by Sandra Brown
“Remember that shindig the town threw for your daddy? Right out there,” Glenn said, pointing through the driver’s window. “Citywide barbecue on the Fourth of July. Texas Tech band. Banners. You remember?”
“Yes.” He remembered it well because he’d been required to miss a Little League championship game in order to be standing beside The Major when he received a key to the city and a plaque from the town council. Missing that stupendous event hadn’t been an option.
But he doubted a stroll down memory lane was the purpose of this outing that required no interruption. “What’s up, Glenn?”
“I heard Kerra Bailey had a visitor last night. Bearing pretty pink flowers.”
It came as no surprise to Trapper that Glenn knew about it. Deputy Jenks would’ve reported back to him. Besides, Trapper hadn’t exactly made a secret of the hospital visit.
“Actually, the flowers were red with a butt-ugly bow. I bought them on special at QuikMart when I went in for a six-pack.”
Glenn kept driving, saying nothing.
“I had watched the interview,” Trapper said, trying not to sound defensive. “I wanted to tell her what a good job she’d done.”
“Okay. What about the time before, when you went back after you and I had left the hospital together?”
In response to the implied hand-slapping, Trapper stretched his legs out as far as he could in the confined foot well and drank from his cup of coffee with affected nonchalance. “The doctor ran us out before I’d heard what I wanted to hear.”
“What was that?”
“Whether or not she saw the men who shot The Major.”
“You ask her?”
“Yes.”
“What’d she say?”
“She said no.”
Glenn stopped at a traffic light, reached for his thermal coffee container in the cup holder, and eyed Trapper over the cap of it as he drank from the spout. “You didn’t tell me you’d talked to her.”
“I figured you had enough on your mind.”
“When I have enough on my mind, I’ll let you know. Okay?”
Trapper made a gesture. Okay.
Glenn returned his thermos to the cup holder. “She share anything with you last night?”
“A glimpse of inner thigh, but it was by accident.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I know what you mean, but, no, she didn’t share anything.”
Glenn signaled a left turn and executed it with care. “She tell you her bag is missing?”
Caught unaware, Trapper retracted his legs and set his cup back in the holder with care, but kept his tone casual. “What bag?”
Glenn described the bag as “about so-so,” and took his hands off the steering wheel to approximate the dimensions. Trapper knew the bag.
“Most of yesterday was spent going through the chain of custody,” Glenn was saying, “but the upshot is that it’s unaccounted for, and nobody claims to have any knowledge of it.”
He shrugged before continuing. “Expensive and belonging to a TV celebrity would make it worth stealing, so it’s conceivable that somebody at the hospital lifted it. You know what the ER’s like. But I had a deputy review the videos from hospital security cameras, and nobody was captured toting it out. Besides, the EMTs who brought her in said they never saw it. Logical conclusion, the perps have it.”
“What’re your detectives saying?”
“About the bag?”
“The investigation in general.”
“I’ve read the highlights of Kerra’s two interviews with them.”
He recounted them to Trapper, and they matched the highlights that Kerra had given him.
“But have there been any breakthroughs?” Glenn said. “No. Seven people were inside the house that afternoon and evening, and that’s not counting the two from the café who delivered the fried chicken dinner. The production crew had been meandering around all afternoon, hauling equipment in and out, stringing cords from outlets in the back rooms to the living area. They were in practically every room of the house at one time or another.”
“Meaning there’s enough trace evidence in there for a hundred cases.”
“Right. What we collected, we sent to the Tarrant County’s SO lab. They have better equipment than smaller departments like mine, but that also keeps them busy and backlogged. It could take several days before they even look at the samples.”
Trapper understood the frustration of wanting answers and having to wait for them while perpetrators remained unknown and the trail grew colder. “Nothing else shook loose?”
“From the crime scene? Not really. This shit,” Glenn said of the weather, “hadn’t started yet. The ground was dry, hard to get impressions off dry and rocky ground. I’ve got personnel working around the clock, and now the Rangers have joined the party. Waltzed in and said they wanted to question Kerra Bailey.”
Trapper didn’t tell him he already knew that. He leaned back in his seat and stared thoughtfully out the window. “I had her talk me through it.”
“Reckoned you had. That’s why I called this meeting. You had no authority to do that, Trapper.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“She was instructed—”
“Don’t blame her. I browbeat her into talking about it.”
When he stopped with that, Glenn prodded him. “Well? Wha’d she say?”
“She described what it was like for her inside the powder room. Her fear. Knowing she would die if the individuals on the other side of the door got to her. She used nickel words, Glenn.”
The sheriff shot him a look. “Fuck does that mean?”
“As opposed to fifty-cent words, which would have led me to believe they were chosen ahead of time and rehearsed, that she was trying to impress me or that she was lying. She wasn’t that smooth.”
“But what? You’re frowning.”
