Trapper said, “She would become widowed.”
“Accidents occur,” he said, “and the results are often fatal.”
“You’re contemptible,” Kerra whispered.
Thomas smiled blandly. “Not in the opinion of the frustrated suitor who was so grateful, he threw a playoff hockey game.”
She averted her gaze as though unable to stand looking at him.
Trapper was wearing a thoughtful scowl. “A man recently diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer…”
Picking up on the lead-in, Thomas said, “Who had inadequate health and life insurance, would welcome a lifetime income for his wife and children.”
“All he had to do was carry a time bomb into a hotel and confess to mass murder.”
Thomas raised his hands up shoulder high but, again, didn’t admit anything aloud.
“Still,” Trapper said, “that would have taken some convincing. It’s not like you promised him paradise and an inexhaustible supply of virgins.”
Trapper had hit on an essential element of Thomas’s success. “Often the favor was done prior to the recipient’s knowledge of it.”
“Ah-ha! Of course. So when you tell him to do something, he’s already obligated. How can he refuse? The noose is already around his neck. Either he signs your pledge or you open the trap door.”
Thomas blinked.
Trapper saw his surprised reaction and smiled. “Yeah, we know about your pledge. That’s your insurance policy, right? A list of everybody you’ve corrupted. How many are we talking, Tom?”
“It would keep the FBI busy for years.”
“A lot of cold cases would go hot again. Including the Pegasus.”
“And my daughter’s murder. That’s why I came to you. We want the same individual. I’ll give him to you, but I want your word that he’ll be punished to the fullest extent of the law, along with whoever he got to push the plunger on that syringe.”
Trapper placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “I understand that. But you need to understand this. You can hand-deliver that individual, hell, you can waltz Jack the Ripper in there. Uncle Sam’s boys aren’t going to let you walk for the Pegasus. Maybe for a Berkley Johnson, or the two who burned to death in the factory fire. But not for one hundred ninety-seven souls.”
“I’m betting otherwise. You don’t know the caliber of the names on my list. Federal prosecutors will be falling all over themselves, thanking me for turning them over.”
“Like who? Give me a hint.”
“I’ll hand over the list after you’ve struck my deal.”
“No list, no deal.”
“Then we’re in limbo.”
“I’ve been in limbo,” Trapper said. “And you know what? It ain’t that bad being known as a hero’s son who couldn’t hack it. The lower people’s expectations are of me, the fewer responsibilities I have. We stay in limbo?” He shrugged. “I’m used to it. I can live with it.
“The question is, can you? Do you want to see the people who murdered your daughter brought to justice, or not? They seriously wounded The Major, but he’s alive. Tiffany’s dead. They wanted your attention so they pumped enough heroin into her vein to bring down a bull elephant. They’re walking around free. Can you continue living with that?”
“I don’t believe you can,” Kerra said. “Give Trapper what he needs, and he’ll see to it that her murderers are punished.”
Thomas wavered.
“Where do you keep the list?” Trapper asked. “Here?”
“No. Everyone who signs realizes it’s completely inaccessible. Otherwise someone would have killed me a long time ago, then excavated this house searching for it.”
“How do they know it’s inaccessible?” Before Thomas had time to give Trapper the answer, light dawned in his eyes. “You don’t bring it to them, you take them to it. Bowels of a bank vault? Or something more Raiders of the Lost Ark? A cave, a bunker reachable only through a maze of booby-trapped tunnels?”
“You have a vivid imagination.”
“Right. I do. But here’s the point. If some poor bastard signs your pledge, then changes his mind, he’s doubly screwed. The document is inaccessible, and he can’t trust anybody to tell because he doesn’t know who else has signed. You’ve covered up the names of his predecessors.”
Thomas wondered how Trapper knew all that but didn’t ask. He suspected Glenn Addison.
“Nifty loophole there, Tom.”
“It’s kept me alive.”
“So far. But your future isn’t looking too bright. You’ve got a revolt on your hands. Killing your daughter didn’t bring you around, so they’ve gotten bolder. They took matters into their own hands Sunday night. If they continue to override your decisions, and ineptly, eventually they’re going to screw up real bad, get caught, and guess who they’re going to finger as their mastermind? ‘Thomas Wilcox? Isn’t that the guy John Trapper keeps harping about?’” Trapper gave another shrug.
“Time is running out for you to act, Tom. Either you’re going to get double-crossed and arrested or double-crossed and killed. In the event of your untimely demise, if I don’t have that list, your daughter’s murderers go free. Forever.”
Every word out of Trapper’s mouth had been what Thomas had himself concluded. “I’ve prepared for that contingency.”
“Smart move. What’s the contingency?”
“Some of the signatures on the original document are unintelligible. In the event that I’m not around to decipher them, I typed all the names in alphabetical order. It required several sheets of paper.”
“Very convenient. Thanks. I appreciate that. Where’re these sheets?”
Thomas gestured toward the fireplace and the heap of cold ashes beneath the grate. “But I took a cell phone photograph of each page before burning it. I realize those pictures won’t qualify as evidence, but they should be adequately persuasive until the original can be accessed.”
“Where’s the cell phone with the pictures?”
“In a safe place.”
“A storm cellar is a safe place. The far side of the moon is a safe place. Where is it?” Trapper looked around the study, his eyes lighting on the painting. He strode toward it.
“No!”
But the admonishment came too late. Trapper had discovered the concealed hinge running vertically down the side of the ornate frame. He swung it open, exposing a wall safe with a keypad. He turned back to Thomas, eyebrow cocked.
“No,” Thomas said adamantly. “I will not open it tonight. Tomorrow—”
Trapper made a sound like a buzzer.
“You convene a meeting with federal agents. Senior agents,” Thomas stressed. “I’ll hand the phone over to them.”
“The second you clear the door.”
“After I’m guaranteed immunity.”
“It’ll never fly, Tom. They may hear me out tonight, say, ‘Thanks for the tip, Trapper, now get lost,’ and then drive over here and arrest you. If you don’t deliver that list beforehand, you don’t have a prayer of making any kind of deal.”