Hank said nothing as he weaved through the construction maze. Traffic was blocked by a truck loaded with brick. In front of them the FedEx van was also waiting. Hank tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and said, "Wonder what FedEx is doing here. Nobody's moved in yet."

Clyde said, "I guess they're everywhere."

The Timex vibrated again. Pacheco was close by and saying, "Keep talking."

Clyde said, "So, Hank, do you think I was wrong to say what I said to Vonn, about me not wanting to do the dirty work?"

"It wasn't smart. Vonn despises weak people. You would have been better off saying nothing. You wanted to meet so you could offer to disappear. That was fine. But the chickenshit stuff doesn't sit well with Vonn."

"I was trying to make the point that I didn't sign on to kill people."

"No, you didn't. But Vonn thought he saw something in you. So did I. Guess we were wrong."

"And what was that? What did you think you saw?"

"A guy who might enjoy getting his hands dirty."

"Do you?"

"Why don't you shut up, Clyde? You've said enough for one day."

And so have you, Allie thought as he smiled again.

Clyde drove away from Honey Grove and, as directed, returned to the Surfbreaker Hotel in Fort Walton Beach. He checked in with his secretary, made a phone call, and left. Using a rear door near a loading ramp, he walked out of the building and jumped into the rear seat of a gray SUV. Two FBI agents had the front. As they left the Surfbreaker, the driver said over his shoulder, "Nice work. Pacheco says you were marvelous. Nailed him."

Clyde said nothing. He didn't want to talk or be congratulated. He felt like a worm for ratting on his colleagues and he knew things would only get worse. He could not begin to contemplate one day walking into a crowded courtroom and narrating the story, for the benefit of a jury, of the killing of Hugo Hatch while Vonn Dubose looked on from the defense table.

He took off the watch and handed it to the agent in front of him. He said, "I'm taking a nap. Wake me when we get to Tallahassee."

- By 9:00 a.m. on Friday, Lacy had not heard from JoHelen and she was not answering the phone she'd used the night before. Lacy briefed Geismar and they were concerned. Using an office landline, Lacy called the circuit clerk's office in Sterling and, after being passed around, was informed that Judge McDover was not in the courthouse that morning. She might possibly be presiding over in the town of Eckman. Since there was a chance JoHelen had gone to work, Lacy called the clerk's office in Eckman, where a girl on the phone said yes, Her Honor was in the building, but not presiding. There was nothing on the docket.

After a few more dead ends, Lacy had no choice but to sit and wait. She returned a call from Gunther and had a pleasant chat. He had nothing planned for the weekend, other than the usual "pending deals," and said he might pop down for dinner Saturday night. She promised to call back later.

- JoHelen awoke to bright sunshine and a dead phone. The burner, the last one Cooley had given her, was out of juice and she'd left its charger at home. Using her cell phone, she called Claudia, and rather convincingly went through the upset-stomach routine. Claudia seemed somewhat convinced and mildly sympathetic. Fortunately, there was nothing on the docket that day that would require a court reporter. It was not a day off. JoHelen lived with a permanent backlog of trial transcripts to prepare.

She had to have that damned charger, which would necessitate a return home. She had closed the bar down at midnight. The only possible bedtime companion had been a forty-year-old truck driver with a scraggly beard that wiggled all the way down to his ample potbelly. She allowed him to buy her a drink but had not been remotely tempted to go further.

She checked out of the motel at nine and drove toward the beaches, an hour south and east. Along the way she repeatedly reminded herself to keep an eye on the rearview mirror, but she was not up to the cloak-and-dagger crap. She parked in her driveway with a knot in her stomach and told herself she would never be able to live in the house again. Every inch of her private space had been touched and examined by a man with bad intentions. Even if she changed the locks and doubled down on the security, she would never again relax there. Mr. Armstrong was pulling weeds near his front porch and apparently wanted to flirt some more. She charmed him over with a big smile and said, "Let's have something to drink." He entered the house with her and stood in the door as she disarmed the security. She went to her bedroom, checking every room along the way and talking nonstop, curious about Mrs. Armstrong's shingles and all. She found the charger where she'd left it, on the counter of her bathroom. She plugged it into the burner and returned to the den.

"Where'd you stay last night?" he asked. He and his wife were infamous for their curiosity and lack of discretion. They monitored things on the street and wanted to know everyone's business.

"My sister's," JoHelen replied, knowing the question was coming.

"Where does she live?"

"Pensacola."

With the house apparently safe, she said, "On second thought, let's go have a soda with Gloria."

"Oh, she'd love that."

They sat in the shade of the Armstrongs' back porch and sipped beverages through straws. Fortunately, the shingles were on Gloria's lower back and a proper viewing would reveal a bit too much skin. JoHelen was spared the examination.

"You got a clogged drain?" Mr. Armstrong asked.

"Don't think so. Why?"

"That plumber showed up around nine this morning."

Plumber? JoHelen quickly decided not to worry them. She said, "Got a leak, but he was supposed to come Monday."

