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Blair sits on the couch, the other side of the L.
“You know how this works, Mrs. Bowers. I can’t promise anything. I can only promise that if you help me catch Cagnina, I will recommend to the US attorney that you not be prosecuted for tax evasion or money laundering.”
“Me or my husband?”
“For tax evasion and money laundering? Fine — I’ll recommend that David isn’t prosecuted forthosetwo crimes.”
I don’t like the way he qualified that.
“Or embezzlement,” I add.
Blair double-blinks, jerks his head. “Embezzlement? Theft? Is that what you think happened? That Davidstolethe money?”
I draw back. That’s what I thoughthethought — that before David went into WITSEC, he stole twenty million dollars from a secret account belonging to Cagnina.
“Tell me,” I plead, my nerves jangling, so tired of secrets, so sick of learning things about my husband from strangers.
Blair’s face changes, something dark coming over his expression. “David didn’t steal that money,” he says. “He earned it.”
“He … he earned …” I get to my feet, not understanding, or maybe not wanting to understand, walling it off because it couldn’t, it could not be true.
Blair slaps his knees with his palms, then stands as well. He cocks his head, chuckles, runs his hand over the scruff on his cheek. Then he wags a finger at me. “What do you know about your husband and that detention center, Mrs. Bowers?”
“That … he was there voluntarily. He wasn’t a criminal, wasn’t suspected to be a criminal. He was … he was just a witness.”
“That’s true.” Blair nods. “That part’s true.”
“But he was there temporarily. He didn’t want to stay behind bars like a criminal.”
Blair nods. “Right. He transferred out.”
“Yes. About two weeks before the attack on the detention center.”
Blair points his finger at me, holds it there. “Sure seems like your husband got awfully lucky, doesn’t it? Leaving just before the attack?”
And then it happens. The house of cards I’ve been balancing, suddenly toppling over. My world spinning upside down.
My legs almost give out. I fall against the wall, closing my eyes, as if doing so will prevent the words from leaving Agent Blair’s mouth.
“How the hell do you think Michael Cagnina discovered the location of that detention center?” he says. “We investigated everybody. Everybody. Every federal employee who got within a mile of our case. Every deputy marshal, every agent, every employee. But nobody thought of our one remaining witness, our prized possession, our golden goose, our only chance at taking down Michael Cagnina, even if it was just for some lame financial crime that wouldn’t put him away forever. It was better than nothing. It wiped a little egg off our faces. So nobody looked hard at Wesley Price.”
“No … no,” I whisper.“No.”
“And then it was over, and he was whisked away into witness protection, and nobody would let me within afuckingmile of him. You know how secretive WITSEC is, right? I didn’t even know his new name. And I could neverprovemy suspicions, right? Well, now I’m here, and now I can, and now I damn surewill.”
“No,” I whisper. “No, it … it can’t …”
“That twenty million was apayoff,” he says. “A payoff from Cagnina after your husband gave him the location of that detention center.”
I slide down the wall, crumpled into a ball.
“He’s responsible for the murder of half a dozen federal agents,” says Blair. “And I’m not giving him immunity for that. Not ever. But you, Marcie? You wanna avoid going to prison with him and sending your children to orphanages? Do you?Do you?”
“Y — yes,” I manage. “Yes. Please.”
“Then you’ll tell me everything you know right now,” he says. “And you’ll help me catch whoever Michael Cagnina sent to town.”
EIGHTY-THREE
