“I don’t know,” White admitted. “But we’ve obviously touched a nerve. Someone is starting to push back.”
They both looked at Horse, who was still holding the receiver to his ear. He shook his head. “Nothing on star sixty-nine.” He clicked the receiver and started punching other numbers.
“Who do you think it was?” Leslie persisted. Uncertainty and confusion filled her voice. Public interest lawyers don’t get a lot of death threats.
“Not the Congressman,” White said. “He already warned me personally. Another warning would be redundant.”
White was interrupted by a sudden, “Damn!”
“What do you have, Horse?”
“No number. Just the area code.… 239.”
“But that’s…”
“I know. The call was local.”
32.
“Let’s get a move on it, slowpoke. Sherlock is ready for a nice run. She can’t wait forever.”
Leslie peddled her new bicycle in small circles in the parking lot as White finished adjusting the seat of his own Christmas present.
“All ready,” White shouted as he mounted his bike and headed for the path along the river. Sherlock trotted along, stopping to sniff at the trunks of trees and bushes, pissing on every object she came to, and going through the motions even after her supply ran out.
A light breeze blew off the river tossing Leslie’s hair. “This is great,” she said. “We should have gotten bikes a long time ago.”
“You have lots of good ideas.”
“I do, don’t I.”
For twenty minutes they laughed and talked as they peddled along the river and through the empty streets of downtown Fort Myers. As they crossed the Edison Bridge a mile from their warehouse, White’s cellular phone began chirping. Who the hell is this? He was suddenly back at Clyde’s on the evening he received the call from the emergency room. Please don’t be about Harry!
White came to a stop, resting against the bridge railing. He was greeted by a voice that was vaguely familiar. “Counselor. Are you and your lady enjoying your ride.”
“Who is this?”
“How quickly they forget. I the man who’s covering your ass.”
“Tiny?”
“None other. And right now we all got company.”
White fought the urge to look around. “Where are you?”
“Nearby. Ain’t important. What’s important is where your other friends is.”
“Where are they?”
“One be sitting in the park you just passed. Other one be in the green Chevy that jus’ went pas’ the bridge.”
“What are they doing?”
“Seems to be just watchin’.”
“How long have they been here?”
“Showed up early.”
“Are you sure they’re watching us?”
“Sure as I know you a white boy.”
“Do you recognize them?”
“They from out of town. Car got Dade county plates.”
Leslie peddled back down the bridge, stopped beside White and mouthed, “Who’s that?”
“We’re on our way back to the apartment,” White said before ending the call and turning to Leslie and saying, “Let’s head back.”
“Who was that?”
“Tiny.”
“Who?”
“Don’t look now,” White said. “We have company.”
Leslie gasped. “Someone’s following us?”
“And it isn’t Santa Clause.”
“What does he want?”
“He just wants to know where we go and what we do.”
“Where do they think we’re going to go on Christmas day?”
“Hard to say. And he probably doesn’t know either. He’s just doing what he was told to do.”
“Let’s ditch him!” Leslie suggested. “It might be fun to play with him.”
“That would only make him more curious,” White said. Just the thought of Leslie playing spy and counterspy was humorous.
“What are you going to do?”
“I think Horse and I might give our new friend a Christmas surprise.”
#
“Yeah, Lucius,” Horse said after answering on the second ring. “I’m just about to head over to your place.”
“We have a little matter to take care of.”
“I know. Tiny just called. What do you have in mind?”
“I thought a little chat with our visitors might be useful.”
“How many are there?”
“Looks like only two. One in the park and one in a green Chevy that’s now parked up the street.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Can Tiny take care of the one in the park?”
“Does a fish swim?” Horse laughed.
“Do you feel like being a holiday jogger?”
“It works for me.”
“Park up by the butcher shop on the corner and call me when you’re in position.”
#
White closed the gate to the yard behind his warehouse and began stretching as if preparing to go for a jog. As he expected, the man in the green Chevy slumped down behind the wheel, too low to see anything in his rear-view mirror.
White began running in place when Horse came around the corner and started trotting up the street. The man in the green Chevrolet slid lower in the seat as he pretended to read the newspaper.
“Sherlock,” White shouted, locking the man’s attention on him as Horse approached the car from the rear.
Before the man was aware of him, Horse had the door open and a 9mm Glock pointed at the man’s face. The man didn’t move as he stared at the barrel of Horse’s gun. He also didn’t respond when Horse said, “Merry Christmas.”
White crossed the street as Horse gripped the man by the collar, pulled him from the car and slammed him against the trunk. White circled the car, making a note of the Dade county license plates, and approached the man. “You’re a long way from home. You should be with your family during the holidays.”
The man glared at White but said nothing.
Horse pressed the barrel of his gun against the man’s back as he searched for weapons. He removed a Beretta from the waistband of his pants and handed it to White. He continued to pat down the man’s legs and withdrew a snub-nosed .38 Smith & Wesson revolver from his ankle holster.
