by Sandra Brown
“Now that we’ve got those pesky ethics out of the way,” Trapper said, “what about Duncan’s old lady?”
Carson sighed with resignation. “She’s been passing bad checks. They thought it would be advisable for her to clear town for a while.”
“When did she go? Was she with Duncan Sunday night?”
“Definitely. They were going at it all night long, he said, and had a sad parting Monday morning.”
“Where was she off to?”
“Galveston.”
“Duncan may need her to provide an alibi. If you know anybody in south Texas who could track her down and bring her back—”
“Already on it.”
“Good.”
“Except…” Carson grimaced.
“What?”
“He may not want to bring her into the picture even if it means sacrificing his alibi.”
“The bad checks?”
“That, but there could also be an issue regarding her age. But he’s fairly sure she’s turned seventeen.”
Trapper looked pained. “Does this guy have any redeeming qualities?”
“He has a heart tattoo with ‘Mom’ scrolled across it.”
“That’s something,” Kerra said.
“With a dagger through the heart.”
She couldn’t tell if Carson was joking or not, but she thought probably not.
Trapper asked, “What about the pistol?”
“He swears to God he had never laid eyes on it.”
“Until a traffic cop pulled it from under the seat of his truck.”
“Noooo,” Carson said, dragging out the word. “Until he found it in a trash can.”
“You gotta be kidding me.”
“Wish I was,” Carson said. “He contends that when he went to put his garbage in the can, there was the pistol. Clip was full except for one bullet. Serial number scratched out.”
“His lucky day.”
“His words exactly.”
“When did this miracle find occur?”
“Monday night. He remembers because the trash is picked up at the mobile home park on Tuesday morning.”
“When questioned about the gun, why did he lie?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
Trapper ran his hand around the back of his neck. “If I was in sexual congress with a minor, yeah, I probably would. Did you ask him about The Major?”
“Knows he’s famous. Knows he got shot. Never heard of you.” Carson tacked that on with perceptible glee.
“What about Kerra?”
“He’s only seen her once or twice, on account of his neighbor discovered that he’d tapped into his cable and cut him off.”
“Did you ask if he knew Thomas Wilcox?”
“I did. He said, ‘Sure.’”
Kerra and Trapper exchanged a fleeting look before going back to Carson. “Swear to God, when he said that, my heart nearly stopped. I asked him how he knew Thomas Wilcox, and he said, ‘Hero of mine.’ I asked why he considered Wilcox hero material, and he said, ‘On account of his three-pointers, asshole.’ I would have taken exception, but that kind of verbal abuse goes with the territory of being a criminal defense attorney, and since you’re footing the bill—”
“Get on with it, Carson.”
“I asked my client if it was possible we were referencing two different Thomas Wilcoxes. And he said, ‘I’m talkin’ about the all-star basketball player for OU. Black dude. Six nine. Went on to play for the Thunder till they started suckin’, then moved to the Nuggets. Who the fuck are you talkin’ about?’ I think that’s a quote,” he said, giving Kerra an apologetic glance. “Anyhow, the basketball player is the only Thomas Wilcox he ever heard of.”
After the buildup, the finale was a letdown. Kerra could tell that Trapper felt it, too. Nobody said anything. Then, in a much more subdued manner, Carson said, “Your office got trashed.”
Trapper played dumb. “You don’t say?”
“Broke through the window in the door. The building custodian discovered it when he got to work this morning. Said the place had been torn apart. He tried your cell number; it went straight to voice mail. Didn’t know how else to reach you, so he called me. I authorized him to get your window replaced and your lock changed.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll add the charges to your bill.” Carson divided a worried look between them. “You know, Trapper, some people you’re just better off not messing with. I ask again, do y’all know what you’re doing?” His law degree may have been fake, but his concern seemed genuine.
Trapper pretended not to have noticed. He asked Carson how Duncan had responded to the request that he shout out the question.
Kerra said, “I assume that’s what all the paper shuffling on the table was about?”
Carson nodded. “I’d typed it out and told Duncan it was important that he ask the question exactly as it was written and that he speak loud enough to be heard by anyone standing outside the door, including one of the victims, Kerra Bailey.
“He asked, ‘What the eff for?’ All I told him was that it would be in his best interest to do me this one tiny favor. After dropping a few more f-bombs, he said, ‘Whatever, dude.’” Carson looked at them in turn. “You could’ve fried an egg on the sheriff’s ass. What happened after I left?”
Trapper told him about the discovery of Kerra’s bag. “The deputy said it was found in a corner under the bed in Duncan’s trailer.”
“Anything missing from it?”
“A modest amount of cash and my credit cards,” Kerra told him. “Other than that, no.”
“Good to know,” Carson said. “At least I won’t be blindsided about it at Duncan’s arraignment. It’s scheduled for three o’clock this afternoon.”
“Plead not guilty,” Trapper said.
“There’s another way to plead?” Carson blinked several times as though astonished. Then, “Given the circumstances, the notoriety of his alleged victims, and Duncan’s record, the judge will set his bail a mile high. He’s gonna stay in jail.”