“But…” Trapper sighed and shook his head in frustration. He was frowning because he sensed Kerra was holding something back, something that made her afraid. He was frowning because of all the names Carson could have dropped this morning, the name had been Thomas Wilcox. Who had crossed paths with Kerra. Which could be a bizarre coincidence. Or not. In any case, it raised the hair on the back of Trapper’s neck.
“You think she saw more than she’s telling?” Glenn asked.
“I don’t know.”
Glenn reentered the hospital parking lot and pulled the patrol car into the fire lane, where he set it to idle. “John, listen to me.”
“Stay out of it,” Trapper said, anticipating what Glenn had been about to say.
“That’s right. Stay out of it. You can’t go meddling in this investigation.”
“I’m a licensed investigator.”
“And the victim is your father. I don’t care what your beef was with him, you can’t be objective.”
“I don’t have a need for objectivity, because I have no intention of meddling in the investigation. So where’s this lecture coming from?”
“It’s coming from private, late-night visits to the material witness that lasted forty-three minutes.”
Trapper muttered a swear word. “Good man, Jenks. But for the record, it was only forty-two and a half.”
“It took Linda and me a whole lot less time to conceive Hank.”
“Really? You’re that quick on the draw?”
The sheriff turned in his seat, squeezing his paunch beneath the steering wheel. “John, for once, please—”
“Do yourself a favor,” Trapper said, again anticipating the next words out of Glenn’s mouth. “You don’t call me John unless the subject is serious or you’re about to impart unsolicited advice.”
“Okay, be a smart-ass. But I’m going to say this, and you’re going to hear it. Don’t rile the wrong people. You did that once, and look what happened.”
“I quit.”
“Whatever, you lost your job. Didn’t you learn anything from that?”
“Yea
h. I learned that I put up with that bureaucratic bullshit for much longer than I should have.”
“Oh, like you’re the epitome of happiness in the workplace these days?”
Trapper gnawed the inside of his cheek, then reached for the door latch and popped it. “I’ve got someplace to be.”
“Where?”
“Someplace else.”
It took all morning for Kerra to be released from the hospital. Five minutes were devoted to the doctor’s final physical exam, five hours to signing all the dismissal forms. By the time she’d completed the paperwork, she felt more like crawling back into the bed than leaving under the escort of two deputies.
They drove her directly from the hospital to the sheriff’s office in the courthouse, where she was led into an interrogation room. Two Texas Rangers and Sheriff Addison himself were waiting for her there.
She and the sheriff shook hands. “You’re looking a lot better than the last time I saw you,” he said.
“I’m feeling better. Has there been any change in The Major’s condition?”
“Actually, there’s good news.” He shared what he knew and held up crossed fingers. “Baby steps. But thirty-six hours ago we didn’t think he’d live through the night.”
She splayed her hand over her chest. “I’m so glad to hear this.”
During their exchange the Rangers had been standing by. The sheriff introduced her to them now. All took seats around a table and, after explaining to her that the session was being recorded, one of the Rangers took the lead.
“We’ve spoken to the detectives, Ms. Bailey, but this time we’re hearing it straight from you. For our benefit, please start at the beginning, and tell us everything you remember.”
“My story hasn’t deviated from the first time I told it,” she said. “Except for one detail. Well, actually two details. I’m not sure what significance either has.”
Looking interested and mildly surprised, the sheriff clasped his large hands together on the table. “Let’s hear ’em. We’ll determine their significance.”
Her wish was that they would dismiss both as being of no importance. But she didn’t believe they would. Her palms turned damp. “One involves the sequence of events.”
She related how someone had tried opening the powder room door before she heard the gunshot. “Everything happened in rapid succession after that. Because of the meds, the concussion, when I gave my account to the detectives I got the timing mixed up.”
“You only realized this discrepancy later?” the sheriff asked.
“Yes. When I wasn’t so woozy.” If she told them that clarity had come to her during a nightmare they would think she was crazy. “But now I’m certain that someone tried to open that door before the first shot.”
“Must’ve been the assailants.”
“Possibly,” she said, “but they approached from the main room after the gunshot, not before. And they weren’t stealthy. I followed each footstep.”
One of the Rangers said, “You didn’t hear approaching footsteps the first time someone tried the door?”
“No. I wasn’t aware of anyone being there until the latch rattled.”
The same Ranger asked, “Are you suggesting that someone else was inside the house, a third suspect?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m only telling you how I’m remembering it now.”
No one said anything for several moments, then the second Ranger addressed her. “After the crew left, how long were you and The Major there alone before you excused yourself to go to the bathroom?”
“Fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“You stayed in the main room that whole time?”
“Yes. Neither of us left it until I excused myself.”
“So somebody could have come in through a door or window at the back of the house?”
“I suppose.”
“Were lights on in the other rooms?”
“No.” She gave a faint smile. “Our setup required a lot of electricity. We used several circuits. The Major complained how that would run up his next bill. He was teasing, but the crew was conscientious about turning out lights when we were finished.
“As I left the living room and went into the hall, it was very dark.” She told them she had switched on the bathroom light even before shutting the door and remembered turning it off immediately after realizing it would give away her presence.
