Seeing Red

by Sandra Brown

“I have an itch I can’t scratch.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Hear me out.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “They’ve got Leslie Duncan behind bars, which is a frame. They say they’re looking for his accomplice, who doesn’t exist.”

  “You could be wrong, Trapper.”

  “Okay, say I am. Let’s say Duncan is guilty as hell. He and his unsub did the deed.”

  “Maybe the unsub was his girlfriend.”

  He arched an eyebrow with skepticism, but said, “All right, let’s go with that. Who was the third person?”

  “The one who tried to open the bathroom door? Maybe that was the girlfriend, and the unsub was the man who asked the question.”

  “We won’t know until he’s apprehended. And that’s my itch. His apprehension. To my knowledge, nobody is even looking for a third person. When’s the last time you even heard it mentioned?”

  “Not since I was last questioned.”

  “See what I mean? Glenn hadn’t even told The Major there was a third suspect.”

  “The house didn’t turn up any clues? Were you looking for something specific?”

  “Point of entry. I didn’t find it, but it wasn’t a wasted trip.” He told her about his encounter with the deputy.

  “Jenks?” she repeated when he told her his name.

  “Met him?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m not matching a face to that name.”

  “He was guarding your hospital room the night I brought you the flowers. Today he pops up at The Major’s house, while I just happen to be there, except I don’t think it was happenstance at all. I’m almost positive he’s been tracking you.”

  “Me?”

  He told her about discovering the transmitter on the undercarriage of her car. “Remember, I told you I wouldn’t put it past Glenn to try and keep tabs on me that way. I didn’t think he’d pull the same with you.”

  “Did you leave it on the car?”

  “No I dropped it in a Portacan on the hospital parking lot. I guess they can find us if they really want to, but I didn’t want to make it easy for them.”

  “Another headache for Sheriff Addison,” she said. “He’s home now. Hank called me just before you came in. He’d tried to reach you. I told him I would pass along the update.”

  “I hate to admit that Hank is right about anything. But it’s true that Glenn’s had a hard time of it since I hit town. The Major said that when Glenn called to confirm the interview, he was already griping about all the overtime he would have to pay.”

  “He was still griping about it the afternoon I met him. He stopped by The Major’s house during our first pre-interview session. He made me feel that I should apologize for all the inconvenience I was causing him. He was a little more mellow about it when he came by my motel room.”

  Trapper gave a start. “First I’ve heard of this.”

  “It was on Friday evening.”

  “Courtesy call?”

  “In a manner of speaking. He was following up to see if his department was doing a good job of keeping autograph hounds at bay.” She smiled. “Actually I took advantage of his being there to run past him the list of questions I was preparing. The Major had insisted on seeing them in advance of the interview.

  “I asked the sheriff’s opinion on whether I should omit any mention of you. He told me that would be his recommendation, that the interview would cause enough fireworks after I sprang my big surprise, that adding you to the mix would—”

  Trapper sat bolt upright and held out his hand to stop her from saying anything more. “He mentioned the big surprise?”

  “Honestly, I was miffed that you’d told him.”

  “I didn’t.”

  She sat up so she could see his face, which was taut with concentration.

  “I warned Glenn of the interview, but I didn’t give away your secret.” For a time, he sat so still that he startled her when he abruptly threw off the covers and lurched off the bed.

  He grabbed his jeans from where he’d slung them onto the floor, stepped into them, then shook a shirt from the Walmart sack, ripped off the tags, and pulled it on. Responding to his urgency, she came off the bed and began dressing as hurriedly as he.

  “In the wee hours of Monday morning,” he said, “when you regained consciousness, Glenn and I were in your room.”

  “Yes, yes.” She crammed her feet into her shoes. “I woke up to the two of you talking. He was describing the crime scene.”

  “Right. He asked if I knew prior to the telecast who you were. I confessed I did. He acted pissed off that I hadn’t told him, acted like he’d learned it along with everybody else in the TV viewing audience. Yet you say he knew on Friday night.”

  “The Major could have—”

  “If The Major had told him, why not just say so? Why did he pretend to me that he didn’t know?”