“He’ll be better off,” Trapper said. “If he were released, he probably wouldn’t live long.”
Carson’s brows shot up. “That statement begs elaboration.”
Trapper gave it some thought. “If you’d just shot and left for dead an American icon, would you hang on to the weapon? Duncan had all of north Texas to lose it in. Even if he wanted to keep it as a souvenir to sell on eBay at some future date, would he safeguard it under the seat of his truck?”
He gave them each a look before continuing. “He takes the money and credit cards from Kerra’s bag but stashes it where it could easily be found. Do you know a thief who holds onto a purse after he’s emptied it of valuables?”
He directed the question to Carson, who replied, “I’m not acquainted with any thieves. All my clients are innocent.”
“I was asking rhetorically.”
“My answer stands.”
“Back to what I was saying: Duncan is a cesspool, but I don’t think he’s stupid. If he was involved last Sunday, he wouldn’t still have the evidence in his possession. He’s hostile and pugnacious, but not the least bit nervous. Because he knows that even if the pistol and bag can be placed in that house last Sunday night, he can’t be. Not by the sheriff’s office, or the Rangers, or the big, bad FBI. And the reason he knows they can’t place him there is because—”
“He wasn’t there,” Kerra said.
“He wasn’t there,” Trapper repeated. “He was in his mobile home all night shagging his underage girlfriend. Which is a felony. But it’s not attempted murder.”
“My client was obviously set up.”
“He made a perfect candidate for it,” Trapper said.
“Set up by whom? Why?” Kerra asked.
“By whom, I don’t know,” Trapper said. “As to why, to cool down the situation. You can hear it talked about over dinner tables across the country. ‘They nailed one of The Major’s assailants, the othe
r is as good as got.’
“The media will move on to the next sensational story and so will the public’s interest.” He thought on it for a moment, then said grimly, “It also makes me look even more like a crackpot for exploring other possibilities.”
Kerra frowned. “I follow your logic, but why are you so sure that Duncan wasn’t man number two, the one who didn’t speak?”
“Man number two would never have repeated that question knowing you were just beyond the door.”
“Even if he wasn’t the one to ask it in The Major’s house?”
“At the very least he would have balked, fidgeted, altered his voice. I kept my eyes glued to Duncan. He had a ‘whatever, dude,’ attitude, but he asked the question without a qualm because it held no significance to him.”
“I could tell that when I first showed it to him,” Carson said. “Not rattled in the least.”
“Plead him not guilty on the attempted murder charge,” Trapper said, “but leave the lowlife behind bars. Fall guys often have short life spans. Not only will Duncan be safer in jail, if he’s shacked up with a juvenile, he belongs there. I’m sure Oklahoma would like to have him back, too.”
In a none too subtle invitation for Carson to leave, Trapper opened the door, took Carson’s hand, and slapped a set of car keys into his palm.
“Oh, right. Almost forgot.” Carson dug into his trousers pocket, produced a key fob and gave it to Trapper. “Around the north corner of the building. Last in the row. Maroonish sedan.”
“Thanks.” Trapper pocketed the key fob. “And thanks again for rushing up here on short notice. Let me know when I can return the favor.”
“You can start by paying me the eight-fifty you owe me just for today.”
“Dream on.”
“Okay, three-fifty.”
“I could mention to the Texas Bar Association that—”
“Two-fifty.”
“Goodbye, Carson.”
Trapper closed the door on him and leaned back against it as though to barricade it should Carson try to return. Kerra asked, “Why did you swap keys?”
“He’s taking his brother-in-law’s car back. He left me the one he drove up here from Fort Worth.”
“Why?”
“Because I wouldn’t put it past Glenn to have had a tracking device put on that ugly car while we were inside the sheriff’s office. If I need to get lost again, he’ll be tracking Carson, not me.”
“You think of everything.”
“No. I don’t.” With those three words, his tone became weighty and solemn, and so did his demeanor. “That’s what has kept me up nights for the past three years. And since Sunday, it’s only gotten worse, not better.”
He looked at her pensively for several moments, then gave one shake of his head as though having reached a tough decision. “It’s expected of me to go off half-cocked, but this chasing around isn’t for you. I was wrong to make you part of it. Go back to Dallas and, as you said, do your thing. I’ll do mine.” He gestured toward her bag again. “You left some things in the bathroom.”
Rather than moving to collect her belongings as he’d indicated, she sat down on the edge of the bed. “Why are you still chasing around?”
“I want justice.”
“Of course that. But if that’s all you wanted, you could go to the authorities right now with what you have on Wilcox.”
“And give them another belly laugh? No thanks.”
“This time you have Wilcox himself.”
“He would deny that meeting in my office ever took place.”
“I would bear witness to it.”
“True. But you can’t prove what we talked about.”
“Yes, I can.”
Not expecting that, he gave her a sharp look.
“Get the phone you had when you threatened to call 911.”
He walked over to the bed and rummaged in the pockets of his coat until he found that particular phone, took the back off, and placed a battery in it.
