Page 104 of Never Flinch

Trig has worked for most of his life in positions where he has to deal with powerful people, and although he’s listening for his life and freedom, he still must admire the deftness with which Chief Patmore has passed this ugly, squalling baby on to another organization. Which will therefore be blamed if there’s more murders.

Not if, he thinks.When.

After a brief synopsis of what they know about the most recent murder, Ganzinger says, “We have an important new piece of information about the perpetrator of these crimes. We believe the name he goes by, probably a nickname, is Trig. That’sT-R-I-G.”

Trig freezes with his sandwich in front of his mouth. Then he bites into it. Did he know this was coming? Yes, of course he did.

Chief Patmore throws in her two cents’ worth. “Given the Bill Wilson alias he used in his first threatening communication with our department, we think this individual may—I emphasizemay—be a member of the recovery community, probably Alcoholics Anonymous or Narcotics Anonymous. If anyone in one of those programs knows an individual calling himself Trig, we hope you will come forward. Your anonymity will be protected.”

Worse and worse… but also expected. The question is why he used the Bill Wilson name in his letter to Warwick, the head of the city’s detective unit, and to Chief Patmore. At the time, it seemed natural and perfectly right; why else was he doing this except to make amends? And weren’t amends central to the program of recovery that Bill Wilson had founded?

You didn’t do it for that reason. You did it because you wanted to be caught. Maybe that’s why you wrote those letters in the first place.

That’s his father, and he rejects that. He wrote the letters because he wanted the guilty parties to feel their guilt. Theyneededto feel guilt.

Patmore and Ganzinger throw the press conference open to questions. The first: “Do you have a description of this Bill Wilson, also known as Trig?”

Trig’s hand goes to the scar on his jaw and traces its short length. It only took seven stitches to close, but itisnoticeable all these years later.

“So far we do not,” Lieutenant Ganzinger says. It’s comforting, but only if it’s true. What if they know about the scar? Trig has watched his share of crime shows and knows the police have a way of holding things back. The way they may be holding back any passing witness who saw him standing on the tractor step and pretending to talk to the farmer he just killed.

Chief Patmore adds, “All we know for sure is that this individual is calculating but mentally unbalanced.”

Trig thinks,That’s fair.

Someone asks, “Can you tell us the name of the Duffrey trial juror that was left in Mr. Dill’s hand?”

Patmore: “I see no purpose in giving that name, or any juror’s name. They are not the ones being targeted.”

The same reporter: “But in a way, they are, isn’t that true?”

Ganzinger, sounding stoic: “These killings are entirely random, as far as we can tell. That makes the man perpetrating the crimes particularly hard to apprehend.”

That same pesky reporter: “But how are the jurors coping with it? The purpose of the killings seems to be to make them feel culpable in the death of Alan Duf—”

Chief Patmore: “Let me stop you right there. The death of Alan Duffrey—themurderof Alan Duffrey—was the work of a State Prison inmate who has yet to be identified… but who will be found and punished. The jurors in the Duffrey trial have nothing to feel guilty about. Repeat,nothing.”

Trig, sitting at his desk and looking at his half-eaten sandwich, mutters, “You are so full of shit you squeak.” He takes another bite, chewing slowly.

“The Duffrey jurors did their duty as American citizens and citizens of this city, based on the facts at hand.”

Pesky reporter: “But Mr. Wentworth and Mr. Finkel—”

This time it’s Ganzinger who stops him. “Those suicides had nothing to do with the Duffrey trial, let me assure you.”

Trig doesn’t believe that. Not for a moment. Hedrovethem to suicide, beat them to it like beating a recalcitrant cow into a killing chute, and if he could drive the others to it, he would consider it a job well done.

Trig recognizes the voice of the next questioner. It’s that podcasting, truth-telling, scandal-mongering Hero of the People, Buckeye Brandon. “In light of these murders, Chief Patmore, how do you justify going on with the Guns and Hoses charity game at Dingley Park?”

Trig pauses in the act of taking another bite. He doesn’t want them to cancel that game. That game is part of his plan.

Alice Patmore’s response is smooth and uninterrupted byers,ahs, orums. As someone who has been in his share of high-pressure meetings—and dealt with his share of ego—Trig knows a prepared answer when he hears it.

“This cowardly murderer will not get to rob two deserving charities, Kiner Pediatrics and Muscular Dystrophy, of the money this Friday’s softball game will bring in. Theconsiderablemoney. City police, the County Sheriff’s Department, and the State Police will blanket the city with officers on Friday afternoon and evening—”

“Many in plain clothes,” Ganzinger puts in.

“Many in plain clothes,” Patmore agrees. “And I’d encourage everyone with an interest in the game—or in hearing Sista Bessie sing our National Anthemlive—to come on out, because it will be good fun and on Friday night, a crowd of fellow Buckeye City rooters will be the safest place to be.”

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