Seeing Red Read online

  “I swear she didn’t see us.”

  “Not about her. About Jenks.”

  Petey flinched with surprise then threw a look over his shoulder toward the closed door that stood between them and the next room in which Jenks had been told to wait until it was his turn to give his version.

  Coming back around, Petey asked in a hushed voice, “What about him?”

  “When The Major came to the door, why didn’t Jenks blast him with the shotgun?”

  “Shocked him to see The Major with a rifle.”

  “Hmm. That concerns me. If Jenks is so easily rattled, he’s unreliable.”

  “No, sir. Nerves of steel. He’s as solid as the day is long. I’d swear to that.”

  “Your loyalty to him is admirable, Petey. But what about his loyalty to you? Are you willing to bet your life on it? This Bailey woman might not have seen you fire a bullet into an American hero’s chest. But Jenks did.”

  Petey’s eyes darted out and back, then up and down. He licked his lips again. He was thinking it over. “He’s solid,” he repeated, but with noticeably less conviction.

  “In order to protect yourself, me, all of us, you know what you have to do.”

  Petey swallowed noisily. “Not sure what you’re getting at.”

  “Yes you are.” He let that rest for a second or two, then said, “Make sure you bury his body deep enough so scavengers can’t get to it, or sink it in The Pit with enough weight that it’ll never surface. Do you understand?”

  Petey understood, all right. His forehead was beaded with sweat. He looked miserable. “When?”

  “Now.”

  “It’s coming up on daylight.”

  “Then you’ve got no time to waste, do you?”

  Petey blinked several times. “Me and him have come to be good friends.”

  “I know. I also know you understand the gravity of your situation. You said The Major didn’t see you. Either of you.”

  “No. Jenks clouted him before he could.”

  “And Kerra Bailey didn’t.”

  Petey shook his head.

  “Leaving only one person who remains a threat to you. To us. Harvey Jenks. Right?”

  Petey nodded but looked on the verge of tears.

  The other man reached across the table and gripped Petey’s hand hard, like a general commending a volunteer, then motioned him up. “Ask him to come in now.”

  “How come?”

  “It would look fishy if I didn’t talk to him, too.”

  Petey shuffled to the door, opened it, and in a jocular voice that sounded close to normal, said, “Your turn.”

  For the next twenty minutes, Harvey Jenks was put through the same drill. His account was almost word for word identical to Petey’s. “When we ran out of time to take care of her, I thought to grab her bag,” he said of the disemboweled Louis Vuitton. “Too bad the fall didn’t kill her.”

  “That is too bad. It’s also too bad that The Major’s heart is still beating.”

  Jenks reacted with a start, then rubbed the bridge of his nose as he processed it. “Petey shouldn’t have got so trigger happy. Or he should’ve shot him twice. At least.”

  “Why didn’t you shoot him as soon as he came to the door?”

  “He had a rifle.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “He might’ve got off a shot or two, even if it was recoil. If we’d been hit, it would’ve left blood. Evidence. I disabled him by knocking him out.”

  “A shotgun blast to the head would have disabled him.”

  Jenks frowned his regret. “Hindsight.”

  The man pursed his lips as though thinking it over. “It was Petey’s mistake. He should have made certain his shot was fatal. He didn’t, and now we’re in a fix. This isn’t the first time he’s messed up. He’s excitable and likes to boast. Which makes him a risk we can no longer afford.” He then leaned across the table, crooked his finger, and lowered his voice to a whisper.

  Several minutes later, Jenks left the room, having been given the same order as his cohort had been issued a few minutes earlier. It would be interesting to see which of the two returned. Whoever did would have proven himself to be blindly obedient and absolutely ruthless.

  The man sat back in his chair, fingered the adorned leather case of Kerra Bailey’s cell phone. She had made that stunning revelation during the interview, no doubt counting on it to further her career.

  Rather than to end her life.

  Trapper checked into the motel where Kerra had been staying since Tuesday. Once settled into his room, he called Carson.