  She processed that, but couldn’t come up with a logical answer.

  “Glenn knew before Sunday night, but he didn’t want me to know that he did.” Trapper checked the clip in his pistol, then replaced it in the holster and attached that to his waistband.

  Kerra grabbed her handbag. “If neither you nor I told him, and if it wasn’t The Major, then who?”

  Trapper pulled her coat off a hanger in the closet, tossed it to her, then picked up his own. “Good question.”

  Chapter 29

  Hank answered the mudroom door to Trapper’s knock.

  Peering at them through the screened door, he said, “We aren’t exactly up to having company tonight.”

  “We’re not company.” To include Kerra in that, Trapper placed his arm across her shoulders.

  He hadn’t even considered leaving her behind. Not after discovering the tracking device on her car, and not after having Jenks show up coincidentally at The Major’s house, and not after learning that there was something hinky about the timing of when Glenn became aware of her connection to the Pegasus Hotel bombing.

  He wanted Glenn’s explanation for all these peculiarities, and he didn’t care if he had been rushed to the ER today, he wanted to hear what the sheriff had to say now, even if he had to drag him from his bed.

  Hank still didn’t invite them in. “How’s your cheek?”

  “It’s not terminal.”

  “You probably should have had it stitched.”

  “Is Glenn still up?”

  Hank sighed. “Trapper, the last thing Dad needs—”

  “I need to talk to him.”

  “What for?”

  “That’s for him to know.”

  “Can’t it wait till morning?”

  “If it could wait till morning, I wouldn’t be here now.”

  Hank looked from him to Kerra as though seeking her support, which she didn’t lend. Going back to Trapper, he said, “Don’t you have a filter, any sense of propriety?”

  “You have to ask?”

  “He’s not going to go away.” The gruff voice reached them from beyond Hank in the direction of the kitchen. “You had just as well let him in.”

  With unconcealed reluctance and dissension, Hank flipped the latch on the door, pushed it open, and stepped aside. Kerra went in first. Trapper followed, and, when he walked past Hank, said under his breath, “You ever hit me again, you’ll be preaching through extensive dental work.”

  When Trapper entered the kitchen, Glenn was holding one of the dining chairs for Kerra. The kitchen smelled like the baking dish of lasagna that had been left on the stovetop. And of the whiskey in the glass on the table in front of the chair Glenn dropped back into.

  Trapper was shocked by his appearance. He was disheveled and seemed to have aged twenty years since this morning during the questioning of Leslie Duncan. Trapper wondered if Glenn hadn’t suffered something more serious than an anxiety attack. It must have been one hell of one. It was also obvious that the drink in front of him wasn’t his first. Or even his second.

  “Kerra, something t
o drink?” Glenn asked. “Soft or hard? Coffee?”

  “Nothing, thank you.”

  “Trapper?”

  “Believe I will.” He excused himself to step around Hank, got a glass from the cabinet, and returned with it to the table. He sat down across from Glenn and adjacent to Kerra. Hank took the fourth chair.

  Trapper asked where Linda was. Hank said, “She was exhausted. I made her go to bed with the promise that I would stay here overnight in case Dad needed anything or took a turn.”

  “I’m not going to take a turn,” Glenn muttered.

  Trapper poured himself a whiskey, shot it, then set the empty glass on the table and clasped his hands. Addressing Glenn, he said, “The next ten minutes or so aren’t going to be any fun for me. I want you to know that.”

  Glenn topped off his glass and took a drink.

  Trapper didn’t waste any more words. “Who told you that Kerra was the little girl in the picture?”

  “Thomas Wilcox.”

  Trapper thought his heart might stop. He hadn’t expected Glenn to come forth with an answer so readily. And although Trapper had had a premonition that this would eventually lead to Wilcox, it was a jolt to hear his name right off the bat.

  As upsetting as it was to learn that Glenn had an association with the man, it was even more alarming to learn that Wilcox had known in advance of Kerra’s interview with The Major that she was a survivor of the Pegasus bombing. For all they’d talked about in Trapper’s office, he hadn’t mentioned knowing that when he and Kerra had first met.

