The Wrangler: The only thing standing between the beautiful kidnapped heiress and death was -- The Wrangler. (8 page)

"Which agency in Boston did you rent it from?" asked Culpepper.

"Brahmin Rentals," said the Wrangler. "The one on Walfort Avenue." (The Wrangler had made some calls over the last week, to a friend. The Walfort Avenue Brahmin Rentals was owned by a wise guy. They'd back the Wrangler's story.)

"What were you doing on St. Simon's?" Culpepper asked.

"Vacationing," repeated the Wrangler.

"Do you normally carry ID cards identifying you as three different people, with matching credit cards, when you're on vacation?" asked Culpepper.

"You don't have to answer that question," said Tollner, the Wrangler's court-appointed attorney.

"It's OK," said the Wrangler. He understood what his counsel was up to, but he also knew it was unnecessary. They'd found the damn ID cards on him, there was no way he could credibly deny owning them. Best to use his backup story and take the hit for them and avoid being linked with the kidnappers. "Yes, I always carry three sets of ID cards with me, especially when I'm traveling. I am a former Scientologist. I've been involved with exposing Scientology and that has gotten me on their official shit list. On several occasions, I've been reported as an AIDS carrier, a terrorist, all my credit cards have been invalidated, etc., etc. I've learned to carry several sets of ID and credit cards so that if they play their dirty tricks on one of my identities, I can get by with the others until I get things straightened out."

The disbelief in the room was almost palpable. The Wrangler even sensed his own attorney's distrust of his words.

"I'm sure the Scientologist will have records then," said Culpepper.

"Of course not," said the Wrangler. "They don't keep records of those activities. They just do them. They're a cult, you know."

This was the point of the Wrangler's claims. He didn't have to have a story that was believable -- just one that could not easily be disproved.

"We'll definitely investigate your claims, Mr. Tottenham," said Culpepper, pointedly using another of the Wrangler's aliases, "Now, we've only got one body other than yours. How many men were in the group?"

"Three," said the Wrangler. That was interesting. Either the Agent or the Cleaner had survived the blast. The Wrangler put his money on the Agent -- he had been out on the balcony when the blast went off, he might have gotten out pretty much unscathed.

"Could you describe them?" asked Culpepper.

"Sure," said the Wrangler. He gave detailed, accurate physical descriptions of the Cleaner (who he figured was beyond help, being the one nearest the bomb when it went off) and the Man (whom he wasn't at all concerned with -- he wouldn't mind if they caught him, but he didn't think they would) and gave a superficially accurate but misleading description of the Agent, whom he hoped would get away.

The DAs all scribbled furiously as he talked, pausing to pepper him with questions designed to get as much detail as they could out of him, and to trip him up if he were feeding them any lies.

"Very accurate descriptions, Mr. Potter," said Culpepper, using his third alias. "We generally don't get this level of detail from an eyewitness."

"It's kind of funny," said the Wrangler. "I remember certain things prior to the bomb blast with crystal clarity, but after the blast, everything is hazy for a week or so. Probably the meds they have me on -- some very serious stuff."

"Speaking of the blast, we had another bombing that same day, down on the Altamaha," said Culpepper. "We don't get a lot of bombings down in these parts -- we like it that way -- and we're pretty sure they're linked. Would you have any knowledge of that other bombing, Potter?"

"No," said the Wrangler. "Did anyone get hurt in it?"

"Strangely enough, no," said Culpepper. "Someone blew up an empty trailer for no apparent reason. But I think you knew that. It's obvious that the two bombings are linked. The trailer was rented by phone, and paid for with a money order that doesn't appear to have been purchased by any real person -- just like the condo that was bombed. We're thinking maybe the trailer was used as a staging area prior to making the pickup on the money. Two million dollars -- that's quite a payday you missed, Mr. Potter."

"I didn't miss any paydays," responded the Wrangler. "But I wonder if I'm in for any kind of reward for helping find Ms. Willock."

"You'll get your reward for what you've done, have no fear," said Culpepper. He clearly was talking about jail time, not money.

"In addition to the blown-up trailer, we also located a corpse that seems to tie in with the activities of your gang," said Culpepper.