  “These calls are getting old, Trapper,” he growled. “If you need somebody to talk to in the middle of the night, why don’t you get married.”

  “The Major’s been shot.”

  After several seconds of silence, Carson blurted, “Gunshot?”

  “He’s alive, but only by a thread.”

  More silence, then, “You’re not kidding.”

  “No.”

  “Jesus, man. This is unreal. My bride and me took a timeout to watch the interview.”

  “Happened a couple of hours after it.”

  “We shut off the TV and went to bed early.”

  He gave Carson a rundown of the chain of events. “I just left the hospital. She looks like Rocky, and he’s critical.”

  “Swear to God, Trapper, I don’t know what to say. You see the interview? They dropped quite a bombshell.” After a beat, he groaned, “Oh hell, bad word choice.”

  “It’s okay. It was a bombshell.”

  “Are you all right? I mean, you know, he’s your dad and all.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “You’re compartmentalizing.”

  Carson must’ve picked that up from Dr. Phil, but damn if it wasn’t accurate.

  “Are you gonna stay up there?”

  “Yeah,” Trapper said. “I need to be here. My car’s still not ready, so I had to bring the loaner. If the body shop wants to tack on a few days’ rental, I’ll understand.”

  “Okay. I’ll let the guy know. I’m sure he’s cool with you keeping it for a while longer.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Does anybody know what happened? Any suspects?”

  “The Major’s friend is sheriff, remember. His department is investigating, but the Rangers and feds will probably join in.”

  “Just as well. You told me this sheriff and The Major are blood brothers. He can’t be objective.”

  “What I told him.”

  “Especially if The Major doesn’t make it.”

  “If he doesn’t, Glenn said he would go caveman on whoever killed him.”

  “So would you.”

  Trapper didn’t comment on that. “Listen, is the honeymoon over?”

  “As of this phone call, yes,” Carson said drily. “She’s had it with you. But both of us are back to work in the morning anyway.”

  “It is morning. Almost five thirty. Local TV has already issued bulletins about the shooting, but the story will start getting full coverage on the morning newscasts. Keep an eye out at the office. Anyone comes poking around, you let me know.”

  “There’ll be media.”

  “Possibly someone will try sniffing me out there. But I’m not talking about media.”

  “Then what? Who?”

  “Just keep an eye out and tell me if anyone suspicious-looking comes around.”

  “Besides my clientele, you mean.”

  “And dig deeper on Kerra Bailey.”

  “In my spare time?”

  “I’ll pay you, Carson. Put some of your former clients on it. The hackers. Identity thieves. Whatever you can get on her, I want. Immediately.”

  “It would help if I knew what you were looking for.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Still getting a vibe, huh?”

  “Yeah. A bad one.”

  Terror jolted her awake.

  Before Kerra remembered that her body was batt
ered and bruised, she sat bolt upright. Pain shot through her head like a lightning bolt. The fracture in her clavicle made itself known. Her stomach heaved, and she retched into her lap.

  Groping for the remote, she rang for a nurse, who took her sweet time responding while Kerra sat shivering in her sweat-soaked gown and clammy sheets.

  When the nurse arrived, Kerra apologized for the mess. “I had a nightmare.”

  “I guess you did, honey. You’re shaking like a leaf in a gale.”

  The nurse called for assistance, and within five minutes, Kerra’s gown and bedding had been replaced. When alone again, she used the remote to switch the nightlight back on.

  Although she was clean and dry, she continued to shiver so badly her teeth chattered.

  In her nightmare, the aftermath of the bombing had been replaced by her isolation in the powder room. An aspect of that nightmare had catapulted her out of sleep and into awareness of something she’d forgotten: Someone had tried to open the powder room door before she heard the gunshot.

  That fact had been tucked away in her subconscious. The nightmare had revealed it to her.

