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| Categories | Thrillers & Suspense |
| Author | John Grisham |
| Publisher | Anchor; Reprint edition (July 11, 2017) |
| Language | English |
| Paperback | 384 pages |
| Item Weight | 12 ounces |
| Dimensions |
5.2 x 0.88 x 8 inches |
I. Book introduction
#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • A high-stakes thrill ride through the darkest corners of the Sunshine State, from the author hailed as “the best thriller writer alive” by Ken Follett
The Whistler is a novel written by American author John Grisham. It was released in hardcover, large print paperback, e-book, compact disc audiobook and downloadable audiobook on October 25, 2016. It is a legal thriller about Florida Board on Judicial Conduct investigator Lacy Stoltz.
The plot centers on the legal and moral problems involved in Native American gaming. The (fictional) Tappacola Nation, a small Native American tribe located in the northern part of Florida, starts a casino in their reservation, giving the tribe members an unprecedented economic affluence and a measure of compensation for their sufferings during the centuries of European settlement, but also opening wide the potential for corruption and involvement with organized crime, up to and including outright murder.
Plot
A mysterious source contacts the (fictional) Florida Board on Judicial Conduct, or BJC, promising information that will reveal the identity and crimes of the most corrupt judge in U.S. history. Investigator Lacy Stoltz is assigned to the case, and takes her sometime-partner Hugo Hatch with her to St. Augustine to meet the source in person. The source is revealed to be a disgraced lawyer from Pensacola named Ramsey Mix.
Mix reveals that the corrupt judge is Claudia McDover of Florida’s 24th Circuit. Over the course of almost two decades, McDover has aided the local Coast Mafia in their scheme to build a casino in partnership with the Tappacola Indian Nation. Aside from skimming money from the casino, the Coast Mafia has also been responsible for many nearby real estate developments, with any legal problems smoothed over by McDover in exchange for cash payments and condominiums. In addition, the Coast Mafia has staged the murder of Son Razko, a prominent anti-casino member of the Tappacola Nation, and McDover has falsely convicted his right-hand man, Junior Mace, of the crime. Mix has been given this information by an intermediary representing an unknown “mole” close to McDover.
When Stoltz and Hatch begin an investigation, the leader of the Coast Mafia, Vonn Dubose, decides to retaliate. Stoltz and Hatch are lured to a remote part of the Tappacola reservation by a tribal member claiming to be a source. Driving away from the uneventful meeting, the duo are deliberately struck head-on by a truck. Hatch is killed and Stoltz is badly injured. This escalation convinces the director of the BJC, Michael Geismar, to ask for help from the FBI. However, the up-and-coming mob lieutenant tasked with killing Hatch and Stoltz left behind evidence at the crime scene and was caught on video at a nearby convenience store. Aided by this evidence and a former Tappacola Nation constable, BJC and FBI investigators find Hatch’s killers and offer them reduced sentences in exchange for information against those higher up in the Coast Mafia.
As their operation begins to unravel, Dubose and McDover realize there is a leak. Suspicion lands on McDover’s court recorder, JoHelen Hooper, who is in fact Mix’s source. Realizing her danger, Hooper hides in a cheap hotel on Panama City Beach, but she is tracked there by a Coast Mafia hitman. With Stoltz’s help, she manages to evade the hitman. Both women retreat to a lakeside cabin in North Carolina for safety while the FBI captures Dubose and McDover.
Editorial Reviews
“Riveting . . . finely drawn . . . The Whistler centers on an elaborate conspiracy involving an Indian reservation, an organized crime syndicate and a crooked judge skimming a small fortune from the tribal casino’s monthly haul.”—The New York Times Book Review
“A main character who’s a seriously appealing woman . . . a whistle-blower who secretly calls attention to corruption . . . a strong and frightening sense of place . . . Grisham’s on his game.”—Janet Maslin, The New York Times
“A fascinating look at judicial corruption . . . an entirely convincing story and one of Grisham’s best. I can’t think of another major American novelist since Sinclair Lewis who has so effectively targeted social and political ills in our society. In Grisham’s case, it is time at least to recognize that at his best he is not simply the author of entertaining legal thrillers but an important novelistic critic of our society. In more than 30 novels, he has often used his exceptional storytelling skills to take a hard look at injustice and corruption in the legal world and in our society as a whole.”—Patrick Anderson, The Washington Post
“Grisham’s latest involves the rich and powerful and an abuse of the justice system. Grisham novels are crowd-pleasers because he knows how to satisfy readers who want to see injustice crushed, and justice truly prevails for those who cannot buy influence.”—Associated Press
“Grisham has become an institution. For more than 25 years now he’s been our guide to the byways and backwaters of our legal system, superb in particular at ferreting out its vulnerabilities and dramatizing their abuse in gripping style. He excels at describing injustice and corruption. Grisham’s legal knowledge is impressive, and his ability to convey it unparalleled in popular fiction.”—USA Today
About John Grisham
John Grisham (born February 8, 1955 in Jonesboro, Arkansas) is an American novelist, lawyer and former member of the 7th district of the Mississippi House of Representatives, known for his popular legal thrillers. According to the American Academy of Achievement, Grisham has written 28 consecutive number-one fiction bestsellers, and his books have sold 300 million copies worldwide. Along with Tom Clancy and J. K. Rowling, Grisham is one of only three authors to have sold two million copies on a first printing.
