Chapter 19
Carol’s Country Kitchen
“It’s difficult to believe the FBI has nothing.”
Wainwright wasn’t happy. Carson had been so caught up in this travesty of an investigation, he’d failed to keep his boss up to speed. Wainwright had tracked him down that morning and asked for a breakfast meeting.
The DA was restless. He wanted results.
And just maybe Carson had been avoiding him.
Schaffer’s suggestion regarding the tip she had received from Wainwright was like expert witnesses—as soon as the state refuted one, the defense dragged in another.
It just wouldn’t go away. Then there was the fiasco with Baxter and her claims about Lana Kimble and her prophecy about Dr. Dwight Holderfield.
The fact of the matter was, he hadn’t done one damned thing by the book so far. “Baxter is good,” he confessed. “She takes extreme precautions in everything she does. This is going to take a little more time than I anticipated.”
But her luck couldn’t hold out forever. Carson would hear from Schaffer on the sister lead today. He’d come up empty-handed thus far with his own search. He’d considered tossing the idea at Baxter last night, but he hadn’t wanted to tip his hand until he corroborated Ms. Cornelius’s claim.
He’d looked into Baxter’s story about Lana Kimble for no other reason than to dash the truth back in her face.
Kimble’s death had been ruled a suicide.
There were unresolved questions as Baxter had suggested, but that was the case with all unaccompanied deaths.
Drake, Wainwright, and Carson’s father had known the woman.
But that didn’t mean that one or all of them were involved in her demise.
The idea was ludicrous. Baxter was doing exactly what he was: searching for something to use to her advantage.
And like him, she was coming up empty-handed.
The news wasn’t what Wainwright wanted to hear. He toyed with his napkin. “We have to get this done.” He stared straight at Carson. “Everything is riding on this one.”
“I understand, sir.”
He did.
More so every hour that passed.
“Is there anything I should know?”
The DA’s question startled Carson. He barely managed to keep the surprise off his face.
Baxter’s warning about Dwight Holderfield chose that moment to haunt him.
He wouldn’t bring that up just yet. She hadn’t given him anything specific.
Could have been an empty threat. Nor would he bring up Schaffer’s assertion.
Not the time. “I’m not sure what you mean. ”
“You’re up to this, right?” Wainwright squared his shoulders, but even that move didn’t disguise his uneasiness.
“You generally get straight to the heart of a case. But this one”—he shook his head, his face sober—“seems to have you unnerved. You’re a little off your game.
As unsettling as yesterday’s shooting was, I noticed in our first briefing that you seemed distracted. ”
Now Carson understood: This impromptu meeting was about him, not the investigation. He looked his boss, his mentor, squarely in the eye. “You have nothing to worry about, sir. I’m on top of it.”
“Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. Don’t hesitate to make use of that security detail. I can’t have our future DA being used for target practice.”
Maybe it was frustration, maybe it was plain old insecurity, but Carson went momentarily stupid.
Otherwise he would not have opened his mouth and stuck his foot squarely inside.
“One question. Is there anything the Bureau knows that came from our office that somehow I’m not privy to in this investigation? ”
Hell, why hadn’t he just asked Wainwright straight out if he’d told Schaffer something he hadn’t told Carson? Damn, he was off his game.
Wainwright’s gaze narrowed. “What kind of question is that? You and I are the only ones on this case. No one else. You know everything I know.” He scrutinized Carson closely. “Where the hell did that come from?”
Explain that one, Carson, you idiot. The waitress arrived to take their order, allowing him to drag in what might be his final breath.
Wainwright waved the waitress way. They were waiting for Elizabeth. Wainwright had informed Carson when he’d arrived that Elizabeth would be attending once again as the mayor’s representative. She was late. Maybe if she’d been here, Carson wouldn’t have stepped so squarely on his dick.
“It’s Schaffer, isn’t it?” Wainwright charged.
Carson had opened that line of questioning.
He couldn’t strike it from the record now.
Schaffer had warned him to keep this information between them.
So much for trust. “It’s not actually anything in particular.
Just a hunch. A feeling I got from her.” Good job, asshole.
Lie to your boss. The man who holds your whole future in his hands.
Wainwright leaned forward, his face clean of readable emotion.
“Don’t let her distract you, Carson. Schaffer would like nothing better than to be the one who takes down Fleming.
