“You mean what did we call her?” Stagg asked, his mind drifting off somewhere else, looking sedate and somewhat listless. “Skylar. Skylar Cole. I liked her. She was a good worker. One of the best dancers the Booby Trap ever saw. Used to do this routine to Reba’s ‘Fancy’ that melted your heart. I heard she might’ve been from over in Alabama somewhere. Or was it Georgia? I never met a stripper yet who could keep her backstory straight. Diddling stepdaddies, mean-ass fathers. Working to save up money for their three-legged momma’s operations.”

“Who killed her?”

“Damn, boy,” Stagg said. “You’re getting right to it. Barely have time to swallow my damn Krystal burgers.”

Quinn just stared at him, elbows on the table, right hand around the disposable cup. The steam rising from the slick surface.

“You remember that old boy with the silver buzz cut that used to hang out at the Rebel?” Stagg said, saying the man’s name. “He worked with the highway patrol just like Joe Roberts worked for the state in that Johnny Cash song? Sorry to let you know that. Since you done already killed that son of a bitch.”

“You sent him to kill me,” Quinn said. “He killed other people for you, too.”

Stagg grinned. “Where’d you hear a damn lie like that?” he said. “I did no such thing. But I know for a damn fact Vardaman didn’t like being blackmailed. He was truly fired up when he came to me with his problems. Madder than hell, spit flying from his mouth and wanting to hurt some folks. Believe it or not, I tried to talk reason with him. Even helped him facilitate those payments on the Jericho Square to keep down embarrassment of those fine visitors to Tibbehah County.”

“How’d you help?”

“Oh,” Stagg said, shrugging. “I paid that ole hush money for him, stuff in hundreds and twenties in a sack from the Piggly Wiggly. In return, this old black fella would hand over them negatives.”

“Wait,” Quinn said, holding up his hand. “Wait a second. You knew the man making the pickup but made the payment anyway?”

“Hell, Quinn,” Stagg said. “You know Tibbehah County. Not a lot of stories that don’t connect. Wasn’t any of my damn business to shut down some young entrepreneur. I can’t say I really minded having a little hold over Vardaman myself.”

“Did he ever pay you back?”

“Vardaman?” Stagg asked, grinning. “Shit. That cheap son of a bitch? He figured it’d be my honor to take out the trash for him.”

“Did you hand over those negatives direct to Vardaman?” Quinn asked. “Or was there another go-between?”