  Why not? Trapper wondered.

  He could tell by Kerra’s expression that this disclosure troubled her, too.

  “Who’s Thomas Wilcox?” Hank asked.

  Trapper ignored him and focused on Glenn. “When did Wilcox tell you who Kerra was?”

  “The night you told me about the upcoming interview. Soon as you left, I alerted Wilcox to it.”

  Trapper leaned forward across the table. “Why would you do that, Glenn?”

  “What is going on?” Hank said.

  Glenn turned to him. “Hank, stop asking questions and let me talk. You had just as well hear this, too.”

  “This what? What?”

  Glenn went for his glass of whiskey, but Trapper moved it and the bottle out of his reach. “Start at the beginning, Glenn, and tell me everything. What’s your link to Wilcox?”

  “It goes back several years.”

  “I’ve got all night.”

  “You wearing a wire?”

  “I don’t work in law enforcement.”

  Glenn held his gaze. “You wearing a wire?”

  Trapper shrugged off his coat and raised his shirt. “Neither is Kerra.”

  Glenn looked at her. She said, “I’m not recording this.” She took the cell phone she’d been using from her handbag. “It’s not even on, but you can check.” She set it on the table.

  As she was about to pull back her hand, Glenn reached out and covered it with his own. “I’m sorry. Jesus, I’m sorry.” His eyes turned watery. “I didn’t know. I swear to God.” He glanced at Hank. “I’d swear on your Bible. I didn’t know that Wilcox would try to kill you and The Major. I didn’t think he’d go that far.”

  “Talk to me, Glenn,” Trapper said. “And it has to be more than ‘I’m sorry.’”

  Glenn gazed longingly at the whiskey, then dragged his hands down his face. “I’m ready to unload. I’ve been hauling around this guilt since Sunday night. Finally got to me today. Sent me to the hospital. I don’t want to live with it anymore.”

  The word “guilt” had brought Hank to attention. He placed his hand on Glenn’s shoulder. “Dad, maybe you shouldn’t say anything. I mean if this is some kind of legal matter…Should I call a lawyer?”

  Glenn shook his head. “Not yet. I want to get this off my chest. Trapper needs to know.” Looking across the table at him, he said, “You’re a target, too, I’m sure.”

  “Talk to me,” he repeated, this time softly but with urgency. “When did you meet Wilcox?”

  “What year did your folks move back here from Dallas?”

  The question seemed out of context, but he answered. “Soon after I graduated high school and left for college. Ninety-eight, ninety-nine.”

  Glenn nodded. “One evening shortly after they’d gotten settled, I was approached by a man as I was leaving the office. I don’t remember his name. He was only a messenger. He told me that I was going to win the upcoming election. Hands down, he said. A landslide.”

  He scratched his cheek. “I was facing stiff competition for the first time. Secretly I was worried my opponent would beat me, narrowly maybe, but, if I lost, it wouldn’t matter by how much.

  “I figured this guy was one of those campaign gurus who was soliciting me to use his services for a heap of money.” He shook his head. “Nope, he said ‘you’re going to win,’ and ‘remember I told you.’ Walked off into the dark. I didn’t know what to make of it. Just thought he was a loony tune.”

  “You won.”

  “By a landslide.” He stopped, looked Trapper hard in the eye and said, “Not another goddamn word until I get my drink back.”

  Trapper pushed the glass across to him, and he drank from it before resuming. “A week goes by. I get this voice mail on my phone. Said to come to an address in Dallas and told me to be there at the appointed time if I wanted to remain sheriff. Voice had threat behind it. Creeped me out. I was thinking maybe my opponent had demanded a recount, something like that.

  “I went. The address was an ordinary office building, except that it didn’t have room numbers, no names on any of the doors. I had to check my weapon, was frisked, and was put through a series of security checks. I was beginning to think it was some kind of covert government organization. Eventually I was shown into a room. Only one person in it, a neatly dressed man of average height and weight. Good looking enough, but nobody to swoon over.”

