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 ear-worm.

“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.”

“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. Cartridge 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, ass-hole.’ 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.”