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She placed the call. She saw one of the men below raise a cell phone to his ear, but he didn’t say anything into it.
Speaking loudly, Wilcox said, “For the time being, stand down.”
The call was immediately disconnected. She watched the man lower the phone.
“What are they doing?” Trapper asked.
“Just standing there.”
“See?” Wilcox said. “All well. You can come back now, Kerra.”
When she turned, her gaze immediately went to Trapper, who still held his pistol aimed at the millionaire. But as she returned to her chair, he asked, “You okay?”
“Fine.” She sat down, and, needing badly to make physical contact, pressed her thigh against his.
She looked at Wilcox and marveled over how unmoved he appeared to be by Trapper’s numerous accusations. His composure was disgusting and infuriating. Her impulse was to lash out and remind him that Trapper had alleged murder—her mother’s murder. But she held her peace because she, as much as Trapper, wanted to hear what Wilcox had to say.
He addressed Trapper. “Over the course of the past ten minutes, you’ve come to realize that you need me in order to get yourself reinstated. Especially now that your hidey-hole has been discovered and raided. Without my testimony, you’ve got nothing.”
“And what do you want from me, except your Fantasyland wish for immunity?”
“Justice for my daughter.”
“What makes you think she was murdered?” Trapper asked.
“I don’t think it. I know it.” He drew in a breath. “Do you know the circumstances of Tiffany’s death?”
“I didn’t know anything about it at all until last night,” Trapper said.
“That doesn’t surprise me. We swept it under the rug.”
“She died not long before I did the interview with you,” Kerra said. “Like Trapper, I was unaware of your loss. You must have thought I was awfully brash even to approach you so soon after.”
“At that point in time, the grieving was still very raw.”
“Then why did you agree to the interview?” she asked.
“To make Tiffany’s killers nervous. They didn’t know what track the interview would take, whether or not you would ask me something about Tiffany’s death. For all they knew, that was to be the context of it. I wanted to make them squirm, even if just a little.”
Kerra looked to Trapper, whose subtle nod prompted her to continue. She sat forward and spoke to Wilcox with the delicacy the subject required. “Trapper and I were told that Tiffany died of an overdose of heroin.”
“True. The needle was still in her arm when she was found.”
“Who found her?”
“A policeman on patrol. Her car was parked alongside the road at the edge of a municipal park, not more than a mile from the riding academy where she’d spent the afternoon practicing her jumps and then had stayed to groom her horse.
“She’d called to say she would be a few minutes late for dinner, for us to start without her. I told her we would wait. ‘Okay, I’ll be there in a few. Love ya.’ That was the last time I heard her voice.”
This man had robbed Kerra of her mother, but his bereavement was genuine, and it was difficult for her not to feel some empathy for him.
The same might also be said of Trapper, who’d lost a child to miscarriage. His hand was cupped over his mouth and chin as though to keep his compassion from showing.
Wilcox cleared his throat before continuing. “Tiffany was found sitting in the driver’s seat, but slumped over. Given the amount and strength of the heroin, and the toxins in the substances it had been mixed with, the ME told us that she probably died within five to ten minutes of ingestion. It’s believed, hoped, that she would have been unconscious for much of that time.”
Nobody said anything until Kerra broke the silence in a voice that had gone hoarse. “She’d never done drugs?”
“No. And I’m not an oblivious parent now in denial. Even if she had decided to experiment, it wouldn’t have been that way. She was terrified of needles. Paraphernalia was found in her car, in her lockers at school, and at the equestrian center, but I know with absolute certainty that all of it was planted.”