Grisham graduated from Mississippi State University and earned a Juris Doctor from the University of Mississippi School of Law in 1981. He practised criminal law for about a decade and served in the Mississippi House of Representatives from 1983 to 1990.
Grisham’s first novel, A Time to Kill, was published in June 1989, four years after he began writing it. Grisham’s first bestseller, The Firm, sold more than seven million copies. The book was adapted into a 1993 feature film of the same name, starring Tom Cruise, and a 2012 TV series which continues the story ten years after the events of the film and novel. Seven of his other novels have also been adapted into films: The Chamber, The Client, A Painted House, The Pelican Brief, The Rainmaker, The Runaway Jury, and Skipping Christmas.
Grisham is a two-time winner of the Harper Lee Prize for Legal Fiction and was honored with the Library of Congress Creative Achievement Award for Fiction.
When he’s not writing, Grisham serves on the board of directors of the Innocence Project and of Centurion Ministries, two national organizations dedicated to exonerating those who have been wrongfully convicted. Much of his fiction explores deep-seated problems in our criminal justice system.
John Girsham lives on a farm in central Virginia.
II. [Reviews] The Whistler: A Novel by John Grisham
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1. MAUREEN review The Whistler by John Grisham
Having previously reviewed the 4 chapter version, I was given a copy of the book by Shotsmag and have now reviewed the book in its entirety. Thank you to www.shotsmag.co.uk for my copy in exchange for a fair and honest review*
Who judges the judges? Personally it’s not something I’ve ever given any thought to, but John Grisham has created a unique and exciting storyline based around this very subject.
Lacy Stoltz investigates cases of judicial misconduct in Florida. She has her share of interesting cases but nothing that will set the world on fire, that is until Greg Myers approaches her with the mother of all judicial misconduct complaints. Under state law, Myers and his anonymous whistle blower are able to claim a portion of any illegal assets discovered from the investigation, and as investigations go, this one will go down in history.
Lacy, along with her working partner Hugo Hatch agree to meet Myers ( a somewhat shady character who lives on the periphery of society). He is a convicted felon, who lost his license to practice law, but he served his time and has recently had his licence restored. He claims to have evidence of a female judge being mixed up with the local mafia, saying that she’s amassed a small fortune in illegal earnings from a casino and its surrounding condos. This case, if proven, could become a very dangerous assignment for Lacy and Hugo, and Hugo in particular has real concerns about becoming involved with the mafia, and its possible outcome. The case is presented to their boss Michael Geismar, and after much deliberation, it’s decided that they will take the case on, with Lacy and Hugo being the main investigators.
And so begins the massive investigation to bring to justice the most corrupt judge in US history. It becomes clear that peeling away the many layers of deceit will not be easy, and as their powers are somewhat limited, the FBI are brought into play and work in conjunction with Lacy and the team. Companies and assets are well hidden but the whole team’s determination is unquestionable. Of course, anyone who tries to take down the mafia are not in for an easy ride, but it makes for a truly exciting read.
This was an intelligent and gripping storyline, and took me into places I’d rather not go, thankful that I was reading from a cosy armchair, and with the distinct advantage of not being personally involved. The characterisation too was perfect, with completely believable personalities. What a thoroughly enjoyable and compelling read.
2. BLAINE review The Whistler by John Grisham
The truth was that, at the age of thirty-six, Lacy was content to live alone, to sleep in the center of the bed, to clean up only after herself, to make and spend her own money, to come and go as she pleased, to pursue her career without worrying about his, to plan her evenings with input from no one else, to cook or not to cook, and to have sole possession of the remote control.
I liked The Whistler more than most of Mr. Grisham’s recent efforts. He’s such a good storyteller, that it usually comes down to the plot. In this case, I enjoyed the out-of-the-box story of someone using the attorneys in charge of enforcing the profession’s ethics rules to try to break up a criminal conspiracy involving a judge. Hopefully this book portends a return to form for Mr. Grisham. Recommended.
3. MOONIE review The Whistler by John Grisham
Quandary time: I really enjoyed this book – in fact, perhaps more than the last two or three from this popular author (if possible, I’d give it 4.5 stars). For openers, there’s a noticeable absence of the industry-bashing that’s been common of late (much to my dislike), and the focus is almost entirely on legal procedure that’s reminiscent of earlier and, IMHO, more enjoyable works.
On the other hand, it struck me as different enough that it may not sit well with die-hard fans. Can I call it, for instance, a “high-stakes thrill ride” as claimed in the description? Simply put, no.
Don’t misunderstand; there’s plenty of action, beginning the minute Lacy Stoltz, an attorney and investigator for the Florida Board on Judicial Conduct, is contacted by Greg Myers, a lawyer who claims that a Sunshine State judge is the most successful judicial thief in U.S. history. The judge, he reports, for years has been taking huge cuts from a large casino operated by the Tappacola Indian tribe, construction of which was financed by a secretive organization called the Coast Mafia. But there are complications; first, Myers was at one time disbarred, so his reputation is questionable. And, he’s representing the whistle-blower only by way of an unknown intermediary, whose name he refuses to reveal (he insists he doesn’t even know the name of the whistle-blower). Because of the threat to his own life, he’s been on the lam for years (Myers isn’t his real name); and he admits his only motivation for coming forward now is that he and his client stand to rake in millions by filing a complaint with the Board of Conduct.
