THIRTY-TWO
The Jacksonville paper arrived at Trumble each morning around seven. Four copies were taken to the game room where they were to be read and left behind for any of the inmates who cared about life on the outside. Most of the time Joe Roy Spicer was the only one waiting at seven, and he usually took one paper for himself because he needed to study the Vegas lines throughout the day. The scene rarely changed: Spicer with a tall Styrofoam cup of coffee, feet on a card table, waiting for Roderick the guard to bring the papers.
So Spicer saw the story first, at the bottom of the front page. Trevor Carson, a local lawyer who'd been missing for some vague reason, found dead outside a hotel in Kingston, Jamaica, shot twice in the head last night, just after dark. The story had no picture of Trevor, Spicer noticed.Why would the paper have one on file? Why would anyone care if Trevor died?
According to Jamaican officials, Carson was a tourist who'd apparently been robbed. An unidentified source close to the scene had tipped the police as to the identity of Mr. Carson, since his wallet was missing. The source seemed to know a lot.
The paragraph recapping Trevor's legal career was quite brief.A former secretary,Jan something or other, had no comment. The story had been thrown together, and placed on the front page only because the victim was a murdered lawyer.
Finn was at the far end of the track, rounding the turn, walking at a rapid clip in the damp early morning air, his shirt already off. Spicer waited at the homestretch, and handed him the paper without a word.
They found Beech waiting in line in the cafeteria, holding his plastic tray and staring forlornly at the crude piles of freshly scrambled eggs. They sat together in a corner, away from everyone else, picking at their food, talking in muted voices.
'If he was running, who the hell was he running from?…
'Maybe Lake was after him.'
'He didn't know it was Lake. He didn't have a clue, did he?'
'Okay, then he was running from Konyers. The last time he was here he said Konyers was the big one. He said Konyers knew about us, then he disappeared the next day'
'Maybe he was just scared. Konyers confronted him, threatened to expose his role in our scam, and so Trevor, who wasn't the most stable guy to begin with, decided to steal all he could and disappear.'
'Whose money was missing, that's what I want to know'
'Nobody knows about our money. How could it be missing?'
'Trevor probably stole from everybody he could, then vanished. Happens all the time. Lawyers get in trouble, crack up. They raid their clients' trust funds and bolt.'
'Really?' asked Spicer.
Beech could think of three examples, and Yarber added a couple more for good measure.
'So who killed him?'
'There's a good chance he was just in the wrong part of town.'
'Outside the Sheraton Hotel? I don't think so.'
'Okay, what if Konyers iced him?'
'That's possible. Konyers somehow smoked out Trevor, learned he was the outside contact for Ricky. He put pressure on Trevor, threatened to nail him or whatever, and Trevor ran off to the Caribbean. Trevor didn't know Konyers was Aaron Lake.'
'And Lake certainly has the money and power to track down a drunken lawyer.'
'What about us? By now, Lake knows Ricky ain't Ricky, that Joe Roy here is the man, and that he has friends with him in prison.'
'Question is, can he get to us?'
'I guess I'll find out first,' Spicer said with a nervous laugh.
'And there's always the chance that Trevor was down there in Jamaica hanging around in the wrong part of town, probably drunk and trying to pick up a woman, and he got himself shot.'
They all agreed on this, that Trevor was perfectly capable of getting himself killed.
May he rest in peace. But only if he didn't steal their money.
They scattered for an hour or so. Beech went to the track, to walk and think. Yarber was on the clock, twenty cents an hour trying to fix a computer in the chaplain's office. Spicer went to the library, where he found Mr. Argrow reading law books.
The law library was open, no appointments were necessary, but the unwritten rule was that you should at least ask one of the Brethren before using their books. Argrow was new, and obviously had not yet learned the rules. Spicer decided to give him a break.
They acknowledged each other with a nod, then Spicer got busy clearing tables and straightening books.
'Rumor has it you guys do legal work.' Argrow said from across the room. No one else was present.
'You hear a lot of rumors around here.'
'My case is on appeal.'
'What happened at trial?'
'Jury nailed me on three counts of bank fraud, hiding money offshore, in the Bahamas. The judge gave me sixty months. I've served four. I'm not sure I'm gonna last for fifty-six more. I need some help with my appeals.'
'What court?'
'Virgin Islands. I worked for a big bank in Miami. Lots of drug money.'
Argrow was glib and fast and very anxious to talk, and this irritated Spicer, but only slightly. The reference to the Bahamas had his attention.
'For some reason, I . developed a fascination for money laundering. I dealt with tens of millions every day, and it was intoxicating. I could move dirty money quicker than any banker in South Florida. Still can. But I made some bad friends, and bad choices.'
'You admit you're guilty?'
'Sure.'
'That puts you in the distinct minority around here.'
'No, I was wrong, but I think the sentence was too harsh. Somebody said you guys can get some time knocked off'
Spicer was no longer concerned with the untidy tables and disorganized books. He took a chair nearby and had time to talk. 'We can take a look at your papers,' he said, as if he'd handled a thousand appeals.
You idiot, Argrow wanted to say. You dropped out of high school in the tenth grade, and stole a car when you were nineteen.Your father pulled some strings and got the charges dropped. You got yourself elected justice of the Peace by voting dead people and stuffing absentee ballots, and now you're stuck in a federal pen and trying to play the big shot.
And, Argtow conceded, you, Mr. Spicer, now have the power to bring down the next President of the United States.
'What will it cost?' Argrow asked.
'How much do .you have?' Spicer asked, just like a real lawyer.
'Not much.'
'I thought you knew how to hide money offshore.' 'Oh, I do, believe me. And at one point I had a nice bundle, but I let it get away'
'So you can't pay anything?'
'Not much. Maybe a couple of thousand or so.'
'What about your lawyer?'
'He got me convicted. I don't have enough to hire a new one.'
Spicer pondered the situation for a moment. He realized he did indeed miss Trevor. Things had been much simpler when they had him on the outside collecting money. 'You still got contacts in the Bahamas?'
'I have contacts all over the Caribbean. Why?'
'Because you'll have to wire the money. Cash is forbidden around here.'
