They couldn’t hear what Carson was asking or what the suspect was saying in reply, but occasionally Duncan would emphasize a point by stabbing his forefinger into the tabletop. Other times Trapper could tell even in pantomime that he’d given a flip response.
After several minutes, Carson took sheets of paper from his briefcase, spread them out on the table where Leslie Duncan could see what they consisted of, and went over the content of each sheet with him point by point.
“What’s all that?” Glenn asked Trapper. “His rate chart?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Mercenary son of a bitch.”
Carson asked Duncan something. He hesitated then nodded. Carson beamed, gathered up the papers and replaced them in his briefcase, latched it, and shook hands with Duncan as facilely as could be done with the manacles. Kerra stood aside, and Glenn opened the door for Carson.
As he was passing through, Leslie Duncan called from the table, “How do you like being dead so far?”
Trapper, anticipating that, had stepped around Kerra in order to gauge her reaction. Her lips separated in shock over hearing the familiar words, but when she realized that Trapper was watching her, she looked up at him and shook her head. “The voice is wrong.”
Glenn’s face was mottled with fury. “Now I get it. That’s what he was about,” he said, flinging out a hand toward Carson.
Carson retrieved his overcoat from Trapper. “Excuse me. I’ve got forms to file.” Juggling coat and briefcase, he hurried down the hallway, almost running into a deputy as he stepped purposefully off the elevator.
Trapper was in a standoff with Glenn. “If I had asked nice, would you have given me access to him?”
“No,” Glenn thundered.
“All Kerra needed to hear were those few words.”
“The voice is wrong,” she repeated, addressing the statement to Glenn. “Believe me, I get goose bumps when I think back to hearing those words and realizing what they implied. I’ll never forget the voice.”
“In your statement, you said that only one of the men spoke. Duncan here could be the one who stayed silent.”
“He could. But I’m positive that’s not the voice I overheard.”
Trapper was listening to her and Glenn and following their thread, but he was also observing Leslie Duncan through the window. He was bobbing his head back and forth and playing imaginary drums on the table as though keeping time to an earworm.
“Sheriff?”
All of them turned to the deputy who had nearly collided with Carson at the elevator. “We got the search warrant about an hour ago,” he reported. “Found this in Duncan’s trailer. Isn’t it the one that’s been missing?”
He held up an evidence bag. Sealed inside it was Kerra’s Louis Vuitton.
Chapter 24
When they returned to the motel room, Kerra remarked, “I’m surprised housekeeping has been here already.”
“I’m surprised there’s housekeeping.”
Trapper’s statement had been spoken in an absent mutter. He was preoccupied with checking one of his various cell phones for missed calls or texts.
“Nothing from The Major?” she asked.
“No.” He tossed his coat onto the bed. “If he calls at all, it’ll probably be to notify me that he’s having me certified.”
“He thinks you’re pigheaded, not insane.”
“Doesn’t matter. I was over what he thought about me a long time ago.”
She knew that wasn’t the case at all, but she let it go. Things were already strained between Trapper and her. They’d driven back from the sheriff’s office in silence. She supposed that he was mulling over how much significance the discovery of her missing bag would have on the investigation.
Pursuant to that, she asked, “What do you think?”
Trapper had his back to the room, staring through the window, hands turned palms out in the rear pockets of his jeans—the new ones he disliked.
“That you’d be wasting your money.”
Because she’d been envisioning his bare backside inside the jeans, his statement didn’t register. “Sorry?”
He turned to face her. “You’d be wasting your money on a locksmith. I’ll break into your car and hot-wire it. You’ll have to get it fixed when you get back to Dallas, but the repair will probably cost you less than a locksmith.
“Better still, ask Carson to set you up with his discount body shop guy. Just be sure that if he gives you a loaner car it isn’t hot.” He motioned to her small duffel bag on the floor in the corner. “Start gathering up your things. When you’re ready, I’ll take you to your car.”
The drama in the sheriff’s office had obscured her resolve to go home, but apparently it was still fresh in Trapper’s mind, and he wasn’t trying to talk her out of it. Quite the opposite. Before she had time to respond to this turnabout, there was a knock.
Trapper checked the peephole before opening the door.
Carson bustled in, rubbing his hands together. “How’d I do?”
“You did okay,” Trapper replied.
“Okay?” he repeated with affront. “I was brilliant.”
“Where is Duncan’s old lady? Did you ask him?”
“Yes, but anything Mr. Duncan told me is privileged, Trapper. You know that.”
“I need to know what he said.”
“He’s my client.”
“And I’m financing his fee. Now tell me what he said.”
“That’s grounds for disbarment.”
“Oh, for crissake. You choose now to turn ethical? Kerra’s not gonna tell on you. Are you?” Trapper looked at her, and she shook her head. “See? And I’m not gonna tell on you. So talk.”
Carson only assumed a more obstinate stance.
Trapper bore down on him. “I’m not gonna tell anybody that you violated attorney-client privilege…but I might let it slip that your law degree is counterfeit.”
Carson started. “How’d you know?”
Trapper just looked at him and smiled, and when Carson realized that he’d been had, he swore.
“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.”