"Not my gang," said the Wrangler calmly. He really didn't have a choice about the calm -- he was too weak to get excited. And he'd been subjected to much tougher grillings under much more dangerous circumstances during his days of feckless youth.

"What we found was the body of a man, one Jimmy Dawson, wanted for a long list of minor crimes in New York and Brooklyn," said Culpepper. "Two bullets in him, both to the head at close range. Two sets of ID on him. And nothing else to connect him with ... anything at all, except that forensics has established that he died some time after the first bombing and before the second bombing. Now, this COULD be a coincidence, but he is from the Northeast and has multiple sets of ID on him, just like you and Mr. Carlucci. We're looking at you for killing him, because we tested you for powder residue while you were unconscious and you had recently fired a weapon. But the ballistics on the bullets in Mr. Dawson don't match the gun we found on you. Still, you could have done it with another gun, or the missing members of your gang could have done it, and you could have been the one who ordered it. Why DID you fire your gun at that condo?"

This was a knotty question and one that the Wrangler knew he'd be asked.

"Never heard of this Jimmy guy," said the Wrangler. "Sorry to hear he's dead, though. I fired my gun at some cans in the woods just for practice earlier that day. When the bomb went off I remember reaching for my gun instinctively. Maybe I fired by reflex when the explosion hit me. Lucky I didn't shoot myself, I guess. I really don't remember well."

"Why do you carry a gun?" asked Culpepper.

"I like to shoot," said the Wrangler. "Not hunt so much, just target practice. And there's that thing with the Scientologists. They scare me, to be honest."

"Mm-hmm," said Culpepper. "What we figure is that Mr. Dawson was part of your gang and you had a falling out about the usual thing -- the money. You or one of your gang shot Mr. Dawson and dumped his body in the marshes, then went on to collect the money from Mr. Willock. But before that happened, the disagreement flared up again, leading to bombing in the condo, killing Mr. Carlucci and injuring you severely.

"We're not sure what the bombing in the trailer was all about," said Culpepper. "Maybe you people just like to blow things up a lot. Our best guess is that it was meant to kill a couple of gang members and Ms. Willock. Her testimony indicates that she was moved from a location after one of the gang got suspicious about the possibility of being bombed. This is undoubtedly what led to all the subsequent killings. There may have been more killings, we just don't know. What we do know is that we have you as the only member of the gang responsible for all this killing and kidnapping and blowing up, and unless we get some answers, we're going to focus much of our attention on you. Which is why we're holding you as a material witness with a strong likelihood of flight until we figure out exactly what we want to charge you with. We'll check your story out very carefully, Mr. Potter, you can believe us, and we'll track down the men you described, if they can be tracked down. In the meantime, you'll be staying here as the guest of MacIntosh County."

"Will you at LEAST check out the possibility that the Scientologists are somehow involved in this?" asked the Wrangler. "They don't generally go in for violence, but there's a first time for everything, and I may be lucky number one."

"You think the Scientologists kidnapped Ms. Willock just so they could involve you in the kidnapping?" asked Culpepper. "Sounds rather, well, baroque to me."

"They're a CULT," said the Wrangler. "They can be very, very baroque."

"We'll definitely be checking out this aspect of your story," said Culpepper, "and our versions of events as well. You'll be hearing from us."

Shortly after that, the D.A.s and the sheriff left. They had what they wanted -- new leads they could check out on both the Wrangler and the men he'd "seen."

Tollner hitched his chair over to the bed.

"You did a great job," said Tollner, "in fact, you really did yourself some favors by giving them such good descriptions. If they can find one of those other suspects, it will take a lot of the heat off you."

"Did they have any actual evidence at all on me, other than me being blown up with those gangsters and having a couple of spare IDs?" the Wrangler asked.

"Not a thing," said Tollner. "No physical evidence connecting you with any location other than the place you were found. It's as if you dropped out of the sky. In fact, I don't think they're going to bring a case against you at all with what they've got right now."