Painfully aware of those limitations as well as touchy jurisdictional issues between Florida law enforcement and Native American property, Lacy and her partner, Hugo, tentatively begin to investigate. Some of the dirt they dig up early on suggests that the FBI should be called in to help, but Myers threatens to back out if that happens. So, the partners set off to learn what they can given the legal restrictions – and from the git-go run smack dab into a hornet’s nest that quickly turns deadly.
As I said before, the action is pretty much nonstop after that. So why isn’t it a nail-biter? I’m not sure, except to say it’s the style of writing. Dialog makes the characters seem real, but everything in between is pretty much a narrative so matter-of-fact that it’s almost – but not quite – to the point of bland. This “just the facts” approach keeps the plot interesting as all get-out to me, but at the same time I never felt any particular excitement or sense of imminent danger; in other words, nothing that put me on the edge of my seat. That said, though, I finished the book in a day and a half just because I didn’t want to put it down – hence my dilemma in writing a review.
In the end, I come down strongly on the side of well done. But in the final analysis, I guess other readers will just have to decide for themselves. Sorry, guys and gals, but it’s the best that I can do.
4. APRIL review The Whistler by John Grisham
John Grisham is a very talented writer no matter what genre style of legal thriller he chooses to write! I have read other of his previous books that also did not disappoint, but this one, ‘The Whistler’, is very much like a non-fiction true crime book instead of a novel. Every detail is meticulously described – the crimes, the characters, how a RICO conspiracy becomes a FBI case – I felt as if I was reading an Ann Rule book. As I think Ann Rule was one of the best crime journalists because she strictly wrote of only the facts, most gleaned from trial transcripts and interviews with those involved, the feeling that the fiction ‘The Whistler’ could have been a non-fiction book Ann Rule wrote is amazing to me. Yet, ‘The Whistler’ is indeed a novel. It follows various characters from chapter to chapter, slowly revealing the vast labyrinth of criminality underlying what appeared to be at first only a crime of fraud.
I was fascinated from the first page to the last. This is a good book to take to the beach or while riding public transportation!
5. RONALD H.CLARK review The Whistler by John Grisham
ohn Grisham practically invented the “legal thriller” format. His latest novel, well past his 20th, both continues some familiar Grisham features as well as striking out in some new directions as well. He continues to develop his writing skills as an outstanding novelist, demonstrating increased mastery in areas such as character development, dialogue, and plot evolution. He still draws the reader in from the beginning as the story begins to unfold. One departure from his other books is that this is no “page turner” that increases the reader’s fixation as the suspense builds (think of “The Firm” by contrast]. Grisham, for once, is in no hurry to develop his story–people are not “falling” off tall buildings on page 6 as occurred in an earlier novel. This does not mean that he has lost his ability to inject an explosive vivid element suddenly when it is least expected which grabs the reader like no other author I am familiar with. So the reader has plenty of time to internalize the varied details of the plot.
I have commented in past reviews on how his recent books have educated the reader on various legal topics, such as how the mass torts bar operates; public interest lawyers fighting to protect the environment; the deficiencies of the death penalty; and the misuse of confessions. Here the story involves the Florida Board on Judicial Conduct, which policies judges and conducts investigations of alleged judicial misconduct. Such agencies exist in virtually every state and do highly important work. Integral to the plot is an Indian-owned casino which allows Grisham to educate us about this fascinating development. 200 tribes in this country run casinos, on reservations, which means they pay no federal taxes of any kind and no taxes (state or otherwise) on profits. These casinos generate billions in profits, with oceans of cash flowing through their hoppers. So this leads to the reader learning about money laundering and other unpleasant, but highly profitable, activities.
The story picks up when a criminal investigation ensues. Grisham’s description of how U.S. Attorneys employ grand juries is right on (I used to run them), as is his introduction of quaint government practices such as asset forfeitures and freezing, RICO, and what inducements can be offered to secure testimony from lower level crooks. I was amazed to learn about “burner” phones–technology marches on. The important thing here is that all of this new information not only does not slow down Grisham’s exciting tale, but actually enhances its effectiveness. His own background as a criminal defense counsel really pays off in adding credibility to his stories.
The book is atypical for Grisham in that it does not build to a “page turning” climax that grips the reader until the last paragraph is read. And I sort of missed that–not to say the ending is not well done, and the pace doesn’t pick up around page 335. It’s just not the kind of ending found in other Grisham novels where you can’t go to bed until to finish it off–no matter what. It also has relatively little focus on litigation and trials, although some important elements do make brief appearances. All told, just another fine achievement by John Grisham that provides a most “satisfying meal” for any reader who appreciates a well-written and exciting criminal tale.
6. PFT review The Whistler by John Grisham
Not sure I get all the negative reviews. I read this in a day, which meant it held my interest, and for that reason it gets 5 stars. If anything, it was probably too short, and perhaps some heavy editing made it seem boring to some since at times it read like a summary.
Like with all of Grishams stories, there are some messages or warnings for the readers, some obvious, some not.
Obviously, this one starts with a corrupt judge. For some reason he feels the need to say they are few and far between. However, given the bare bones budget of the office in charge of investigating these judges in the story has, perhaps its more of a case of ” don’t look, don’t find”.
Also, the lack of evidence that led to this investigation was rather surprising. Given a defense against such charges can ruin reputations and cause serious financial hardships, one wonders if fear of being accused makes some judges susceptible to corruption. This might be one of the less obvious messages, or maybe I read too much into it.
