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“Then you learned that I was going to interview The Major,” she said.
He took a sip of scotch. “That was one coincidence too many.”
“You decided he and I had to be killed.”
“Initially.” He could tell the admission stunned them, Kerra in particular. He rolled the highball glass back and forth between his palms. “However, I was advised to reconsider the fallout that a double murder would generate, the subsequent investigation, etcetera. I agreed that perhaps I had overreacted.”
“You called off our execution.”
“I postponed it,” he said with bald honesty. “I would wait to see what repercussions, if any, came from the interview and then make a decision. I watched the broadcast, but nothing about it unnerved me.” He paused before adding, “Obviously someone was of a differing opinion.”
Trapper raise
d his index finger. “I’ve just figured out why the attack occurred after, not before, the interview. Unlike you, these someones didn’t know Kerra’s significance until she announced it Sunday night.”
“When she made the public disclosure—”
“The shit hit the fan.”
“They acted with remarkable speed.”
“Jenks and who else?”
Thomas didn’t say anything to that.
“Come on, Tom. Cough him up, and I’ll take it from there. The G-men might listen more attentively if I deliver a crooked deputy sheriff to them.”
Thomas tipped his head toward the cell phone in Kerra’s hand and said to Trapper, “That audio recording is of little consequence. You did most of the talking. I responded with nothing incriminating or even affirming, except to say that you told a captivating story.”
“You said you would direct me. In my summation, tell me where I went wrong.”
Thomas didn’t say anything.
Trapper said softly, “You’ve got to give me more, Tom, or I am not—and you can record this your ownself, spray paint it on the field of the Cotton Bowl, skywrite it over downtown, carve it into your skin, whatever—I am not going to the feds and sticking my neck out for you.
“If you continue to hold out, I’ve a good mind to call your buddy Jenks and tell him you’ve ratted him out. That’ll guarantee that I won’t have to waste another minute of my life obsessing over you because you will be O. V. E. R. Talk to me, now, or all bets are off.”
Thomas assessed his situation and, although it rankled, acknowledged that Trapper did hold the advantage. Thomas had only one chance to see justice done for Tiffany. The tradeoff was admitting to Trapper his own wrongdoing.
He swirled the liquid in his glass as he carefully chose his words. “Where you went wrong was overthinking it. You envisioned a conclave of like-minded men, a clan. You imagined it being founded on a doctrine, because you couldn’t conceive of it of being so incredibly simple. There is no higher cause. Never was. No philosophy or creed or anything like what you surmised. Nothing idealistic or anarchist or radically inspired.”
“Then how did you get your converts?”
“When something needed doing, I looked for a candidate or candidates to do it, singled them out, discovered what their heart’s desire was—”
“And provided it.”
Thomas didn’t admit it out loud but gave a slight nod. “A public office, a piece of real estate, a seat on the board of a lending company, a national championship. The object of desire could be something as highflown as that, or as plebeian as a married woman’s sudden availability.”
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.