“I hope you have a permit to carry these,” White said.
“Better than that, you dumb mother-fucker.”
“He speaks,” Horse said.
“I noticed.”
“If you assholes are finished with your little routine, you’ll find my carry permit and license in my jacket pocket.”
Horse reached into the man’s pocket and removed a wallet containing a laminated card identifying the man as a private investigator. He slowly lowered his Glock as White removed the clips from the man’s gun and put them in his pocket. “You won’t be needing these.”
Horse handed White the man’s concealed carry permit and private investigator’s license. “Miami, huh. You’re a long way from home.”
The man continued to glare at White.
“Now. Do you want to tell us what you’re doing following me?”
“No.”
“He’s a man of few words,” Horse said.
“So I noticed.”
“Maybe we should throw his ass in the river.”
“That would only add to the pollution.”
“Maybe we should ask Tiny,” Horse suggested, looking over the man’s shoulder to where Tiny was prodding the other surveillance man toward them.
“He got no Christmas spirit,” Tiny said, explaining the bruises on the man’s face before anyone could ask. “And he don’t seem to think much of my momma or my color.”
“Shame on you,” Horse said.
“If you clowns are through,” the man from the car said, “I want my gun back.”
“I don’t think so,” Horse said, taking the gun from White and
hurling it into the river.
“You fucking son of a bitch. You better hope I never see you again.”
“That’s just what I was going to suggest,” White said as he shoved the man into the car. “Tell your employer to back off.”
“This isn’t over,” the man spat as he started the car and accelerated away. White, Horse and Tiny watched them go. The man in the passenger seat turned and shouted something through the open window — probably not “Merry Christmas.’
“As soon as they returned to White’s warehouse, Horse went to his office and turned on his computer. A few minutes later, White followed and stood behind Horse watched as he paged through a series of websites. Finally, he found the page he was looking for and began to scroll through a list of names. When he found the name of the private investigator they had just encountered, he pressed another key and the man’s complete file appeared. Slowly Horse moved his finger down the page looking for anything out of the ordinary. Halfway down the page he stopped and turned to White.
“I’ll be damned,” White said. “He’s an ex-Miami narcotics detective. I think I now know what client sent him to visit us.”
“And,” Horse said as he continued to read down the screen, “he left the force before qualifying for retirement benefits.”
#
Leslie and Sandra looked up from the sofa when White and Horse stepped off the elevator.
“Our hero’s return,” Leslie announced.
“You might have at least shown some concern for our welfare,” Horse said, indicating the glasses of wine and a tray of cheese sitting on the table in front of the women.
“Why?” Leslie asked. “There were only two of them.”
“But they were very big,” White said.
“And mean,” Horse added.
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Well, they could have been.”
Leslie shook her head as she walked toward the kitchen. “Can I get you a drink, Horse?”
“Sure. A beer always goes down well after a hard day of chasing bad guys.”
“How do you put up with these guys,” Sandra asked Leslie.
“It helps to remember that they’re just a couple of prepubescent children playing out their fantasies.”
Leslie handed Horse a beer and filled a glass with diet Pepsi for White. “I generally ignore them when they get like this.”
“That lasts until she gets hungry,” White whispered to Horse. “Then she’s completely in love with me.”
“I heard that,” Leslie scolded.
“But something smells wonderful,” Sandra interrupted. “What is it?”
“Well, let’s see,” White answered as he checked the oven settings. “We have red potatoes roasted with butter and herbs, summer squash and roast venison, straight from Idaho.”
“You killed Bambi?” Sandra exclaimed.
“Of course not. The deer died of natural causes on the front porch of my lodge.… and she was smiling.”
Sandra chuckled. Horse cracked up.
“And I helped cook,” Leslie announced proudly.
Horse looked at her in amazement. “And what, may I ask, did you do to help cook?”
“I boiled the water.”
#
“That was a fun day,” Leslie said as she curled up naked in the bed beside White. “Aside from the visit from your snoopy friends.”
“Isn’t that about like Mary Todd Lincoln saying ‘It was a wonderful play, except for that other thing.’?”
Leslie hit him with a pillow. “You’re horrible.”
“But you love me.”
“Only because I’m too old to start training someone else.”
White kissed her on the forehead.
Leslie snuggled closer and muttered, “Horse and Sandra are a lot of fun together.”
“Yes, they are.”
“She’s so different from the women he usually dates.”
“That she is.”
“I never thought Horse would find someone like her. Emergency room nurse. Combat medic in Syria.”
“Uh, huh.”
“I hope it lasts.”
“That would be nice.”
“Do you think it will?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re not being much of a participant in this conversation.”
“I was just thinking about our uninvited guests.”
