Seeing Red(84)

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.”

“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.’