The lack of interest in offshore companies in owning property and business was also an interesting part of the story, especially when its concentrated in such a large area. FBI too busy tracking down sleeper cells and terrorism in the story. Anyone think terrorist organization with plenty of money might use offshore companies as a means to gain a foothold for their activities?
Then we see the total lack of security in private charter flights. I mean, with commercial airports locked down like they are now, can anyone doubt the path of least resistance to using planes as weapons lies here?. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist. Leaving the door open I guess.
So maybe these 2 above are some of the less obvious messages.
Last one is the vast powers of Rico which is one of his favorites and is repeated here. Yeah, its a great tool to capture the bad guys and seize assets, but as we see in Grishams book here, some innocents, or at least not very bad guys can get caught in the fall out, and once you do you basically are convicted w/o a trial and have no choice but to plead to whatever offer is made.
Indian Casinos, and their limited protection from the Feds/state can make them attractive to organized crime. However, in the book, such a liason was made possible only due to the tribe originally being opposed to the casino so I don’t know that its a broad concern in general, not knowing too much about the subject. So not sure Grishmas inclusion of Indian Casinos in the story was anything but coincidental
7. CHERYL STOUT review The Whistler by John Grisham
I haven’t read a John Grisham book for quite a while, which is too bad because he’s long been a favorite author of mine. I read about his newest book THE JUDGE’S LIST that just came out and was very interested in it, had this first book in the series and decided to go on a mini-Grisham reading spree.
I enjoyed this first book in The Whistler series. Lacy Stoltz is a lawyer that works for the Florida Board on Judicial Conduct. She and her partner take official complaints against Florida judge’s being accused of misconduct.
They have never taken on a case of this magnitude – or this danger – before. Being filed by an anonymous whistleblower, through an intermediary, the case hints at a scope of corruption that hints at involving scores of people and millions of dollars and Lacy and her partner, Hugo, will try their best to stay on top of the case.
I highly recommend this thriller to Grisham fans and all readers who enjoy legal thrillers.
I’m now off to read THE JUDGE’S LIST.
8. LABIJOSE review The Whistler by John Grisham
No diré que ha vuelto el mejor Grisham, pero sí que ha recuperado bastante de su esencia. Por eso me sorprende que tenga tantas reseñas negativas. Supongo que comparan “El soborno” con sus mejores obras, y esta quizás no pase a la historia, pero tampoco decepciona.
Con un ritmo pausado, pero para nada aburrido, el autor teje una investigación creíble, con personajes totalmente reconocibles. Quizás echemos en falta sus famosas descripciones judiciales, ya que en esta novela no hay escenas con jurado, ni fiscal, ni abogado defensor. Como contrapartida, asistimos a toda la investigación, desde la llegada de la denuncia contra una jueza, presuntamente corrupta, hasta el apresamiento de la enrevesada telaraña de delincuentes (una auténtica mafia), entre los que se encuentran los cabecillas. Todo ello llevado a cabo desde la Comisión de Conducta Judicial (Lacy Stoltz es un personaje entrañable), que tendrá que entregar al caso al FBI, tras el asesinato de su compañero.
¿De verdad gozan los indios de ese grado de impunidad en sus territorios? Si es así, sería una más de las muchas contradicciones de ese gran país, donde el capitalismo roza lo inverosímil.
Desde luego, esta novela me ha parecido inmensamente mejor que “Gray mountain”, un intento fallido de denuncia medioambiental de JG. Aquí se mueve más en su terreno. Y el resultado es un producto muy bien presentado, interesante, creíble, y con una resolución que además dejará satisfechos a muchos lectores. Yo entre ellos.
9. KON R review The Whistler by John Grisham
I chose this book as my first Grisham because of the mixed reviews. I figured if I enjoyed it, I can look forward to reading his better works afterwards. After you read someone’s best, the rest of their works, while still good, can feel mediocre in comparison. I absolutely loved it, which got me excited about diving through the rest of his collection.
Grisham turns on that slow cooker early on and halfway through it’s sizzling hot. I enjoyed that the author wasn’t afraid to show us what was happening with opposition. I feel like too many authors stick to the main character’s narrative as the only way of gathering facts about what’s going on.
I don’t think there was a single character I didn’t like. Lacy is obviously the star of the show, but I enjoyed her brother more. He was over the top energetic and funny. He kicked Lacy’s butt into overdrive when she needed it most. Even the stuffy FBI had some life to it in this book.
10. LAURIE review The Whistler by John Grisham
I saw that John Grisham is coming out with a new book in October, 2021 featuring a character introduced in this 2016 book so I thought I’d reread it to familiarize myself with the original story. I first read The Whistler in 2017 (thanks Goodreads for that information!) but time passes and many books are read and low and behold I found I remembered very little about the plot of this book. It was almost like reading a new Grisham novel! What joy!
Lacy Stoltz and her partner Hugo Hatch are investigators for Florida’s Board of Judicial Conduct who are tasked with dealing with misconduct complaints filed against judges. When a mysterious intermediary files a complaint on behalf of an anonymous whistle blower, they are assigned the case. As they delve into the complaint, a picture of greed and corruption emerges that involves a casino on an Indian reservation, an organized crime syndicate and the crooked judge who facilitated the corruption through favorable ruling from the bench. During their investigation, they discover the judge has amassed a small fortune by skimming from the takings of the casino. Once wind of their investigation becomes known, they quickly realize that their lives are in danger and when their intermediary suddenly disappears, they have no option but to call in the FBI. What follows is a legal rocket ride of a thriller that John Grisham is so adept at writing.
