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Trevor wasn’t an idiot. Earlier, at the Dairy Queen, when Renee had started to go into the back room, he knew she wouldn’t have come back out with Caitlin, because Renee had figured out why Trevor was there. So he’d pulled the gun, because he’d had no choice. Renee had made that happen. It was her fault.
But Trevor had planned ahead, just in case. You couldn’t just jump into his kind of thing without planning ahead.
Less than four minutes after driving away with Caitlin in Bryce’s truck, they pulled through a gate off Ranch Road 1623, no more than a mile west of Blanco. One minute after that, they were parked inside a two-car garage. A gold Chevy Impala occupied the other bay.
“I hope you’re not mad,” he said.
Caitlin didn’t reply. In fact, she hadn’t said a word since they’d left the Dairy Queen.
He could hear sirens in the distance. It would be a massive manhunt. He’d known that all along, and that the odds of getting away were slim, but that was part of the thrill. He was going to outsmart them, or die trying.
“Let’s go inside,” Trevor said.
Caitlin was looking at him differently now. He saw respect in her eyes. Or was it fear? He didn’t want that—not from her. He didn’t want her to be scared of him.
“You’re not gonna talk?” he said.
“What do you want me to say, Trevor?”
“Anything. Just talk.”
She only shook her head, like she was angry.
“I thought you wanted to go with me,” he said.
“I’m not sure what that means,” she said. “Go where?”
“Anywhere you want.”
“We don’t—” She stopped for a moment. “I hardly even know you, Trevor. I mean, we work together, yeah, but I’m not sure where you ever got the idea—”
“You’re supposed to be my Caril Ann,” he said.
“Your who?” she asked.
“Never mind. Let’s just go inside.”
“I don’t understand what we’re doing,” Caitlin said. “Why are we at Renee’s grandmother’s house?”
“We had to go somewhere,” he said.
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about. Trevor, seriously. Think about it. You made a mistake, but you can still—”
“You need to shut up,” he said, and immediately regretted it. He didn’t mean to lose his temper, but why was she being so difficult? Did she want to work at a Dairy Queen in Blanco, Texas, all her life? Couldn’t she see what he was offering? “I’m sorry,” he said.
She was staring straight ahead with no expression.
“I didn’t mean that,” he said.
She didn’t reply.
“Where’s your phone?” he asked.
“What?”
“Give me your phone.”
She reached into the front pocket of her blue jeans and passed it to him.
“I just need to turn this off so they can’t find us,” he said. “You can have it back later.”
Red had been thinking hard, but he hadn’t come up with any brilliant ways to proceed with his investigation. The best investigators always found clever ways to make people reveal information, whether they intended to or not. You just ask questions, acting all innocent, and eventually the person can’t help but let something slip. Or they say two things that can’t both be true. But what should he ask?
Red’s thoughts kept coming back to the gun in Garrett’s backpack. Maybe that was a good angle to explore. See if he could learn anything more about that.
So, shortly before sunset, he grabbed a dozen empty beer cans and lined them up on top of an old, rusty barbecue smoker behind the trailer. Then he retrieved the .22 rifle that was always leaning near the back door, steadied the barrel on the porch railing, and popped a few shots off.
Sure enough, Billy Don and Garrett poked their heads out a few minutes later to see what Red was shooting. After they watched Red knock a couple of cans off the smoker, Billy Don said, “He’s always been real good at hitting objects that ain’t moving. ’Specially if they ain’t no more than spittin’ distance.”
Red said, “Ask Billy Don ’bout the time he missed a deer from thirty feet.”
“It was nighttime,” Billy Don said. “And your truck was moving. So was the deer. And I was unebriated.”
“Unebriated?” Garrett asked.
“Means drunk as hell,” Billy Don said. “I admit I can’t shoot so good when I’ve had a few.”
“A few dozen,” Red said.
“Whatever.”
“Next you’ll be saying the scope musta got bumped,” Red said.
“It did get bumped,” Billy Don said. “You was driving like an idiot over them rough roads.”
Red shot three more cans off the top of the barbecue pit.
“I could knock ’em over with a fart from here,” Billy Don said.
“Please don’t,” Garrett said.
“Wanna shoot a couple?” Red asked him.
“Ah, no thanks,” Garrett said. “It’s getting too dark.”
“You can still see a little.”
“That’s okay.”
“You don’t like to shoot?”
“Sometimes, sure.”
“You own a gun?”
Red had set up this whole scenario to ask that one question.
“I’ve owned a couple,” Garrett said. He nodded toward the trailer. “I’ve got one in my backpack.”
Red was surprised. He’d expected Garrett to keep that information to himself.
“Oh, yeah?” Red said. “You’ve been carrying it around while you’re traveling?”