The feds seize the limelight whenever possible.
This is our investigation. Your investigation.
Stay on track and do what you do best.” He reclined in his seat and reached for his coffee.
“Trust me on this. Schaffer isn’t on our side. ”
Don’t trust anyone and watch your back.
Carson exiled Baxter’s warning. “Understood, sir.”
Behind schedule or not, Elizabeth’s timing proved impeccable. As she reached their table, Carson and Wainwright stood. The tension receded as swiftly as a courtroom clearing after the judge recessed for lunch.
“Sorry I’m late. I had an eight o’clock.” She smiled, then accepted a hug from Wainwright. “Since the mayor decided to host business until noon on Saturdays, you’d think there’d be more time. Somehow I seem to have less.” Her smile widened as she turned to Carson. “Carson.”
He gave her a quick hug. As usual, his heart reacted. More of that heavy guilt settled on his shoulders. How could he react to Annette Baxter so fiercely when all he’d ever wanted was Elizabeth? And finally, finally there was hope.
As soon as they took their seats once more the waitress returned, giving Carson yet another momentary reprieve.
“Do we have an update?” Elizabeth looked from Wainwright to Carson when the orders had been given. “The mayor is anxious to hear news that the investigation is progressing.”
“Unfortunately, there’s nothing new.” Carson hated being the reason for the disappointment on Elizabeth’s face.
“We are,” he affirmed, “working diligently to change that. I have a couple of leads that look promising.” That was a bit of a stretch, but every good attorney knew how to embellish his case.
She nodded. “Excellent. I’ll pass that along.”
Carson’s cell phone vibrated. “Excuse me.” He retrieved it from his pocket and checked the screen.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Elizabeth before glancing at Wainwright, “I need to take this.” Lieutenant Bill Lynch.
Lynch had once been involved with the Fleming case, but that had been a long time ago.
This call was more likely related to Zac Holderfield.
Carson had asked to be kept up to speed.
No need to mention that to Wainwright for obvious reasons.
Wainwright and Elizabeth moved into a discussion of whether or not the mayor would run for office again as Carson stepped away from the table.
Once he was clear of the dining room, he accepted the call. “Tanner.”
“Mr. Tanner, this is Bill Lynch.”
Tension rippled through Carson despite the fact that he’d known it was the lieutenant calling.
Not only had Lynch been involved with the Fleming investigation on and off in the past, but he was also the detective who had worked the Tanner investigation.
Who had shown compassion for Carson even during those twenty-four hours when everyone besides the senator had considered him a suspect in the slaying of his own family.
Hearing the man’s voice always resurrected painful memories.
“What can I do for you, Lynch?” Carson braced for news on Zac’s murder.
“Well, sir, we have a possible homicide. Dr. Dwight Holderfield’s body was discovered in his home early this morning.”
Carson’s fingers turned to ice, and the phone nearly slipped from his hand. He tightened his grip.
Holderfield? What the hell?
Today Zac Holderfield’s body was discovered. His father will be next.
Dread welled in Carson’s gut. There had to be some mistake. “Any special circumstances?” Robbery or vengeance. Anything that would explain . . . and had nothing to do with Baxter. Surely she wouldn’t go this far to get his attention.
“Not just yet,” Lynch said. “We’re going to play this thing like it’s a murder for now.”
Confusion drew Carson’s eyebrows together. “For now?”
“We haven’t confirmed anything yet, but there’s some question as to whether or not the doctor may have committed suicide.”
That sickening dread morphed into heart-thumping alarm as the name Lana Kimble echoed in his brain.
Before Carson could question that assessment, Lynch went on. “The reason I’m calling you personally, Mr. Tanner, is because we found a notation on his calendar that might interest your office. Luttrell said I should discuss this with you.”
Anticipation overrode the alarm. “What kind of notation?”
“According to Holderfield’s desk calendar, he had a meeting with an Annette Baxter last evening.”
Shit. “What time?” Rage crept into the volatile mix already churning inside him.
“The time wasn’t specified. The notation was simply listed on the bottom of the calendar page, after five o’clock.”
“Are you at the scene?” Carson needed to be there. Now.
“Yes, sir. We’ve just started collecting evidence.”
“Don’t move anything,” Carson instructed. “I want to see the scene just as it was when you found it.”
“Will do, sir.”