The Whistler (The Whistler, #1)

by John Grisham

complaint has some merit. We then notify the target, the

From Geismar’s corner office, he had the view,

Purchased new last year from a dealer in Pensacola.” Number two was full length of Claudia, her face partially hidden behind large sunglasses. Lacy studied her four-inch heels and asked, “How do you know who designed the shoes?” “The mole knows,” Myers said, and left it at that. Number three was Claudia with her back to the camera as she opened the front door, presumably with a key, though one was not visible. Number four was the black Mercedes SUV parked beside the Lexus, its license plate also clearly visible. Myers said, “It’s registered to a man whose address is a high-rise condo near Destin, and not surprisingly his name is not Vonn Dubose. We’re still digging. Take a look at number five.” Number five was the man himself, a nice-looking, well-tanned Florida retiree in a golf shirt and golf slacks, thin and balding with a gold watch on his left wrist. Myers said, “To my knowledge, and I have no idea what’s in the FBI files, but I suspect they have nothing, this is the only photo of Vonn Dubose.” “Who took it?” Lacy asked. “Guy with a camera. It’s also on video. Let’s just say the mole is resourceful.” “Not good enough, Greg,” Lacy shot back with a flash of anger. “It’s obvious someone is watching McDover’s movements. Who is it? You’re still playing cat and mouse and I’d like to know why.” Hugo said, “Look, Greg, we need to trust you, but we have to know what you know. Someone is following McDover. Who the hell is it?” Out of habit, and an irritating one, Myers glanced ...

no thin attaché containing a couple of files. No,

they flipped pages, with Pacheco a bit quicker on

recall a Maserati, a Hummer, a Porsche, a black Range

Their meeting with Todd Short had gone beautifully.

30 Wilton Mace said he was calling from a pay phone, and he did indeed sound nervous, even jumpy, as if looking over his shoulder. Tomorrow, Lyman Gritt was taking his wife to see a doctor in Panama City, a specialist of some variety. He wanted to meet Lacy at the doctor’s office, a place no one would suspect. Wilton gave her the details and asked if she could identify Gritt. She said no, she had never met him, but her boss could. And her boss would insist on being with her. Wilton wasn’t sure how this would sit with Gritt, but they could figure things out at the doctor’s office. Don’t be surprised, though, if Gritt didn’t like it. Lacy and Michael arrived an hour early. While he stayed in the car, she entered the building, part of a busy medical arts complex with doctors and dentists on four levels. She

else. Over time he learned how to adjust the numbers depending on the flow of traffic in the hotels. He even devised a method to run dirty cash through the gross receipts at the front desks. The cooked books appeared spotless. The accountants in Pensacola congratulated him on the increase in sales but never inquired about anything suspicious. Clyde had kept records on a notepad, far away from the computers, and with a quick look he could tell the FBI exactly how much money he’d laundered through his hotels and bars over the past nine years. His best guess was about $300,000 a year. And this was just the small stuff. The serious laundering took place in their bars, liquor stores, and strip clubs. The gang slowly sucked him in. After two years as a manager, he was invited to Vegas for a boys’ trip. He flew on a private jet with Hank and the Maton brothers. A limo took them to a grand casino where Clyde had his own suite. All expenses were covered by Hank—steak dinners, fine wines, gorgeous hookers. On a Saturday night, Hank invited him to a penthouse suite for a drink with Vonn. Just Vonn

easier. I noticed some things. Her wardrobe was expensive