. You’ve no doubt studied our exhibit detailing his trial and conviction.”

“I’ve read every word.”

“So you remember the part of the story where the two jailhouse snitches disappeared shortly after the trial.”

“Todd Short and Digger Robles.”

She smiled. Impressive. “Right. For years, the legend was that they were taken out before they could recant, which is often what snitches do. It appears as if one is really gone. The other, though, has made a miraculous comeback. Back from the dead, sort of, and he’s talking. He’s dying of cancer and wants to set the record straight.”

“That’s great news, right?”

“Maybe. Junior’s lawyers from D.C. were at Starke yesterday, and they asked me to sit in. They’re pretty excited about his chances of, first, staying the execution and, second, getting a new trial.”

“A new trial? It’s been, what, fifteen years?”

“Fifteen. Seems like a long shot to me, but these guys know their stuff.”

“But this is not your case, right? You’re not involved with Junior’s habeas appeals. So you went to see him for some other reason.”

“Right. Like I said, he thinks he might know something.”

Allie smiled and let it pass. It was obvious she was not sharing anything else. They finished the oysters and debated the entrées. He decided to settle for another dozen. She ordered a bowl of gumbo.

“Whose turn is it?” he asked.

“Yours, I think.”

“Okay, what other interesting cases are you working on?”

She smiled and sipped more wine. “Well, within the bounds of confidentiality, with no names being mentioned, we’re trying to remove a judge who’s hitting the bottle pretty hard. Two lawyers and two litigants have complained. Poor guy has been fighting alcoholism for a long time and now he’s losing badly. He won’t schedule hearings until after lunch. Sometimes he forgets them altogether. One of his court reporters says he keeps a flask under his robe and pours the stuff in his coffee cup. His docket has a backlog and no one’s happy. Pretty sad, really.”

“Should be easy then.”

“It’s never easy to remove a judge. They like their jobs and usually have no place to land when they hang up their robes. My turn. What are you working on?”

For an hour they traded war stories. Pacheco’s world of tracking sleeper cells and narco-traffickers was far more exciting than hounding derelict judges, but he was not judgmental and seemed fascinated by her work. When the wine was gone, they ordered coffee and kept talking.

At her apartment, he walked her to the steps like a gentleman and stopped at the door. “Can we talk business?” he asked.

“If you mean sex, the answer is no. I’m still too sore to get in the mood.”

“I wasn’t thinking about sex.”

“Is that your first lie of the night?”

“Maybe the second.” He faced her and stepped closer. “Luna is close, Lacy. The disappearance of Myers has our attention. I spent most of the day trying to convince him that this case is potentially much bigger than we can imagine. We need something else, another smoking gun, and Luna might be ready.”

“What about your big boss in Jacksonville?”

“He’s tough, but he’s also ambitious. If he sees the potential the way we do, he’ll reconsider. Just give us something else.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know you are. And I’m waiting by the phone.”

“Enjoyed the evening.”

“And so did I.” He pecked her on the cheek and said good night.





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