Whistler's Angel (6 page)

“Your back hurting you?” asked Whistler.

“Comes and goes. It’s nothing. I’ll pop a pill later.”

“I got us a suite that has a Jacuzzi. A good soak…”

His father waved off the subject. He said, “Those records you mentioned. I want to have a look at them for starters.”

“There’s an envelope under your seat. Photocopies.”

“The original?”

“Airport locker.” Whistler gestured over his shoulder. “In a package addressed to you, just in case.”

“I take that to mean that he can’t kill you yet.”

“Not until he can be sure he’d get it back.”

His father opened the glove department. Its small bulb would give him enough light to read by, but not enough light to silhouette him. He felt for the envelope beneath his seat and started reading the copies.

“This is a ledger,” said his father, surprised. “I’d assumed that you
meant computer records.”

“An actual ledger. Green cloth. Yellow pages.”

“And in Aubrey’s own hand? Not even in code. Why would anyone keep something like this?”

“Well, I know that Aubrey won’t use a computer. He thinks they’re too

easily hacked and he’s right. But I don’t think he’s dumb. Wait until you see some of the names in the ledger. He knows that if the law ever got its hands on that, the evidence would probably be suppressed.”

“Give me a few minutes. Let me read.”

Each sheet was a spread of two ledger pages. Each page listed names, sometimes only initials, in some sixty cities and towns nationwide. Under each name were what appeared to be disbursements. Some were cash, but most of them were property. There were buildings and vehicles of every description. There was furniture, computers, works of art, coin collections. There were several boats and airplanes, antique swords and chandeliers. They read like a list of auction items.

His father asked, “This is all seized property?”

“Apparently, yes.”

“Seized, but not accounted for. Is that what you think? Otherwise, why keep a private record?”

“Exactly.”

“I recognize the names of five or six congressmen. Political contributions?”

“All illegal.”

“And a number of entries marked ‘Recon-JC.’ What is Recon-JC? Do you know?”

“No idea.”

“Reconnaissance, perhaps? Scouting out seizure prospects?”

“I don’t think so. They don’t look like estimates to me. They’re all in round numbers. Must be actual disbursements.”

His father took a moment to leaf through several pages. “Then whatever it is, it has profited nicely. All cash in this case. Over three million dollars. But our friend, Mr. Aubrey, seems not to approve. He scrawled the word ‘idiotic’ next to one of these entries and he wrote ‘total waste’ by another.”

His father muttered ‘Recon-JC’ to himself as if rolling the notation over his tongue would help him to parse out its meaning.

He shrugged and gave up. “How’d you get this, by the way?”

“I found it in Aubrey’s house. I broke in.”

“So, you already knew what was in it?”

“Not really. I’d seen him take it out of his briefcase once or twice. I just

thought it might be worth a look.”

“You’re telling me that’s it? That’s all you had to go on?”

“No, I’m telling you that I was paying attention when you warned me
that Aubrey was a snake. He seems to live on what the government pays him,
but he has any number of relatives and friends who’ve improved their lifestyles considerably.”

“So he’s stashing and he’s spreading it around.”

“And within the Center, he has his own payroll. They’re people whose
names don’t appear on the roster. They only answer to Aubrey.”

“The Center?”

“New name. It’s called the Center for Policy Analysis. The idea is to make it sound like a Think Tank so that nobody pays much attention.”

“Do you answer to Aubrey?”

“I did. Now I don’t. I told him I’d only take orders in writing. That pretty much left me with nothing to do.”

“Except snoop around. And make Aubrey not like you.”

“It’s fair to say that we’re not friendly.”

“So, when Aubrey saw that his ledger was gone, I would think you’d make the short list of suspects.”

“My apartment’s been searched at least twice that I know of. My phone is tapped, but it’s always been tapped. And of course he’s had me under surveillance.”

“Which you’ve shaken, I trust.”

“Two plane changes back.”

“If you didn’t, the twins will have spotted them by now. Drive around a while. Let me get through the rest.”