  The doctor had explained to Sheriff Addison that any account she gave so soon after coming around would be questionable, the sequence of events possibly incorrect. Now she was glad she hadn’t remembered that detail. Before telling anyone, she needed time to process what significance it had, if any.

  But she felt it did.

  Someone had tried to open the door before the gunshot. She had addressed The Major through the door and said, “I’ll be right out.” There had been no response. Then the gunshot.

  Who had been trying to open that door?

  Not The Major. He would have responded when she spoke to him, and, besides, why would he have tried the door, knowing that she was using the restroom? Not the would-be killers, who were in the front of the house.

  Could an accomplice have been in the back rooms? Perhaps all along? Had he seen her go into the powder room?

  Gooseflesh broke out on her arms as one name sprang to mind, the name of the individual who had returned tonight—without the sheriff—demanding to know whom she had seen “out there.”

  Trapper.

  Chapter 8

  The sun was coming up by the time Trapper went to bed, and he slept with one ear attuned to his phone, fearing and half expecting a call from hospital staff. None came. He woke up a little after ten o’clock, efficiently showered and dressed, and grabbed a sausage biscuit at a drive-through on his way to the hospital.

  When he stepped off the elevator on the ICU floor, he nearly collided with Hank Addison, Bible in hand.

  “Oh,” Trapper drawled. “You must be the lookout, posted to see if I’m respectable enough to be here.”

  Hank gave Trapper a disapproving once-over, frowning down at his scuffed boots. “If this is the best you can do…”

  “Like I give a fuck.”

  Hank hadn’t inherited much from his father’s gene pool. He had a slighter, more compact build than Glenn. He was fair-haired and brown-eyed like his mother, Linda, and had her mild-mannered smile.

  Because of the close friendship between their fathers, the two boys had spent a lot of time together during their developmental years. Trapper was the younger, but he’d been the instigator of the general mayhem they created during the vacations and holidays the families spent together. He devised their shenanigans and cajoled Hank into going along.

  One saw traces of the mischief-maker in the pastor only on occasion, as now, when he laughed at Trapper’s vulgarity. They shook hands then man-hugged, slapping each other on the back. “We held a prayer breakfast at the church this morning. We didn’t pray nearly hard enough for you.”

  “Lost cause,” Trapper said. “But I appreciate the thought. And I apologize for cutting out the other night before even saying hello.”

  “Not exactly your scene.”

  “Job still enduring trials and tribulations?”

  “Sort of like you,” Hank said, turning serious. “This is…I’m at a loss, Trapper.”

  “I know. Me too.” He looked beyond Hank in the direction of the double doors that sealed off the ICU. “Have you seen him?”

  “No. Only one person allowed in every couple of hours. I stayed with Dad in the waiting room until they came out to tell him he could go in.”

  “How is he this morning?”

  “As shaken as I’ve ever seen him. Right now, he’s caught up in the investigation, the hubbub. But if The Major dies, it’s going to hit him hard. All of us. The nation.”

  Trapper nodded.

  “How are you?” Hank asked.

  “Stunned like everybody else. Hasn’t quite soaked in yet.”

  “If the worst happens, it’ll hit you hard, too. I’m available if you need someone to talk to.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be okay.”

  Hank looked unconvinced, but let it drop and summoned the elevator. “I’ve got other church members to visit. The nurse told Dad he could stay for only a few minutes, so he should be out directly.”

  “Did he mention how Kerra Bailey is faring?”

  “No, sorry. A shame about her, too.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  When the elevator came, Hank boarded but stopped the door from closing. “Listen, don’t let on that you know anything about Dad’s rift with The Major. He hadn’t backed down, and Dad was being just as pigheaded. They still weren’t speaking right up till Dad got the news last night, which is one reason he—”

  Hank stopped, having realized that he’d let the cat out of the bag. He put his hand to the back of his neck and looked down at the floor. “Oh, hell.”

  “The preacher caught cussing.” Trapper tsked, then asked, “What was their rift over?”

  “It was nothing. Really.”