The Wrangler breathed a sigh of relief. The one thing he'd been sweating was the possibility that he'd left some physical evidence in the new rental car. He'd been lucky -- that and the fact that he'd rubbed down the suitcase handle with a towel to smear any fingerprints after putting it in the new car, out of habit. A very good habit, it turned out. One fingerprint, one hair with root intact, and he'd have been nailed for sure.

* * * *

Two weeks later, the Wrangler had visitors. He was still being held as a material witness while the D.A. tried desperately to paste together enough evidence to convince a judge that they had a case against him.

His non-law-enforcement visitors had been entirely absent, which was very much to the Wrangler's liking. He did not really want to meet with these two particular visitors, but then, why the hell not? It's not like his social calendar was full.

He was wearing a prison jumpsuit, but not the orange of the regular inmates -- he wore the light blue of those with medical problems, to let the guards know to put him on light duty and watch him for signs of illness, such as clutching his chest and keeling over. The bandages were mostly gone, but the Wrangler was still walking with the aid of a cane. No cuffs or shackles or anything -- it would have been gilding the lily. Plus, as a material witness prisoner, he wasn't technically a criminal.

The guard led him into a small meeting room whose furnishings consisted of a battered metal table and matching chairs.

Christine Willock and her father were already there.

They stared at the Wrangler's face intently, as if it contained some great secret they meant to divine by doing so.

What they saw was a man in his mid-30s, with a strong, compact build. He was growing a beard while in prison, coming in with dark brown hair that matched the hair on his head. He had hard brown eyes and a bearing that radiated calm and confidence. There was something in the way he carried himself, even while walking on a cane, that gave you the impression that he was sure he could take you in a fight -- whoever you might happen to be.

His skin was sun-bronzed, a nice light tan, not the deep tan you got from working in the sun day in and day out.

His eyes were brown and crinkled from study or concentration of some kind. There was a certain hardness to his expression, but it wasn't fierce or cruel.

In fact, what the Wrangler looked like to these two was a car or real estate salesman -- someone whose dealings with others routinely required a certain hardness, but not spectacular amounts of it.

He didn't look like the hard-edged super-predator Christine had imagined him to be. But then, that was probably just the sort of thing that happened in movies.

The Wrangler sat down in a chair opposite them. He didn't say anything. They were the ones who wanted to talk.

But for several minutes, they didn't talk, they just stared at him. And then the Wrangler figured it out. When they'd said they wanted to see him, they meant just that. Christine had never seen any of her captors. She literally wanted to see him.

Fine, he could handle that.

But Christine's dad had more on his agenda.

"So, why did you do it?" he finally asked.

"Do what?" asked the Wrangler. Willock was one of those very short guys whose success in the world had given him a real sense of superiority to others. Years of ordering people around had given him very commanding ways. They worked on a lot of people, the Wrangler was sure, but he was accustomed to dealing with people who would kill you if they didn't get their way. He was a hard man to push around.

"Why did you kidnap my daughter?" asked Willock.

"I didn't kidnap your daughter," said the Wrangler. "This is the first time I've ever laid eyes on her."

In a way, it was true. The Wrangler had spent so much time with her naked, splayed out and hooded that he didn't recognize Christine in a blouse and slacks. All the wrong parts were exposed and hidden. He hadn't really seen her soft green eyes, her wavy brown hair and her snub of a nose. The Wrangler would probably have recognized her naked butt if he'd seen it, but it didn't seem politic to ask under the circumstances.

"Bullshit," said Willock calmly. "You were one of them, what's more, I know which one. That's why we're here. And you don't need to bother with any of this denial shit, we're not cops and we're not here to help them. What you say won't leave this room."

"I understand your feelings," said the Wrangler. "But even if I WAS one of your daughter's kidnappers, I'd hardly be in a position to admit to it. You SAY that nothing will get outside this room, but the kidnapper would have to be a fool to believe you."

"Doesn't sound like we're going to be able to communicate," said Willock.

"Maybe there's a way," said the Wrangler. "If you want to ask me hypothetical questions about how I think a nonexistent kidnapper might behave under various circumstances, I could give you hypothetical responses. Under those circumstances, I wouldn't actually be admitting to anything in a legal sense, which is the one that matters."