Seeing Red(112)

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.”

Thomas thought it over and gave a reluctant nod. “All right. The photos on the cell phone should be sufficient to start a dialogue, but it’s still only a long list of typewritten names. I’ll hold the original with signatures in abeyance until I get my guarantee.”

“Why not, as a sign of good faith—and the feds really get off on good faith—give me the phone now and let me use it to start the dialogue?”

“Because, as you just said, they may laugh at you yet. Given your reputation as a hot-headed crackpot, who could blame them?” It did Thomas’s heart good to see how the words affected Trapper. He wasn’t as cocksure as he pretended.

“Also,” Thomas said, “even if you do manage to get me an audience, the outcome of that meeting is uncertain.” He threw a glance up toward the second story. “Greta knows nothing of this. She’s fragile. I need time to prepare her for what could be difficult days ahead.”

Trapper thought on that, looked back at the safe, then returned the painting to its original position. He contemplated the portrait, then came around to Thomas. “Okay, here’s how it’s gonna be. I’ll be on the phone for the rest of the night, hoping to persuade somebody that I’m not drunk dialing and that this is for real. If I can convince somebody to hear us out, I’ll call you and tell you when and where to show up with the original signature list, and the cell phone with pictures of the typed names, and a good lawyer. Maybe you should bring a battery of good lawyers.”

“Not the original list.”

“The original,” Trapper repeated in a tone that left no room for further compromise. “If you fail on any of these points, God help you. Because then your wad is shot. If I don’t kill you myself, Jenks probably will. The feds may put you in protective custody, but you’ll have lost any wiggle room for negotiation because you reneged on the preliminary bargaining points. Beyond all that, your secret life will be exposed. Right, Kerra?”

“I and a cameraman will set up outside your gate,” she said. “I’ll do the first of many reports on how you’re refusing to address allegations that you planned the Pegasus Hotel bombing. After my recent interview with the man who saved me from dying in the blast, this will incite media coverage around the world.”

“You wouldn’t break a story like that without corroboration,” Thomas said. “And Trapper is hardly a reliable source.”

“The story would be the allegations themselves, not whether or not they’re true,” Kerra said. “In our society, once suspicion is cast, one is as good as guilty. You know I’m right.”