"Pushy guy, I'll tell you that. Wouldn't trust him if I were you."

"Why not?"

"Well, I watched him go to the door and ring the bell. Then he started fiddling with the door, you know, even reached into his pocket and pulled out a blade of some sort like he was breaking in. Hope you don't mind, but I yelled at him and went over. Asked what the hell he was doing. He stuck the blade or whatever it was back in his pocket and tried to act like it was nothing. I said you were not home. He mumbled something about coming back later and couldn't wait to get out of here. Me, I'd find me another plumber. I swear he was suspicious."

"You just can't trust anybody these days," JoHelen said, and returned to the shingles, a subject Gloria was keen to discuss at length. As she talked about them, her third episode in twenty years, JoHelen's mind was racing.

Abruptly, Gloria asked her husband, "Did you tell her about that pest control guy yesterday?"

"No, I forgot. I was on the golf course, and Gloria swears a pest control guy was in your house for at least an hour yesterday."

Again, preferring not to alarm them and provoke a hundred other questions, JoHelen said, "Oh, that's just the new guy, Freddie. He's got a key."

"Sure takes his time," Gloria said.

At the next opportunity, JoHelen wiggled out of the conversation and said she was going to call the plumbing company and lodge a complaint. She said good-bye and crossed the street. She went straight to the burner, called Lacy, and reported in.

38.

The current federal grand jury was convened at 1:00 p.m. on Friday, October 14. When organized four months earlier, it had twenty-three members, all registered voters and otherwise duly qualified residents from the six counties that constituted Florida's Northern District. Serving was a demanding job, especially for citizens who didn't exactly volunteer. The pay was low, $40 a day, and their expenses were barely covered. However, the job was important and at times exciting, especially when the FBI and the U.S. Attorney's Office were on the trail of organized criminals.

Seventeen were able to answer the bell on short notice, and since only sixteen were needed for a quorum they quickly got down to business. With the investigation growing by the hour, and with the rare possibility of indicting rich white men for capital murder, the U.S. Attorney had seized control of the case. Her name was Paula Galloway, an Obama appointee and a veteran prosecutor. Her top assistant was Rebecca Webb, who by then knew more about the case than anyone but Allie Pacheco, who was called as the first witness.

Since they had already indicted Zeke Foreman and Clyde Westbay, the grand jurors already knew the facts surrounding the death of Hugo Hatch. Allie recapped them quickly and answered a few questions from around the table. Ms. Galloway surprised them by calling as her next witness the driver himself.

From the depths of the Feds' witness protection world, Zeke Foreman appeared and swore to tell the truth. Neither his plea agreement nor his whereabouts were to be discussed. He told his story, and the grand jurors were captivated by it. Since they had already indicted him, they seemed pleased with their decision and fascinated by his detailed account of the events of August 22. They asked a lot of questions and Zeke handled himself well. He was relaxed, remorseful, and completely believable. Galloway, Webb, Pacheco, and the other FBI agents in the room watched him carefully. He would one day testify in court against the Cousins, and their lawyers would attempt to annihilate him.

The next witness was Clyde Westbay, who seemed to be at ease in the presence of the same federal grand jury that had indicted him for murder less than a week earlier. Clyde had just survived his first big test, a face-to-face chat with the boss himself while wearing a wire and snagging incriminating statements. For the first hour, Clyde discussed his role in the car crash. For the next two hours he talked about the Dubose organization and his part in it. He knew nothing of the skimming at the casino, but enthralled the grand jurors with his descriptions of laundering money at its blackjack tables.

One juror, a Mr. Craft from Apalachicola, confessed a fondness for blackjack and said he spent a lot of time at Treasure Key. He was fascinated by the laundering scheme and asked so many detailed questions that Ms. Galloway suggested they move along to more testimony.

Late in the afternoon, Pacheco played the audio of Clyde's conversation eight hours earlier with Vonn Dubose.

When Clyde was finished, after almost five hours of testimony, Ms. Galloway instructed the jurors on the applicable federal laws. The fact that the stolen truck crossed state lines meant the murder weapon was used in interstate commerce. The fact that Zeke was paid $5,000 for his role placed the crime squarely in the murder-for-hire category; thus a capital crime. And the fact that there was an organized criminal gang, and that one or more members of the gang did a crime that benefited the organization, meant all the gang members were subject to prosecution.

It was almost 8:00 p.m. when the grand jury voted unanimously to indict Vonn Dubose, Hank Skoley, Floyd Maton, Vance Maton, and Ron Skinner for the capital murder of Hugo Hatch, and for the aggravated assault of Lacy Stoltz. Clyde Westbay was added as a defendant, though he would be dropped later. His plea agreement for first-degree murder would supersede the capital one. It was crucial for Dubose and the others to consider Clyde a co-defendant and still part of the team. Much later they would learn of his agreement with the government.