“Well, I can take your mind off them,” Leslie said as she slid under the covers.
33.
White took a sip of his coffee as he dialed the private telephone number for Graham Brochette. Brochette answered on the second ring. “Do you have any news?”
“Nothing new. But I need some help from you.”
“You know I can’t be officially involved in David’s case.”
“I’m not even sure that what I need is connected to David.”
White envisioned Brochette reaching for a legal pad and searching the usual clutter on his desk for something to write with. Whatever other feelings he had, White admire Brochette for being a roll-up-his-sleeves attorney whose desk reflected a full caseload. “Okay. What do you need?”
“I need some crime statistics.”
“Crime statistics? Why?”
“I’m just following up on a hunch.”
“Okay.” Brochette sounded dubious but resigned. “What do you need?”
“I need a breakdown of murder statistics for the past five years for the counties in the Southern District.”
“That’s all. That will be easy enough to put together.”
“That’s not all I need.”
“I should have known that. What else?”
“I need to know how many victims had been arrested for drug-related crimes and had been released on bail.”
“You can’t be serious. I don’t have the staff to compile this much data?
“Then call Washington and let them do it.”
“And what am I supposed to give them as justification?
“Tell them it has to do with your new job.”
“But I don’t have my new job yet.”
“If my hunch is right, you’ll get it.”
“What do you need this for?”
“You don’t want to know. At least not yet.”
“Whatever you say. But while I’ve got you on the line, I have news from the eastern front. Earlier this morning I received a call from Lyle Wilson.”
“And what news does Mr. Wilson have? Good or bad?”
“A little of both.”
“Start with the good news.”
“I don’t know which is which, so here goes. Sometime this morning the Miami PD pulled a body out of the Miami River. The body had been in the water for at least twenty-four hours.”
“Get to the good part.”
“The body was identified from the driver’s license photo. His name is Cho Wok Lo.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me.”
“It would if you knew the real name of the Cambodian who worked for Richard Barlow.”
White gasped. “Damn!’
“‘Damn’ is right, but that’s not all. The Police Chief in Miami is a friend of mine. He had the coroner recover the bullet from the body and send it to their crime lab for a ballistics testing. Our friend was killed with my gun.”
“So now your gun is linked to three murders. Does anyone have any idea who killed…”
“…Cho Wok Lo. And no. They don’t even know where he was killed.”
“Maybe it will help if they can find his car. It’s a blue Porsche.”
“I suggested that to the chief. The registration was in his wallet. It was soaked, but the crime lab was able to put it together.”
“Who’s the owner?”
“You better buckle your seat belt for this one. The car is registered to a Political Action Committee established by Richard Barlow.”
“The one he established to help Congressman St. James?”
“The same.”
White bowed his head, put his elbows on the table, and rested his forehead on his hands. “A minute later he raised his head and said, “We already knew that the Cambodian—”
“Cho Wok Lo.”
“Whatever. We knew that he worked for Barlow. The fact that he drove a car registered to Barlow’s PAC doesn’t mean much.”
“Maybe not. But something else the Miami Chief told me does. I told him about our conclusion that drug dealers who make deals with the prosecutors have a way of getting killed.”
“And?”
“He told me that this afternoon, a dealer they had arrested a couple of days ago got bailed out and was shot as he left the courthouse.”
For a moment White stopped breathing. “That pretty much destroys our working hypothesis. We thought Cho Wok Lo was responsible for killing Jackson and Barlow… and the dealers who had been bailed out after they had made deals to testify against others. He would have been my prime suspect for the killing of the drug dealer in Miami, but he has a perfect alibi for that one. He was already dead.”
“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t responsible for the other killings.”
“No. But Jackson and Barlow were killed with the same gun used to kill Cho Wok Lo. That certainly raises doubts about his involvement in the Jackson and Barlow murders.”
34.
United States Attorney’s do not usually respond to the commands of defense attorney’s, but these were not ordinary circumstances. White had called Graham Brochette early that morning and asked him to come to White’s Fort Myers office. Brochette had not even suggested that whatever White had to say could be discussed on the telephone. Instead, now, only three hours later, Brochette was pacing nervously around White’s office when White entered and told him to take a seat. “There have been a couple of new developments we need to talk about.”
“In David’s case?”
“I’m not sure. That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”
Brochette waited.
“Somebody called and threatened Leslie if I don’t stop investigating.”
Brochette was suddenly attentive. “Jesus. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It didn’t seem to concern you or David. The caller just said that what happens on the east coast is none of my business.”
For the next few minutes, Brochette remained silent as White recounted the circumstances of the threatening call and Horse’s efforts to trace it. After White was finished, leaned forward with his elbows on the conference table and formed a pyramid with his hands. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his joined hands. After a minute Brochette said, “It’ll be difficult for me to look into it without alerting anyone to our interest.”
The Nominee Page 26