He read for ten more minutes, squinting to see. He grunted a few times, took a few weary breaths. At last he tamped the sheets back together and slid them into the envelope.

“This says they’ve been skimming. Big time, but so what?”

“So what? They’re all thieves, is so what.”

“Where there’s money, there’s greed. Does this come as a surprise?

You didn’t join a Boy Scout troop, Adam.”

“Don’t start.”

“And name me a single federal program that hasn’t been scammed one way or another. The more money there is, the more fraud it engenders. Look at Medicaid, billions for treatments never given. Look at school lunch programs. They hemorrhage money. But, you’re right. Don’t get me started. I might offer my services.”

“Could we stick to this one situation for the moment?”

“Yeah, let’s. Aubrey’s boss…what’s his name again?”

“Stanton Poole. He’s the Director.”

“But a figurehead, correct? He’s no expert on drugs.”

“Expert? Far from it. He’s totally clueless. His only qualification is a moral certainty that all drugs, including alcohol, are evil. I watched him testify before a Senate committee on the subject of decriminalizing marijuana possession. He said that marijuana – citing this as a fact – causes teenage boys to be three times more likely to yield to homosexual advances.”

“You’re saying he panders to the Christian Right.”

“It goes beyond pandering. More like total immersion.”

“He’s sincere in his beliefs?”

“Hard to tell with those people.”

His father tapped the envelope lying on his lap. “I did not see his name or initials in the ledger. Could that mean he’s honest?”

“I don’t know.”

“Or might it mean that Aubrey’s not cutting him in?”

Whistler shrugged. “I’m not sure that Poole cares about money. All Poole seems to care about is stamping out evil and punishing the morally deficient. That includes, by the way, anyone who’s pro-choice and certainly the gay population. Poole sees himself as the instrument of God. He sees everyone as morally deficient.”

“Including Aubrey?”

“And me.”

“Well, trust me on one thing. Poole cares about money. The only question is how he would put it to use. As for you and Aubrey, you both being so
unsaved
, why does he tolerate having you around? I can guess, but let’s hear what you think.”

“To fight fire with fire. That’s the premise of the unit. I’m sure that Stanton Poole thinks we’re going to hell anyway. In the meantime, we might as well be useful.”

“Could he possibly not know what Aubrey is doing?”

Whistler wasn’t sure whether Poole knew or not. He did, however, remember one meeting. Aubrey had pulled the ledger from his briefcase and
had started to make a notation. Poole had cleared his thoat until Aubrey looked up at him. Poole then looked away, but as he did, he made a little flicking motion with his finger. Aubrey smacked his lips to show that Poole had annoyed him, but he did stick it back in his briefcase.

“He…picks and chooses what he wants to know. Aside from that, and this is just a feeling, I think Aubrey might have something on Poole.”

“Of course he does, Adam. That’s what Aubrey’s all about. He did not advance in life through his charm.” Harry Whistler took a breath, shook his head in dismay. “You sure know how to pick winners.”

“I didn’t pick them. They picked me. They requested me.”

“And I urged you to tell them to stuff it.”

Whistler drew an irritated breath of his own. “Are you going to make me say it again? Okay. I know. I should have stayed where I was.”

“No, Adam,” said his father, “you should not have done that either. If you’d listened to me…”

“Dad…”

“Okay, past is past. Are you listening to me now?”

“I could do with some advice.”

“Here it is. Walk away.”

“J
ust forget it?”

“The alternative is what? Blo
“J
w the whistle? Come forward? You, of all

people, are going to stand up and say, “Gee, this is wrong. We should stop it?”

“Me of all people? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the shooter for this unit, are you not?”

Whistler darkened. He said, “I am not just a shooter. I have not ever been just a shooter.”

His father raised his hands. “Let’s not get into that now. But we both know why they requested you.”

“By the way, that’s something else. I haven’t done any shooting. But a couple of people have turned up dead and I keep hearing that it’s me who took them out.”

A grunt from his father. “No surprise there either.”

“I’m not being set up, if that’s what you’re thinking. There’s no way to tie me in with those killings.”