“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 other 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.”