Grisham’s newest book featuring Lacy Stoltz is called The Judge’s List and will be released October 19, 2021. I’m already in line to get it.
III. [Quote] The Whistler: A Novel by John Grisham
The best book quotes from The Whistler: A Novel by John Grisham
“The judge is the Honorable Claudia McDover, on the bench now for seventeen years.”
“Total isolation leads to sensory deprivation and all sorts of mental problems.”
“Oh well. Part of being single was dealing with the misconceptions of others.”
“And it’s often the one you trust the most who’ll cut your throat for the right price.”
“Well, in my world, our world, there are too many guns and too many bad things happen because of them.” Pippin,”
“The sixth and last eulogy was from Roderick, Hugo and Verna’s oldest child. He wrote a three-page tribute to his father, and it was read by the reverend. Even Michael Geismar, a cold-blooded Presbyterian, finally succumbed to his emotions. The”
“Nor did she like society’s way of presuming she was unhappy because she had not found the right guy.”
“The truth was that, at the age of thirty-six, Lacy was content to live alone, to sleep in the center of the bed, to clean up only after herself, to make and spend her own money, to come and go as she pleased, to pursue her career without worrying about his, to plan her evenings with input from no one else, to cook or not to cook, and to have sole possession of the remote control.”
“At times scathing, at times caustic and sarcastic, and never for a moment the least bit sympathetic, the judge’s sentencing tirade raged for thirty minutes and startled many in the courtroom. Claudia, frail and much thinner after seventeen months of jailhouse food, stood as straight as possible and absorbed the blows. Only once did she seem to waver, as if her knees were losing strength. Never did she shed a tear, nor did she take her eyes off the judge.”
“St. Augustine was billed as the oldest city in America, the very spot where Ponce de León landed and began exploring.”
“rescue, the ambulance, the medevac, the emergency room. Nothing.” One of Gunther’s muted cell phones erupted in vibration, a call so urgent that the device tried to bounce across the purloined feeding table in his half of the room. He glared at it and fought the temptation the way a drunk in recovery stares at a cold beer. He let it pass. Michael nodded toward the door, and the two stepped into the hallway. He asked, “How much have you talked to her doctors?” “Not much. I don’t think they like me.” What a surprise. “Well, they tell me her memory will slowly come back. The best way to help is to stimulate her brain, primarily by talking. Make her talk, make her laugh, make her listen, as soon as possible”
“They don’t advertise, and their names are never in the papers. I doubt if a member has been arrested in the past ten years. It’s a small network, very tight and disciplined.”
“Lacy said, “So, your story involves organized criminals, Indians who own casinos, and a crooked judge, all in bed together?” “That’s a fair summary.”
“Once a heavy smoker—a good portion of the smoke-stained windows and ceilings could be blamed on her—she had been battling lung cancer for the past three years but had yet to miss a full week of work.”
“Native American” is a politically correct creation of clueless white people who feel better using it, when in reality the Native Americans refer to themselves as Indians and snicker at those of us who don’t,”
“to the McDover case. She agreed but doubted seriously if she would comply, even though her appetite for risk had been severely diminished. As agreed, Wilton met her near the front entrance and they found a quiet table in a coffee bar at the”
“There was once a Dixie Mafia, a Redneck Mafia, a Texas Mafia, all similar gangs of thugs. It looks like most of them were long on legend and short on criminal efficiency. Just a bunch of Bubbas who liked to sell whiskey and break legs.”
“lawyers, they valued their time. As investigators, they had learned patience. The two roles were often in conflict.”
“She seldom dated because there were so few eligible men, or so few who appealed to her. She had one bad breakup in her past, an awful split that, after almost eight years, was still baggage.”
“Neither do we. We’re not cops with guns. We’re lawyers with subpoenas.”
“And why not keep quiet? They’re reaping a windfall. They have homes and cars, schools and health care, money for college. Why rock the boat? If the casino is doing a little dirty business with some gangsters, who cares? Speaking up might get you shot.”
“No smile, not a trace of warmth or humor, all business. Could she really be a party to the wrongful conviction of a man who’d been on death row fifteen years? It was hard to believe.”
“So to summarize the case so far, our target, Judge Claudia McDover, takes bribes from thugs, skims casino cash from the Indians, and somehow launders the money with the help of a very close friend who happens to be an estate lawyer.”
“frustration on her part and fatigue on his, they both threw in the towel early and settled on soft jazz. Soft, so Hugo’s deep and lengthy nap would not be disturbed. Soft, because Lacy didn’t care much for jazz either. It was another give-and-take of sorts, one of many that had sustained their teamwork over the years. He slept and she drove and both were content. Before the Great Recession, the Board on Judicial Conduct had access to a small pool of state-owned Hondas, all with four doors and white paint and low mileage. With budget cuts, though, those disappeared. Lacy,”
“Well, in my defense, I was walking the floor at three this morning with her latest child. I think it’s a girl. What’s her name?”
