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The man looked almost relieved. Reciting facts was easier than dodging uncomfortable issues.
Exactly why Bridger asked. He’d let the man get comfortable, then hit him with what he really wanted to know.
“I got hired a little over six years ago,” the pastor said. “The blackmail started around two years later. The demands were fairly small, at first. A thousand dollars a month. Two, a couple times.”
Bridger did the math in his head. “So the guy’s soaked you for close to fifty thousand. I wouldn’t call that a small ask.”
“Closer to twenty thousand,” the pastor corrected him. “The demands stopped after two years. Eighteen months, actually.”
Interesting. An intermittent blackmailer. Not a technique he’d ever encountered. “And they started up again when?”
“Six months ago. At first, they were the usual, a thousand a month, until a month ago. That’s when I got the text demanding a hundred thousand dollars or they’d hurt my wife.”
Tai’s eyes widened. He set down the porcelain shepherdess he’d been studying. “That’s a whole lot more zeros.”
“No kidding.” Bridger was thinking the same thing. Something about the on-off nature of the extortion didn’t sit right.
The pastor’s upper body had relaxed. Unpleasant as the topic was, he clearly felt on safe ground discussing details.
Time to stir things up.
Bridger opened his mouth as if ready to speak, but paused until he sensed the bigger man growing concerned. “You said someone in your congregation’s helping you financially. Who is it?”
The pastor’s mouth flattened in a stubborn line. He shook his head, two short, sharp movements, and avoided Bridger’s eyes. “I can’t say.”
The moment of truth. Normally, Bridger lived for this part of the interrogation. Choose correctly, and the interviewee spilled their guts. Choose the wrong technique, and the info he needed got buried deeper.
The pastor was a man used to being in charge, used to a certain amount of deference to his opinion.
So Bridger would do the exact opposite. Going straight at the guy might rattle his cage. “You just said you’d tell me anything I wanted to know. Who’s writing the checks?”
Wide eyes blinked in surprise. Good. Off balance already.
“I can’t tell you. I promised I’d keep his name out of this. Jason doesn’t even know.” The pastor’s voice came uncomfortably close to a whine. “Besides, my benefactor has nothing to do with this.”
Bridger slapped his thighs and shrugged at Tai. “Whelp, looks like we’re done here.” He sketched the pastor a salute. “Good luck. You might want to keep your head down.”
“And say ‘goodbye’ to your wife,” Tai added.
Bridger turned his back on Myles and followed Tai toward the door.
The pastor jumped to his feet. “You can’t leave.”
Well, yeah, they could. Not that they would. Bridger turned slowly and cocked an eyebrow.
The man twined his fingers together and squeezed until his knuckles turned white. “I need your help.”
“Then tell us what we want to know.”
“But I promised....”
Bridger shrugged. “That’s not how this works. Our investigation, our rules. No exceptions.” He turned to leave again.
They had the guy now. He counted silently.
One. Two.
“Fine.” The man eyed the doorway, as if concerned he’d be overheard. “Randall Dressler offered to help with my...expenses. His family’s been well-blessed. They’ve owned the largest ranch in the county for going on a hundred years.”
