The naked edge

3

Mrs. Patterson's late husband, Ben, had been a Wyoming state trooper who died in a shootout with a gang trying to hijack a truck filled with pharmaceuticals. Known as Lillian to every officer assigned to Teton County, she was interviewed first, then escorted back to the waiting room at the highway-patrol barracks ten miles south of Jackson.

"I phoned your son-in-law to let him know you can leave now," Garth said. "He'll soon be here to drive you to your daughter's place. Your family's eager to see you."

"I'll wait with you in the front hallway," Jamie told her.

William was the next person taken to the interview room. Twenty minutes later, he came back, the satisfied look on his face indicating that, while he might not know anything about guns, he knew how to conduct himself with law officers. Now that he was in lawyer mode again, his torn, filthy suit somehow looked dignified.

Jamie went next. Cavanaugh had taught her to answer police questions directly but never to provide more than what was asked and never to attempt to deceive.

Then it was Cavanaugh's turn. The room had harsh lights, plain walls, two chairs, and a small desk. Focusing on minutiae helped keep his emotions in check.

"Want some coffee?" Garth pointed toward a carafe and some Styrofoam cups on the desk. A tape recorder was there, also.

"I could use the caffeine," Cavanaugh said, pouring a cup. His watch showed that it was half past ten. But now that his adrenaline had dissipated, he felt as if it were four in the morning.

"Ready?" Garth asked.

"When you are." The stench of smoke radiated from Cavanaugh's jeans and shirt. His neck and arm hurt. His back felt bruised where the bullet had struck his armor. But at least his legs and chest felt lighter, relieved of the heavy vest.

Garth pressed buttons on the recorder. "This is Captain Garth Braddock. The interview is with Aaron Stoddard." He gave the place, time, and date. "Tell me what happened."

While waiting, Cavanaugh had taken the opportunity to get his narrative in order. Only after concluding his description, did he allow his emotions to show. "I haven't the faintest fucking idea what's going on."

"We found your sniper."

Cavanaugh leaned forward. "Is he answering questions?"

"It's a hard to get answers from a corpse. Somebody shot him four times in the face."

Cavanaugh took a moment to adjust to that, finally saying, "That explains the four pistol shots we heard."

"Fragmentation-type ammunition. Mutilated his features enough that even people who knew him would have trouble identifying him. His teeth were so damaged that comparing them to dental records will be useless. The question is, who did that to him?"

Cavanaugh thought about it. "The only available candidate is someone on the assault team. But that doesn't make sense. Did he have ID?"

"No."

"Did you send his fingerprints to the FBI?"

"Couldn't. The tips of his fingers were cut off."

Cavanaugh took a longer time to adjust to that.

"The four men you killed," Garth said.

"Was forced to kill."

"Their fingerprints got a really quick response. Those men were fresh out of prison. Within the past six weeks."

"Six weeks?"

"I can't imagine how they came to be together. They served time in four different penitentiaries. Pennsylvania. Alabama. Colorado. Oregon." Garth slid a sheet of paper across the table. "Recognize any of these names?"

Cavanaugh studied them, hoping, but finally had to say, "No." He grasped at a thought. "Four different prisons? They must have known each other before they went to those prisons."

"Not according to their criminal records. There's no indication they ever crossed paths before. But they did have one thing in common. Armed robbery. Gang shootings. Rape. These were really violent guys."

"Before everything started, I think I saw them and the rest of their friends at the Moose Junction gas station." Cavanaugh said. "They didn't handle themselves like street criminals. They weren't wired and jittery and unfocused. These guys had stillness and control. They looked like operators."

"But their records indicate they were street criminals. So how, all of a sudden, did they get to be… 'Operators' you called them? Unusual word. I don't often hear it. That car of yours. When I got a close look at what was left of it, I found bullet-resistant windows, armor plating, tires within tires… Tell me again what you used to do for a living."

"I was in the security business."

"The bodyguards I see around here-"

Cavanaugh hated the word.

"-are usually hired by entertainers and sports stars on vacation. Mostly for show in a quiet community like this. To remind us how important they are. But you never fit the profile of the thugs some of those celebrities use for bodyguards."

"I'm an unassuming guy."

"Obviously, you don't like being called a 'bodyguard'."

No answer.

"Are you holding back anything I need to know?"

Cavanaugh hesitated. "Yes. I was what's called a protector. I worked for an international security firm called Global Protective Services. I used the professional alias of 'Cavanaugh'."

"Professional alias?"

"I saved the lives of people who show up on CNN and the front pages of the Washington Post and Wall Street Journal. These are the kind of people who need the reassurance of knowing they can absolutely trust me with sensitive information, that nobody'll come around later and persuade me to answer questions about them."

"You mean like the police asking questions?"

"My former clients will stonewall you."

"It's been tried."

"And they'll never trust me again."

"Again? I got the impression you'd retired."

"My retirement just ended."

"Is that another way of saying you intend to run your own investigation?"

"If a former client decided that he or she can't let me live with certain information, I have ways to find out."

"You're not a law enforcement officer. Keep that in mind."

"I will."

"I'm serious. I wouldn't want to see you in front of two grand juries. 'Cavanaugh.'" Garth tested the sound of the name.

"The idea was to keep my private life and my professional life separate."

"Looks like it didn't work."