“Wilton Mace lived in a redbrick split-level on a gravel road two miles from the casino. On the phone he’d been reluctant to talk and said he would have to check with his brother. He called Hugo back the following day and agreed to a meeting. He was waiting in a lawn chair under a tree by the carport, swatting flies and drinking iced tea. The day was cloudy and not as hot. He offered Lacy and Hugo sweet tea to drink and they declined. He pointed to two other folding chairs and they sat down. A toddler in a diaper was playing in a plastic wading pool in the backyard, under the watchful eye of its grandmother.”
“gets my vote. Sure Greg had enemies, but that story goes back a long way. And I know some of the people he squealed on. They were not organized crooks. Sure they screwed up, but they’re not the type of people who’d spend years looking for Greg so they could put a bullet in his head and further complicate their lives. Kubiak, the ringleader, is still serving time. Now Greg signs his name on the complaint and threatens the Dubose clan, and, lo and behold, within a matter of days he’s vanished. A procedural question?” Lacy shrugged.”
“On the downside, there are pretty serious motivational problems, especially among the young. Why go to college and pursue a career when your income is guaranteed for life? Why try and find a job? The casino employs about half of the adults in the tribe, and that’s a constant source of friction. Who gets an easy job and who doesn’t? There’s a lot of infighting and politics involved. But on the whole, the tribe realizes that it has a good thing going. Why rock the boat? Why should anyone worry about me? Why should Wilton help you bring down a crooked judge when everyone might get hurt in the process?”
“Right now Verna is blaming everyone. She’s broken, she’s terrified, and she’s not rational. And, I’m not sure she’s getting good advice. I got the impression these guys are sitting around the table, her table, scheming ways to sue anyone who’s remotely connected to Hugo’s death.”
“Hugo was murdered, Michael, and we can’t solve it. I doubt seriously if the Tappacola can either.” “Are you suggesting the FBI?”
“can’t do that, Greg, not now. If we walk away, the bad guys win again. Hugo died for nothing. BJC would be a joke. No. I’m still in.”
“Who is the guy with the busted nose? And how can you use people who are so blatantly stupid? They make a late-night stop at a country store, park not in the shadows but directly in front, just begging to get themselves on surveillance, and,”
“We never forget that we were twenty-four hours late at 9/11. This is our world. This is the pressure we’re under. Sorry for the speech.”
“Lacy enjoyed the quiet. She handled most of her cases alone, as did her colleagues. Deeper cuts had decimated the”
“We’re getting flooded with tips about illegals sneaking into the country, and they’re not coming here to wash dishes and lay concrete. They’re organizing homegrown talent to wage jihad. Finding, monitoring, and stopping them has a far greater priority than the corruption that once got us excited.”
Excerpted from The Whistler: A Novel by John Grisham
Chapter 1 – The Whistler
The satellite radio was playing soft jazz, a compromise. Lacy, the owner of the Prius and thus the radio, loathed rap almost as much as Hugo, her passenger, loathed contemporary country. They had failed to agree on sports talk, public radio, golden oldies, adult comedy, and the BBC, without getting near bluegrass, CNN, opera, or a hundred other stations. Out of frustration on her part and fatigue on his, they both threw in the towel early and settled on soft jazz. Soft, so Hugo’s deep and lengthy nap would not be disturbed. Soft, because Lacy didn’t care much for jazz either. It was another give-and-take of sorts, one of many that had sustained their teamwork over the years. He slept and she drove and both were content.
Before the Great Recession, the Board on Judicial Conduct had access to a small pool of state-owned Hondas, all with four doors and white paint and low mileage. With budget cuts, though, those disappeared. Lacy, Hugo, and countless other public employees in Florida were now expected to use their own vehicles for the state’s work, reimbursed at fifty cents a mile. Hugo, with four kids and a hefty mortgage, drove an ancient Bronco that could barely make it to the office, let alone a road trip. And so he slept.
Lacy enjoyed the quiet. She handled most of her cases alone, as did her colleagues. Deeper cuts had decimated the office, and the BJC was down to its last six investigators. Seven, in a state of twenty million people, with a thousand judges sitting in six hundred courtrooms and processing a half a million cases a year. Lacy was forever grateful that almost all judges were honest, hardworking people committed to justice and equality. Otherwise, she would have left long ago. The small number of bad apples kept her busy fifty hours a week.
She gently touched the signal switch and slowed on the exit ramp. When the car rolled to a stop, Hugo lurched forward as if wide awake and ready for the day. “Where are we?” he asked.
“Almost there. Twenty minutes. Time for you to roll to your right and snore at the window.”
“Sorry. Was I snoring?”
“You always snore, at least according to your wife.”
“Well, in my defense, I was walking the floor at three this morning with her latest child. I think it’s a girl. What’s her name?”
“Wife or daughter?”
“Ha‑ha.”
The lovely and ever-pregnant Verna kept few secrets when it came to her husband. It was her calling to keep his ego in check and it was no small task. In another life, Hugo had been a football star in high school, then the top-rated signee in his class at Florida State, and the first freshman to crack the starting lineup. He’d been a tailback, both bruising and dazzling, for three and a half games anyway, until they carried him off on a stretcher with a jammed vertebra in his upper spine. He vowed to make a comeback. His mother said no. He graduated with honors and went to law school. His glory days were fading fast, but he would always carry some of the swagger possessed by all-Americans. He couldn’t help it.
“Twenty minutes, huh?” he grunted.
“Sure, or not. If you like, I’ll just leave you in the car with the motor running and you can sleep all day.”
He rolled to his right, closed his eyes, and said, “I want a new partner.”