Kerra said, “I carried the phone with me when I went to the window. My back was turned for ten minutes. I went to voice memos on the home page and pressed record. I was scared to death Wilcox would notice. Or the guy in the window across the street. I guess his sights were set on the center of my forehead, not my hands.”
By now the phone was powered up. Trapper went to the voice memos icon and tapped play.
The recording began with Kerra’s voice “…coming from the corner. A third, from the other direction.” After a lengthy silence, “There’s a fourth, Trapper.”
Then Wilcox. “They’ve been instructed to wait for a second call, a second hang-up. If it doesn’t come within ten minutes…”
Trapper tapped pause and stared down at her. “How much is on here?”
“I had to stop recording when I made the second call. You took back the phone immediately after.”
“Pretty smart trick.”
“Thanks.”
He dashed her perky comeback with anger. “A trick that could’ve gotten you killed. Us killed. Why didn’t you tell me about this before now?”
“Well, you’ve kept me rather occupied. First there was the unannounced visit to Marianne’s house. Then our drive back here in the middle of the night. The tense conversation between you and The Major in the hospital. This morning—”
“That’s all bullshit, Kerra. You didn’t tell me because you knew I’d be mad as hell. Think what would have happened if you’d gotten caught.”
“But I didn’t! And now you have the recording.”
“A recording of me spinning what Wilcox called a captivating story.”
“He talked about wanting to avenge his daughter’s murder. He talked about the four men outside standing by to rush the building and kill you. It’s something. At least it’s enough to get the authorities to listen to you without laughing.” His lack of excitement dismayed and confused her. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
“I’m glad to have the recording. And it is something on that son of a bitch. But it makes my point, Kerra. If not for me, you wouldn’t have been there in that life-threatening situation, taking risks.”
He paced a few feet away from her, and when he turned back, he said, “Your involvement in this should’ve ended the night I took you those damn flowers.” He held her gaze for a moment, then looked down at his boots and, in a mumble, added, “I just couldn’t stay away from you.”
The admission made her heart flutter. But it turned to a thud of dread with his next statement. “Your involvement ends now.”
“I’ve changed my mind from what I said earlier.”
He gave a negative shake of his head. “You’re going back to your life. Or not. But in any case you’re going away from me.”
“But I don’t want to drop this.”
“I don’t want another Berkley Johnson on my conscience. Only with you, it would be worse. I never kissed him.” The words shimmered between them, then he said, “Besides, this is something I’ve got to do alone.”
That statement had a different ring to it. “You’ve got to do it alone? That’s an odd thing to say.”
“What’s odd about it?”
“It doesn’t sound like someone who’s only seeking justice. It sounds like you have a hidden agenda.”
“And that sounds like psychobabble.”
If she hadn’t hit on something, he wouldn’t be responding so defensively. Determined to get to the bottom of it, she searched his face and asked again, “Why must you do this alone?”
“I just do, okay?”
“Not okay. That’s not an explanation.”
“That’s all you’re getting.”
“Why alone, Trapper?”
“Kerra.”
“To restore your pride?”
He drew himself up to full height. “Yeah. That’s it. I’m a peacock whose tail feathers got plucked by the ATF. Save that quote. Put it in your story.”
“Don’t do that,” she said, c
oming to her feet. “Don’t slam the door on me or cop that smart-ass attitude.”
“Then stop asking questions. I don’t give interviews, remember?”
“Aren’t we beyond that?”
“Well, I thought so, but obviously not.”
“We’re just two people talking, Trapper.”
“Wrong. Only one person is talking. You. I’m not listening anymore.”
He went around her, scooped her bag from off the floor, and carried it with him into the bathroom, where he began tossing in grooming articles and the sleepwear she’d left hanging on the hook on the back of the door.
She followed him as far as the threshold between the two rooms. “You’re really sending me packing?”
He didn’t say anything, just raided the shower of her shampoo and razor and added them to the bag.
“Me plus you equals jeopardy for the bad guys, isn’t that what you said? Well, it’s worked. Someone got nervous enough about our being together to ransack your apartment and office. Thomas Wilcox came to you wanting to make a deal for immunity. How likely was that to happen if he hadn’t feared what you have on him? Someone went to a lot of trouble to set up Leslie Duncan for Sunday night’s crimes.”
She had to move aside or get mowed down as he came through the bathroom door. “We’ve stirred live coals, Trapper. Isn’t that what you had in mind when you abducted me?”
“What I had in mind was banging you.”
“That’s very romantic,” she said, “but it wasn’t your primary motivation.”
He lowered his eyelids to half mast. “Wanna bet?”
“Please follow along, ladies and gentlemen, as we move from scare tactic number one to scare tactic number two. Lewd and lascivious innuendo.” She paused for a beat. “Save it, Trapper. I’m not going to have the vapors or run screaming in fear of my virtue.”
“Don’t be so sure. I can get really lewd and…whatever that other thing was.”
She huffed out a breath. “Let me see what’s on the flash drive.”
He dropped all degree of suggestiveness and reverted to anger. “You’re just after the story.”
“Damn right, I am. But I can’t turn my back on this injustice and then blithely go on with my life.”
“It’s your life I’m trying to save.”