“Yeah, for a while. Probably not real smart, but I figure if I don’t give the cops any reason to look in my pack, I’m all good.”
“What kind is it?” Red asked.
“A three-eighty.”
“No, I mean who made it?”
Red knew it was a Glock, but he wanted to keep Garrett talking.
Garrett opened his mouth, but then he grinned and said, “You know what? I completely forgot what brand it is.”
“That’s weird,” Billy Don said.
“No kidding,” Red said. “I don’t mean to give you a hard time, but that’s like forgetting whether you drive a Ford or a Chevy.”
“Well, the reason is, I haven’t had it for very long, and I didn’t buy it myself. I found it.”
“You found it?” Red said.
“Yeah, on the shoulder of the highway. Out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Seriously?” Red said.
“Sure did. You’d be amazed at the stuff you find along the road when you’re walking. I mean, there’s the obvious stuff, like cash and various articles of clothing—lots of shoes—tools.”
“Power tools?” Billy Don asked.
“That’s dumb,” Red said. “You think he’s finding a table saw out there?”
“Mostly hand tools,” Garrett said, “like wrenches and screwdrivers and hammers and stuff. I never pick that stuff up, because what am I gonna do with it? Carry it around? I don’t need the extra weight. Let someone else find it and use it. But I found a really expensive wristwatch once. Also an unopened bottle of whiskey...a cell phone, but it was password-protected, so I just left it there. Oh, I found a diamond ring, but I don’t know if it’s real. I haven’t had it checked yet. I need to take it to a jeweler and see.”
“Dang,” Billy Don said. “It could be worth thousands of dollars.”
“Could be. Or maybe it’s totally fake. That would be my guess.”
“That’s exciting,” Billy Don said. “Like buying a lottery ticket.”
“True, and I’ve also found lottery tickets, but most of them are already scratched.”
“But that gun had to be the weirdest thing you’ve found,” Red said, to get the conversation back on track.
“Pretty much.”
“Was it loaded?” Billy Don asked.
“Sure was.”
“One in the chamber?”
“Yep.”
“Full clip?”
“I think so. I didn’t really check.”
“Didn’t you wonder if somebody used it in a robbery or something and then tossed it out the window?” Billy Don asked.
“Well, yeah, a little,” Garrett admitted, “but what’re the odds of that? I figured it just got lost, is all. Somebody probably pulled over to take a leak and it fell out. I’ll probably turn it in eventually. Just haven’t gotten around to it, like with the diamond ring.”
“But if it was used in a crime, now it’s got your fingerprints all over it,” Red said.
“I can just wipe them off,” Garrett said.
“But there’s DNA, too,” Red said.
Garrett laughed. “You really think these things through, huh?”
“Can’t be too careful when dealing with cops,” Red said.
“Jackbooted thugs,” Billy Don chimed in.
“No kidding,” Garrett said.
“Where’d you find it?” Red asked.
“On the side of the road, like I said,” Garrett replied.
“No, I mean where were you? Here in Texas?”
“Oh. Uh, I think it was just outside San Antonio.”
Red waited for a few seconds to see if Garrett would correct himself or change his story. He didn’t.
So he said, “When were you down around San Antonio?”
“Huh?”
“When we were talking the other day, you said this was the furthest south you’d been. So you couldn’t have been to San Antonio yet.”
“Oh, right, I mean—what’s that other town south of Dallas? Not San Antonio. I can’t remember the name of it.”
“On 281?” Billy Don asked as he got up and turned the porch light on.
“Yeah,” Garrett said.
“Lampasas?”
Billy Don sat back down.
“No,” Garrett said.
“Burnet?”
“No.”
“Marble Falls?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Stephenville?”
“We gonna guess every town this side of Oklahoma?” Red asked.
“But he’s right,” Garrett said. “It was Stephenville.”
“You mixed up San Antonio and Stephenville?” Red asked, and it was damn tough to sound like he believed that crock of nonsense.
“I guess so,” Garrett said. “Pretty silly, I know. Hey, what kind of rifle is that?”
Garrett was trying to change the subject. Obvious as hell.
“Savage twenty-two,” Red said. “Just a cheapie I bought at a garage sale. Hey, why don’t you go get your gun?”
“I don’t have any bullets, except the ones that are in there already.”
“I think I’ve got some .380 ammo in the house,” Red said.
“Now it’s really too dark, though,” Garrett said.
“I’ll get a spotlight,” Red said.
Garrett didn’t move. Red stared at him. Garrett stared back.
“You’re not gonna get it?” Red asked.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Garrett said slowly, “but I feel like you don’t believe a lot of the things I’ve been telling you. Not just now, but all along. That gets old real quick, okay? That’s why I left home—because I was sick and tired of people thinking I was a liar.”
For the first time, Red was seeing some anger in Garrett’s face.