  “You never could lie for shit, Hank.”

  The door was trying to close. “If Dad wants you to know he’ll tell you. See you later.” He lowered his hand and the door slid closed.

  “Chickenshit,” Trapper muttered.

  He’d always had to twist Hank’s arm before he would engage in any real fun like sneaking copies of Playboy, nipping from bottles of liquor when the grown-ups weren’t around, shoplifting a tin of chewing tobacco from the convenience store. Hank had confessed to that particular misdeed before their parents were even aware that the petty crime had been committed. He’d cried and said over and over how sorry he was.

  Not Trapper. He’d thought the adventure was well worth puking his guts up later.

  The double doors to the ICU opened, and Glenn came through. He was in his uniform, which was as crisp as ever, but his gait wasn’t his usual stride and his face was haggard. Seeing Trapper, he motioned for him to follow him into the waiting room. No one else was in there. They sat down in adjacent chairs.

  “How is he?” Trapper asked.

  Glenn set his cowboy hat over his knee. “Far as his chest, we can thank our lucky stars that the surgeon worked twenty-five years at a trauma center in Dallas. He was on call last night and knew what he was doing. Otherwise, The Major would already be dead.”

  “What about his head?”

  “Cranium’s got a depression this big.” He made a circle with his thumb and finger. “His pupils were reactive when he was brought in and still are. That’s good. Doctor says the main concern now is swelling of the brain. If it gets bad, they’ll have to bore a hole in his skull.”

  Trapper dragged both hands down his face.

  “The good news,” Glenn continued, “is that his vitals are strong.”

  “Oh, that’s great news,” Trapper said. “He could be a vegetable, but he’ll live a long life.”

  “He’s got brain function. They just don’t know how much yet.”

  A glum silence fell between them. Trapper broke it by saying, “I caught Hank on his way out.”

  “He said they had a capacity crowd at the prayer breakfast. Everybody turned out for The Major.”
<
br />   “What was your rift with him about?”

  Taken off guard by the question, Glenn looked startled, then annoyed. “Damn Hank.”

  “He never could keep a secret. Always a tattletale.”

  Glenn sighed heavily. “John, now’s not the time—”

  “You don’t call me John unless we’re talking about something serious, and whatever this is was serious enough to cause a rift between you and The Major that hadn’t been patched.”

  “Which is why it’s tough to talk about. Later, when we know—”

  “Not later. Now.”

  Glenn swore under his breath. “One of my CAP detectives has been diagnosed with prostate cancer. Looks bad. He’s taking early retirement.”

  “Shit luck and sad story. What’s it got to do with what we’re talking about?”

  “I’ve got to replace him. That division needs somebody younger and smarter than him, than me. You would be my first choice. I bounced the idea off The Major and…” He paused, took a breath, blew it out.

  Trapper waited him out, although he could have filled in the blank any number of ways and captured the gist of what Glenn was reluctant to tell him.

  “The Major gave me an ultimatum. I could have you living here and working for me.”

  “Or?” Trapper asked quietly.

  “Or I could continue being his friend. Given that choice…” He raised his beefy shoulder. “There wasn’t a choice. But I was still mad at him over it.”

  Glenn looked so shamefaced and sad that Trapper took mercy and let him off the hook. “Don’t beat yourself up, Glenn. I would’ve said no.” Yet he thought wistfully, Crimes Against Persons. Right up my alley. But wrong time, and definitely wrong place.

  “I figured,” Glenn said. “But I was going to try. You’re being wasted. Private investigator? Come on. Besides, I was hoping that getting you here would be the first step toward a reconciliation between the two of you.”

  “Not gonna happen, Glenn.”

  “Not overnight, but given time, maybe.” Glenn regarded him for a moment. “When he went from being just Frank Trapper to the hero, things changed for you, too. He took to celebrity and ran with it. I felt sorry for Debra having to either follow in his wake or get left behind altogether. But I felt even sorrier for you. I can tell you that now.”