Chapter 32 #2
Determination charged through him. “I’m damned sure going to find out.”
Elizabeth hugged him again, hugged with all her might. “I know you will, Carson.”
It wasn’t until he looked up from Elizabeth to check on her mother sitting at the table that he took note of all those present in the room. Wainwright he had fully expected to see. He sat next to Patricia, one arm around her shoulders. The next face stopped him cold.
Keller Luttrell.
What the hell was he doing here? Having him step in for Carson on the Holderfield case was one thing, but this was Senator Drake. No one but Carson should be on this case.
“Carson.”
His attention swung to Wainwright, who had vacated his seat next to Patricia. Elizabeth pulled out of Carson’s arms and hurried to take that empty place. The two women fell into each other’s arms, sobbing and whispering softly.
Why hadn’t Wainwright called him?
“Let’s step into the family room,” Wainwright suggested quietly.
Carson pushed aside his frustration with his mentor. “I need a moment.” He walked to where Patricia and Elizabeth sat, knelt next to the woman who had just lost her husband, and took her hand. “If there is anything at all I can do, please just say the word.”
Patricia smiled vacantly, her expression frozen with pain. “Thank you for coming, Carson. The senator loved you like a son.” Her lips quivered. “He would want you to take care of Elizabeth and me.”
Could Carson be wrong about the senator?
There was always the possibility he had known nothing about his son’s illegal activities.
Someone else could have been covering for Dane.
The thought hardened inside Carson. “You can count on it.” He hugged Patricia, let her feel his determination, then, knowing Wainwright was waiting, made his excuses and followed his mentor to the family room.
Wainwright asked the two officers there to give them some privacy.
Carson asked the question twisting in his chest. “Why didn’t you call me?” He was in charge of investigating high-profile cases. “What else have you been keeping from me?” he tacked on before good sense could override his frustration.
“This case—”
“Don’t even think about using the it’s-too-personal excuse,” Carson warned. “Yes, it’s personal. But that won’t stop me from getting the job done. You”—he glared at the man he had admired for so very long—“haven’t been straightforward with me and I deserve to know why.”
It was during the moment of silence that followed that Carson recognized the cool fury on his boss’s face. Carson wasn’t the only one pissed off.
“I’m going to let that one go,” Wainwright said, “but you’d better watch yourself and listen up. No, you won’t be conducting this investigation or prosecuting the case. In fact, as of right now you’re on administrative leave.”
Shock radiated through Carson. That was the last thing he had expected to hear.
“What’re you talking about? What administrative leave?” That action was reserved for staff members suspected of wrongdoing. Unethical behavior and the like.
Cold, clinical dread dropped like a rock in his gut even before Wainwright spoke.
“Warden Fallon finally reached me after church last night. He wanted to know why you were questioning Stokes and requesting special privileges for that monster. I can’t imagine what possessed you to go down there, much less any of the rest. But I can tell you that this action was the final straw as far as I’m concerned.
Since I turned the Baxter case over to you, your behavior has become erratic and completely unacceptable. ”
“Wait.” No way. He didn’t understand. “I—”
Wainwright held up a hand to stop his protests.
“Until I can conduct a thorough investigation into your activities during the past few days, you will remain on administrative leave. If I discover that you have, in fact, conducted yourself in any unbecoming manner that could jeopardize the case, your career in my office will be over.”
Carson felt as if he were in a tunnel, in the dark, watching this scene play out far, far away in the light at the very end. This could not be happening. He was the one who had unanswered questions.
“There’s been some misunderstanding,” Carson offered.
He needed to explain, but the words eluded him.
Images of him and Annette Baxter in any one of a dozen compromising positions kept bombarding his brain.
But that didn’t matter . . . what mattered was the truth.
What Stokes had told him. Carson had the rings taken from his family’s murder scene.
There were reasons he’d acted irrationally.
“There is no misunderstanding,” Wainwright countered. “I know about your personal involvement with Annette Baxter.” He shook his head, his expression heavy with regret. “That was the last thing I expected from you, Carson.”
Carson wanted to argue, but he had no case. He couldn’t excuse that one. He had royally screwed up. But there was more. Didn’t matter. Nothing he said to Wainwright now would matter. Carson had to have a rock-solid case. Innuendo and theory weren’t enough.
“I don’t know what’s going on inside your head,” Wainwright went on, “but you are systematically destroying everything you’ve worked for.”
The man Carson had admired, had striven to be like, walked out. Left him standing alone with nothing but the echo of his disapproval and disappointment.