“That’s an idea, but the problem is nobody else will have you.”
“And one with a bigger car.”
“It gets fifty miles a gallon.”
He grunted again, grew still, then twitched, jerked, mumbled, and sat straight up. He rubbed his eyes and said, “What are we listening to?”
“We had this conversation a long time ago, when we left Tallahassee, just as you were beginning to hibernate.”
“I offered to drive, as I recall.”
“Yes, with one eye open. It meant so much. How’s Pippin?”
“She cries a lot. Usually, and I say this from vast experience, when a newborn cries it’s for a reason. Food, water, diaper, momma–whatever. Not this one. She squawks for the hell of it. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“If you’ll recall, I’ve actually walked the floors with Pippin on two occasions.”
“Yes, and God bless you. Can you come over tonight?”
“Anytime. She’s number four. You guys thought about birth control?”
“We are beginning to have that conversation. And now that we’re on the subject, how’s your sex life?”
“Sorry. My mistake.” At thirty-six Lacy was single and attractive, and her sex life was a rich source of whispered curiosity around the office.
They were going east toward the Atlantic Ocean. St. Augustine was eight miles ahead. Lacy finally turned off the radio when Hugo asked, “And you’ve been here before?”
“Yes, a few years back. Then boyfriend and I spent a week on the beach in a friend’s condo.”
“A lot of sex?”
“Here we go again. Is your mind always in the gutter?”
“Well, come to think of it, the answer has to be yes. Plus, you need to understand that Pippin is now a month old, which means that Verna and I have not had normal relations in at least three months. I still maintain, at least to myself, that she cut me off three weeks too early, but it’s sort of a moot point. Can’t really go back and catch up, you know? So things are fairly ramped up in my corner; not sure she feels the same way. Three rug rats and a newborn do serious damage to that intimacy thing.”
“I’ll never know.”
He tried to focus on the highway for a mile or two, then his eyelids grew heavy and he began to nod. She glanced at him and smiled. In her nine years with the Board, she and Hugo had worked a dozen cases together. They made a nice team and trusted each other, and both knew that any bad behavior by him, and there had been none to date, would immediately be reported to Verna. Lacy worked with Hugo, but she gossiped and shopped with Verna.
St. Augustine was billed as the oldest city in America, the very spot where Ponce de León landed and began exploring. Long on history and heavy on tourism, it was a lovely town with historic buildings and thick Spanish moss dripping from ancient oaks. As they entered its outskirts, the traffic slowed and tour buses stopped. To the right and in the distance, an old cathedral towered above the town. Lacy remembered it all very well. The week with the old boyfriend had been a disaster, but she had fond memories of St. Augustine.
One of many disasters.
“And who is this mysterious deep throat we are supposed to meet?” Hugo asked, rubbing his eyes once again, now determined to stay awake.
“Don’t know yet, but his code name is Randy.”
“Okay, and please remind me why we are tag teaming a secret meeting with a man using an alias who has yet to file a formal complaint against one of our esteemed judges.”
“I can’t explain. But I’ve talked to him three times on the phone and he sounds, uh, rather earnest.”
“Great. When was the last time you talked to a complaining party who didn’t sound, uh, rather earnest?”
“Stick with me, okay? Michael said go, and we’re here.” Michael was the director, their boss.
“Of course. No clue as to the alleged unethical conduct?”
“Oh yes. Randy said it was big.”
“Gee, never heard that before.”
They turned onto King Street and poked along with the downtown traffic. It was mid-July, still the high season in north Florida, and tourists in shorts and sandals drifted along the sidewalks, apparently going nowhere. Lacy parked on a side street and they joined the tourists. They found a coffee shop and killed half an hour flipping through glossy real estate brochures. At noon, as instructed, they walked into Luca’s Grill and got a table for three. They ordered iced tea and waited. Thirty minutes passed with no sign of Randy, so they ordered sandwiches. Fries on the side for Hugo, fruit for Lacy. Eating as slowly as possible, they kept an eye on the door and waited.
As lawyers, they valued their time. As investigators, they had learned patience. The two roles were often in conflict.
At 2:00 p.m., they gave up and returned to the car, as smothering as a sauna. As Lacy turned the key, her cell phone rattled. Caller unknown. She grabbed it and said, “Yes.”
A male voice said, “I asked you to come alone.” It was Randy.
“I suppose you have the right to ask. We were supposed to meet at noon, for lunch.”
A pause, then, “I’m at the Municipal Marina, at the end of King Street, three blocks away. Tell your buddy to get lost and we’ll talk.”
“Look, Randy, I’m not a cop and I don’t do cloak-and-dagger very well. I’ll meet you, say hello and all that, but if I don’t have your real name within sixty seconds then I’m leaving.”
“Fair enough.”
She canceled the call and mumbled, “Fair enough.”
The marina was busy with pleasure craft and a few fishing boats coming and going. A long pontoon was unloading a gaggle of noisy tourists. A restaurant with a patio at the water’s edge was still doing a brisk business. Crews on charter boats were spraying decks and sprucing things up for tomorrow’s charters.
Lacy walked along the central pier, looking for the face of a man she’d never met. Ahead, standing next to a fuel pump, an aging beach bum gave a slight, awkward wave and nodded. She returned the nod and kept walking. He was about sixty, with too much gray hair flowing from under a Panama hat. Shorts, sandals, a gaudy floral-print shirt, the typical bronze, leathery skin of someone who spent far too much time in the sun. His eyes were covered by aviator shades. With a smile he stepped forward and said, “You must be Lacy Stoltz.”