- Lacy was at the stove, stirring the final ingredient, fresh mussels, into her version of cioppino, an Italian fish stew that included scallops, clams, shrimp, and cod. The table was set, the candles lit, the Sancerre on ice. Allie called as soon as he left the federal building ten minutes away. She met him at the door with a proper but affectionate kiss. They were still kissing; but nothing more, at least in the physical sense. They were undoubtedly taking the full measure of one another and wondering what the future might hold. Lacy was neither physically nor emotionally ready for the next step, and there was no pressure from him. He seemed to adore her and was willing to wait.

She poured wine as he took off his jacket and tie. The eighteen- and twenty-hour days were adding up and he was exhausted. Though grand jury proceedings were deeply secretive, he knew he could trust her. They were, after all, on the same team and understood confidentiality.

The indictments were in place, sealed for now, but soon to be served as the FBI rounded up the gang. He didn't know exactly when, but arrests were imminent.

Paula Galloway and the FBI had adopted the strategy of using two indictments. The first was the most urgent and important, and also the easiest. With the testimony of Zeke Foreman and Clyde Westbay, the case for murder was clear and the proof appeared to be beyond a reasonable doubt. Assuming Dubose and his boys had no idea what was coming, they would be arrested within days and locked away with no chance of bail. At the same time, the FBI would raid their homes and offices, along with those of Claudia McDover, Phyllis Turban, Chief Cappel, Billy Cappel, and the lawyers in Biloxi who had represented Dubose for twenty years. Every business that had been identified so far as being part of the organization would be raided, and many of them closed temporarily. The casino would be swarmed by agents with search warrants. The U.S. Attorney was trying to convince a federal judge to close it indefinitely. The second indictment, for racketeering, would include a wave of arrests that would be coordinated with the raids, with McDover getting top billing, and perhaps the Chief right behind her.

Lacy said, "Myers liked to call it a RICO cluster bomb. That's what nailed him."

"And a pretty good description. It will be two inches thick. So as Dubose is just finding his way around his jail cell and wondering how in the hell he got charged with murder, he'll be handed a little RICO gift."

"He'll need ten lawyers."

"True, but he can't hire them. All of his accounts will be frozen."

"Myers, Myers. I wonder where he is. I really liked the guy."

"Well, I doubt if you'll see him again."

"Will we ever know what happened to him?"

"I doubt it. The police in Key Largo have found nothing. It's a cold trail and if Dubose was behind it, we'll probably never know, unless one of his hit men can be convinced to come clean."

She poured more wine. The grand jury would work tomorrow, Saturday, and Sunday if necessary. The urgency was obvious: a protracted investigation with witnesses being hauled before the grand jury could cause a leak and tip their hand. Those who worked for the organization had the means and the expertise to disappear instantly. Once the Cousins were arrested for murder, their managers, errand boys, drivers, bodyguards, and couriers might feel the need to start running. After eight days of intensive, around-the-clock eavesdropping, the FBI had twenty-nine names on its list of likely gang members.

"So you shoot first and ask questions later," Lacy said.

"Something like that. And keep in mind, we can always amend an indictment. We can always add or dismiss defendants. It's a massive investigation and it'll take a long time to sort through it, but we plan to hit hard and get everybody locked up before they can tamper with evidence. I'm starving."

"Did you have lunch?"

"No. I had a greasy burger from a drive-thru."

He tossed the salad as she scooped up the cioppino and filled two bowls. "This is a tomato sauce so I'm thinking a red might be better. You have an opinion?"

"I'd go with red."

"Good. Open that Barolo over there."

She pulled a buttered baguette from the oven and served the salads. They sat across the table and sipped the wine. He said, "Smells delicious. Thanks for waiting."

"I didn't really want to eat alone."

"You cook often?"

"No. There's no need. Gotta question for you."

"Fire away."

"At this point in the investigation, how does the informant figure into it?"

"Which informant?"

"The mole, the one close to McDover, the one feeding details to Cooley, who passed them on to Myers."

Allie chewed on a mouthful of salad and studied her face. "He's not important right now, but we'll need him later."

"He's a she, and she called me yesterday, really frightened. Someone broke into her house and went through her things. She sees McDover daily and thinks the judge is suspicious."

"Who is she?"

"I swore not to reveal her identity, at least not now. Maybe later. As I said, she's frightened and confused and she doesn't know who to trust."

"She'll eventually be an important witness."

"I'm not sure she'll come forward."

"She may have no choice."

"But you can't make her testify."

"No, we can't, but there are ways to convince her. This stew is delicious." He dipped a piece of bread into the broth and ate it with his fingers.

"I'm glad you like it. So are you working tomorrow?"

"Oh yes. The grand jury convenes at nine. I have to be there at eight for what should be another long day. Sunday as well."

"You guys always work like this?"

"No, but then we rarely get cases this big. The adrenaline kicks in. Like this morning when I was in the back of the van with three of our technicians, temperature about 120, and we listened to Westbay as he met with Dubose. That can really get your heart rate up there. It's a rush, and one of the reasons I love this job."

"How much can you tell me?"

Allie glanced around the kitchen as if spies were at hand. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. What did Dubose say?"

"It's beautiful."