The worst part was that Carson couldn’t deny a single one of his charges.
Two days ago this moment would have devastated him.
Right now it just pissed him off. If Wainwright had anything to do with the cover-up of his family’s real killer, the self-righteous DA would be eating his words.
Until Carson had a case, at least a credible scenario to build on, he would take this crap from his boss.
Still, if the feds hadn’t picked up his lapses into stupidity with Baxter in their surveillance, how the hell had Wainwright figured it out?
Luttrell walked past the door, didn’t so much as spare Carson a glance.
Fury discharged inside Carson. He stormed after his so-called friend. He caught up with him right before he entered the primary crime scene.
“We need to talk.” Carson manacled his arm and dragged him toward the front parlor.
“Hey. Hey!” Luttrell jerked free of his hold. “What the hell is with you, man?”
Carson shoved the door closed and rounded on his colleague. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Luttrell shrugged. “Wainwright’s pissed.”
“No shit.” Carson raked a hand through his hair. “What the hell happened?”
Luttrell clapped him on the shoulder. “I’d love to hold your hand and talk you through this, bro, but I have a homicide to investigate.” He started to walk past Carson but hesitated. “Take my advice, Carson.”
Carson turned his head to look his old friend in the eye.
“Next time you get the highest profile case in Birmingham history handed to you on a silver platter, don’t fuck the prime suspect.”
Luttrell left him standing there with that profound truth echoing around him. Don’t trust anyone.
Carson was a fool. Problem was, he was the only one who hadn’t seen it until now.
He stormed outside, ripped the shoe covers off. He was through being a fool. Whatever the hell was going on, he would get to the bottom of it. To hell with the consequences.
“Glad I caught you before you got away.”
Carson stopped halfway down the steps and whipped around. “What do you want?” He didn’t give a damn about appearances any longer. He couldn’t trust Schaffer any more than he could anyone else.
She inclined her head and studied him quizzically. “Sounds like you’ve got one hell of a burr under your saddle.”
He took a breath. Told himself to calm down. This wasn’t the way to get the job done. He had to be cool to out-manipulate the people he now recognized as his enemies. “What’s up, Agent Schaffer?”
The agent stopped on the step above him. “You asked me to look into that lead about the sister.”
Carson’s instincts stood at attention. “Did you find something?” He wasn’t sure how relevant that was at this point, but what the hell?
“Annette Baxter doesn’t have a sister.” Schaffer sat down on the step and tugged the shoe covers off her colorful boots. “No known siblings.”
That just meant Delta Faye Cornelius had made a mistake. Carson no longer gave a shit. He had other leads to explore. And he wasn’t sharing any of it with Schaffer or anyone else.
“But,” Schaffer said when her gaze met his once more, “Baxter’s mother had a sister who died. She had a daughter, one Paula Aldridge. Thirty-four years old. She ended up in an institution when she was a kid. Autistic.”
Anticipation revved Carson’s determination. This could be the relative Cornelius remembered. “Where is she now?”
“Aldridge fell off the radar about nine years ago.” Schaffer smiled. “Now this,” she went on, “is the interesting part. Before she disappeared she was signed out of the state institution by someone we both know and despise.”
Carson smiled back. “Annette Baxter.”
“You got it.” Schaffer pushed to her feet.
“Question is, what’d she do with Aldridge?
If she cares enough about the woman to provide care for her, sounds like we might have an angle to develop.
If Baxter wants to protect her cousin by hanging onto her freedom, she might just be willing to make a deal. ”
“Yeah.” Carson’s tone lacked the enthusiasm Schaffer had expected judging by the way her expression changed from victorious to questioning.
He shouldn’t have second thoughts about using Baxter. The idea that she was a victim . . . had been her whole life . . . didn’t excuse who she was now.
He kicked aside the soft emotions that would interfere in what he had to do. Baxter, Dane, none of them would get in his way. Whatever the cost, he was going to find the truth.
“I have to get to the office,” he said to Schaffer to escape any more questions.
“Same here.” She started down the steps, then hesitated. “I couldn’t help overhearing what went down between you and Wainwright.”
Anger flared. Yeah, he’d bet she couldn’t have helped it. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll work it out.”
He took the final step, headed for his car.
“I’m not worried about Wainwright,” Schaffer called after him.
Carson paused, looked back at her.
“It’s you I’m worried about,” she said frankly. “I’m pretty sure you should watch your back.”