The sheriff said, “You didn’t see anything suspicious, or off somehow, that would make you think now that somebody was in one of the back rooms?”
“Nothing.”
Kerra wasn’t sure what to make of the look that passed among the three men before the sheriff came back to her. “Kerra, what I’m about to tell you isn’t for disclosure.”
“All right.”
“It’s a fact we’ve been holding back because we don’t know what to make of it, and when we have a suspect to question—”
“You want to see if he’s aware of it, whatever it is.”
“That’s correct.” He paused, then said, “The Major’s deer rifle was within his arm’s reach when the first responders arrived.”
“He was probably putting it away.”
The three men shared another look. One of the Rangers asked, “He had it out of the cabinet while you were there?”
“Yes.” She explained The Major’s sentimental attachment to the rifle. “After showing it to me, he propped it against the wall and went over to the bar to pour a drink. He was probably putting it away when he was attacked.”
The three sat back in their chairs, their body language conveying that was a plausible explanation for something that had intrigued them. Sheriff Addison said, “We conjectured that maybe he had heard something at the back of the house, or heard the culprits coming up the porch steps, and went for the rifle to protect himself. It wasn’t loaded, but he could’ve scared somebody into thinking it was.”
In a soft voice, Kerra said, “If only he’d had the chance.”
He nodded glumly, coughed behind his fist, then said, “What’s the second detail that may or may not be significant?”
She rolled her lips inward, which made the abraded corner of her mouth sore, which reminded her of why she dreaded this so desperately and wouldn’t be doing it at all except that it was the right, moral, and legal thing to do. “It concerns my missing bag.”
“It’s turned up?”
“No, sheriff. But something I’m certain was inside it has been returned to me.”
He registered astonishment. “By who?”
Chapter 11
Contrary to the relief Kerra had expected to feel upon being dismissed and allowed to leave the sheriff’s office, she hunched in the backseat of the deputy-driven patrol car, feeling despondent and generally miserable.
Her head ached dully but without letup. Her coat had been returned to her, but it was inadequate against the Siberian express, which had hit the plains of North Texas where there was nothing to block it except for barbed-wire fences. Over the course of the afternoon, roads had become increasingly hazardous.
Her car, now encased in ice, was still in the motel parking lot where she’d left it Sunday morning to join the crew in the production van for the short trip out to The Major’s spread. That seemed a long time ago.
Gracie had checked her back into the room she’d previously occupied, where a welcome back party was already in full swing when the deputy delivered her. Dazed by the ill-timed surprise, Kerra reunited with the rest of the crew who, despite the inclement weather, had rounded up burgers and beer and helium-filled balloons that bobbed and swayed from various anchors in the crowded room.
She tried to be gracious and get into the festive spirit, but Gracie must have sensed her downcast mood. As soon as the burgers had been demolished, the producer shooed the others out.
“Maybe our celebration was a bit much with you just out of the hospital,” she said, plopping cross-legged in the center of Kerra’s bed with her
tablet in her lap. “But we need to go over some particulars about tomorrow.”
“Gracie, if you’re referring to the interview, there may not be a ‘tomorrow.’”
“I’m betting on a thumbs-up. In which case, we have to be ready.”
Kerra had struggled with the decision over whether or not to agree to be interviewed about her private time with The Major. After weighing the pros and cons, she’d decided that Gracie had given her a solid piece of advice. Shouldn’t she take advantage of this tragic, yet exceptional, set of circumstances? She hadn’t worked this hard, gotten this far, to blow it now. The industry was cutthroat and unforgiving. To pass on this opportunity could amount to career suicide.
But, as Trapper had predicted, neither Sheriff Addison, the Rangers, nor anyone involved in the investigation was enthusiastic when she broached the subject at the conclusion of her questioning.
The officers raised a number of objections and concerns. The discussion went back and forth with compromises being granted by both sides. Ultimately, however, Kerra had come away with only their promise to consider it and inform her of their decision in the morning.
But as though it were a done deal, Gracie proceeded to run down her checklist. “His Highness will want to steer the interview because he’s peeved that you got to The Major when he failed to.” She was referring to the network’s venerable anchorman, who would conduct his end of the interview from the studio in New York.
“But don’t give him any wiggle room, Kerra. The nation will be wanting to hear from you. You. Your disbelief, your heartache, your…well, you know. Be human. If you can cry on command, a tear or two would be a great effect.
“I thought we’d do it from the first floor lobby of the hospital,” she rattled on. “Make it feel real. A hero’s life hanging in the balance. Admirers around the world praying for a miracle. So forth.”
She moved from that to wardrobe, which presented a problem because Kerra’s suitcase was locked in the trunk of her car, to which she had no keys, and even if she did, the car was sealed in ice.
“I’ll figure out something,” Gracie said breezily and launched into the issue of Kerra’s bruised face. “I’ll go out first thing in the morning and try to find some good concealer, but, come to think of it, the bruises will—”