She took his hand and said, “Yes, and you are?”
“Name’s Ramsey Mix. A pleasure to meet you.”
“A pleasure. We were supposed to meet at noon.”
“My apologies. Had a bit of boat trouble.” He nodded down the pier to a large powerboat moored at the end of the dock. It wasn’t the longest boat in the harbor at that moment, but it was close. “Can we talk there?” he asked.
“On the boat?”
“Sure. It’s much more private.”
Crawling onto a boat with a complete stranger struck her as a bad idea and she hesitated. Before she could answer, Mix asked, “Who’s the black guy?” He was looking in the direction of King Street. Lacy turned and saw Hugo casually following a pack of tourists nearing the marina.
“He’s my colleague,” she said.
“Sort of a bodyguard?”
“I don’t need a bodyguard, Mr. Mix. We’re not armed, but my friend there could pitch you into the water in about two seconds.”
“Let’s hope that won’t be necessary. I come in peace.”
“That’s good to hear. I’ll get on the boat only if it stays where it is. If the engines start, then our meeting is over.”
“Fair enough.”
She followed him along the pier, past a row of sailboats that looked as though they had not seen the open sea in months, and to his boat, cleverly named Conspirator. He stepped on board and offered a hand to help her. On the deck, under a canvas awning, there was a small wooden table with four folding chairs. He waved at it and said, “Welcome aboard. Have a seat.”
Lacy took quick stock of her surroundings. Without sitting, she said, “Are we alone?”
“Well, not entirely. I have a friend who enjoys boating with me. Name is Carlita. Would you like to meet her?”
“Only if she’s important to your story.”
“She is not.” Mix was looking at the marina, where Hugo was leaning on a rail. Hugo waved, as if to say, “I’m watching everything.” Mix waved back and said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” Lacy said.
“Is it safe to assume that whatever I’m about to tell you will be rehashed with Mr. Hatch in short order?”
“He’s my colleague. We work together on some cases, maybe this one. How do you know his name?”
“I happen to own a computer. Checked out the website. BJC really should update it.”
“I know. Budget cuts.”
“His name vaguely rings a bell.”
“He had a brief career as a football player at Florida State.”
“Maybe that’s it. I’m a Gator fan myself.”
Lacy refused to respond to this. It was so typical of the South, where folks attached themselves to college football teams with a fanaticism she’d always found irksome.
Mix said, “So he’ll know everything?”
“Yes.”
“Call him over. I’ll get us something to drink.”
Chapter 2 – The Whistler
Carlita served drinks from a wooden tray–diet sodas for Lacy and Hugo, a bottle of beer for Mix. She was a pretty Hispanic lady, at least twenty years his junior, and she seemed pleased to have guests, especially another woman.
Lacy made a note on her legal pad and said, “A quick question. The phone you used fifteen minutes ago had a different number than the phone you used last week.”
“Is that a question?” Mix replied.
“It’s close enough.”
“Okay. I use a lot of prepaid phones. And I move around all the time. I’m assuming the number I have for you is a cell phone issued by your employer, correct?”
“That’s right. We don’t use personal phones for state business, so my number is not likely to change.”
“That’ll make it simpler, I guess. My phones change by the month, sometimes by the week.”
So far, in their first five minutes together, everything Mix said had only opened the door for more questions. Lacy was still miffed at being stood up for lunch, and she didn’t like the first impression he made. She said, “Okay, Mr. Mix, at this point Hugo and I go silent. You start talking. Tell us your story, and if it has huge gaps that require us to fish around and stumble in the dark, then we’ll get bored and go home. You were coy enough on the phone to lure me here. Start talking.”
Mix looked at Hugo with a smile and asked, “She always this blunt?”
Hugo, unsmiling, nodded yes. He folded his hands on the table and waited. Lacy put down her pen.
Mix swallowed a mouthful of beer and began: “I practiced law for thirty years in Pensacola. Small firm–we usually had five or six lawyers. Back in the day we did well and life was good. One of my early clients was a developer, a real high roller who built condos, subdivisions, hotels, strip malls, the typical Florida stuff that goes up overnight. I never trusted the guy but he was making so much money I finally took the bait. He got me in some deals, small slices here and there, and for a while it all worked. I started dreaming of getting rich, which, in Florida anyway, can lead to serious trouble. My friend was cooking the books and taking on way too much debt, stuff I didn’t know about. Turns out there were some bogus loans, bogus everything, really, and the FBI came in with one of its patented RICO cluster bombs and indicted half of Pensacola, me included. A lot of folks got burned–developers, bankers, realtors, lawyers, and other shysters. You probably didn’t hear about it because you investigate judges, not lawyers. Anyway, I flipped, sang like a choirboy, got a deal, pled to one count of mail fraud, and spent sixteen months in a federal camp. Lost my license and made a lot of enemies. Now I lie low. I applied for reinstatement and got my license back. I have one client these days, and he’s the guy we’ll talk about from now on. Questions?” From the empty chair, he retrieved an unmarked file and handed it to Lacy. “Here’s the scoop on me. Newspaper articles, my plea agreement, all the stuff you might need. I’m legit, or as legit an any ex-con can be, and every word I’m saying is true.”
….
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