  “Wilcox.”

  Glenn nodded. “He looked ordinary, but I gotta tell you, first time I looked into his eyes, a chill went down my spine.”

  “Did you know who he was?”

  “No. He introduced himself by name, but it didn’t mean squat to me. So when he began asking questions about my friend The Major, I was still under the impression that he might be an agent of some sort conducting an investigation for a government outfit.”

  “What kind of questions was he asking?”

  “About the bombing. Had The Major ever told me anything about it that wasn’t public knowledge? Had he seen something quirky, something that didn’t quite add up? Did he ever specifically refer to the three bombers?

  “I got real uneasy real quick and asked him point blank if he was implicating The Major. When he smiled, I got another chill. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I blew up the Pegasus Hotel.’ Just like that. I nearly messed myself. What the hell had I been dragged into? Who was this guy? Was he joking?”

  “No,” Trapper said.

  “I soon got that. He was as serious as death.” When Glenn reached for his glass again, Trapper noticed that his hand was trembling. “I played dumb when The Major told me that you’ve been on to Wilcox for years, have a whole dossier on him, so no need for me to elaborate about the Pegasus, the confessor, all that.” Looking at Kerra, he said, “I assume Trapper has shared with you.”

  She nodded.

  Hank said, “Well, I’m glad somebody has been clued in, because I’m still in the dark here.”

  “The three men who detonated the bombs in the Pegasus did so at the bidding of a man named Thomas Wilcox.” As Trapper laid it out for Hank, he was watching Glenn, so he saw the pain in Glenn’s eyes when his son confronted him.

  “Dad? Is that true?”

  Glenn’s lips moved, but no sound came out.

  “Dad? Answer me.”

  “Yes. It’s true.”

  Hank stared at him with bafflement and disbelief. “You knew? Since…since…whatever year that was. You knew, but you neve
r reported him? Why? Why didn’t you turn him in?”

  Glenn looked miserable. He rubbed his hand across his eyes. “That’s not the end of the story, Hank.”

  “You’re damn right it’s not,” he said, popping up out of his chair, his voice going shrill. “Call the FBI. If you don’t, I will.”

  “Let him finish first,” Trapper said.

  “And you, you worthless prick.” Hank looked down at him and sneered. “You’ve known, too, and haven’t done anything about it?”

  Trapper glared at him. “You don’t have any idea what we’re dealing with here. You blow the whistle on Thomas Wilcox without a shred of evidence, and you had just as well throw Glenn under the next freight train that comes by, because he’ll be dead just about that soon. Now, if you want to stay and hear the rest, come down off your judgmental podium, sit down on your self-righteous ass, and shut the fuck up.”

  As before, Kerra stabilized a situation rapidly spinning out of control. “Let’s hear the rest of the story before we jump to conclusions or make any rash decisions.”

  Hank smoldered as he looked at each of them in turn, but he sat. He looked at Glenn. “What? You took a bribe?”

  “In a sense, I already had. I’d won the election that many predicted I wouldn’t, that I had predicted I wouldn’t. Wilcox went on to tell me that I would get to keep the office for as long as I wanted it. Each time I came up for reelection, no contest.”

  “In exchange for what?” Trapper asked.

  “Keeping Wilcox apprised of The Major’s comings and goings. Who he saw, who came to see him. Government types like I’d mistaken Wilcox for. I was to tell him anything The Major said about the bombing when we were in private, especially if he ever questioned the findings of the investigation or the three men who were credited with the crime.”

  Hank was gaping at him, incredulous. “You spied on The Major.”

  “On my best friend,” Glenn said, his voice gravelly with emotion. He took another drink.

  “How could you do that? Why didn’t you just tell this Wilcox no? Or pretend to agree, and then go straight to the FBI and turn him in?”

  “Tell him, Trapper.”

  “No evidence,” Trapper said. “Wilcox wasn’t at the Pegasus. He wasn’t at the factory that burned to the ground. And there would’ve been no evidence of his having tampered with the election. I could go on, but you get the point.”