Chapter 42
“It’s over.”
Carson turned in his seat at the sound of Annette’s voice. They sat in the Rover, in the dark, in the hotel parking lot. They’d been doing that for about fifteen minutes. He still couldn’t believe what he was about to propose. But he was out of options.
Dane was dead.
There was no place to go from here. No way to find any answers, much less the whole story.
He stared beyond the windshield, into the night. He’d risked everything, and he’d gotten nothing in return.
He’d failed.
“I have to move Paula. Tonight.”
Carson’s attention shifted back to the woman in the passenger seat.
She had lost everything as well. Her sister’s safety was in jeopardy.
She was on the verge of being charged with two high profile murders.
The citizens would demand justice. Annette Baxter would be painted as a cunning, manipulative harlot in the media. Then the witch trial would begin.
He and Annette didn’t have a shred of evidence to support their theories. Hell, he didn’t actually have a fleshed-out theory. He was still reeling with all that she had told him. With the visit to Stokes. With all that he suspected.
Frustration coiled inside him. How the hell had he allowed himself to be backed into a corner like this? He never lost a case. Never got so caught up he couldn’t properly assess a motive or a suspect.
Never gave up.
His gaze dropped to the steering wheel, where his hands were clenched as if he were racing along a winding road. He could not give up like this.
Fury tightened in his gut.
Hell no. He wasn’t giving up.
They had one opportunity here.
“I have a plan.”
“You’re wasting time. We can’t beat them.” Annette leaned against the headrest. “They’ve already won.”
Anticipation roared through Carson. “They’ve only won if we give up.”
She looked at him. Though he couldn’t make out the emotion in her eyes, he could feel the intensity there. “There’s a time when you cut your losses, counselor. Or didn’t they teach that technique in law school?”
He started the Rover. “I must’ve been absent the day they discussed that technique.” He shot her a look, wanting her to see the determination on his face even in the dim lighting. “We don’t have any solid evidence, that’s true. But”—he shifted into drive—“we do have a witness.”
“Dane is dead!”
Carson pulled out of the parking slot and headed for the street. “But they don’t know that.”
As he yielded for traffic, he watched that realization strike the worry from her face.
She smiled. “This is true.”
He eased into the street and considered the plan already formulating in his head. “We have to implement this strategy very carefully.” He glanced at her. “We only have one shot.”
“And only a few hours before the maid service at the hotel discovers Dane’s body.”
“You’re right.” Carson rolled into the left lane and made a U-turn.
“Where’re you going?”
“To buy us some more time.”
3:50 a.m.
2201 Lime Rock Road, Vestavia
Schaffer Residence
Carson had hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door to Dane’s room. If they were lucky, that would give them the rest of the day to get this done.
If Special Agent Schaffer would cooperate.
Clad in sweatpants and a T-shirt, she had allowed them into her home at this ungodly hour.
That hadn’t actually been surprising considering her surveillance team had been attempting to locate Annette for the better part of the night.
Persuading her to listen to their story without calling in to report their arrival had been slightly more difficult.
Schaffer propped her feet on the coffee table of her family room, then took her time assessing first Annette and then Carson.
“You want me to believe,” she said to Carson, “that Wainwright, along with his deceased friend Senator Drake, is manipulating all that’s happened in order to facilitate some massive cover-up? ”
Carson didn’t blame her for being skeptical. Their story sounded crazy at best. But he was sticking to it. Hell, it was the only one they had. “Yes.”
“Then why would Wainwright have come to me,” Schaffer insisted, “with that video?”
The video? That was the tip Wainwright had given her. “There wasn’t anything particularly earth shattering on that video,” he reminded her.
Schaffer snorted. “That’s because you got the edited version. I wasn’t about to trust you with the real thing. When you didn’t appear to know about it, I wasn’t sure what was going on in the DA’s Office.”
Carson looked from Annette who shrugged back to Schaffer. “What was on the tape?”
“Your friend here was assuring Fleming that she could take care of the senator. Two weeks later he’s murdered.”
Carson and Annette stared at each other.
She shook her head. “It wasn’t like that.
” She turned to Schaffer. “His son was in trouble again. Senator Drake wasn’t sure I could make it go away to his satisfaction.
He played that card every time. He refused to come to me.
He always went to Otis. Or had Wainwright take care of it. ”
“There you go,” Carson urged. “Wainwright used that conversation out of context.”
Schaffer turned to Annette then. “Him”—she hitched her thumb in Carson’s direction—“I can halfway believe. Though I’m not saying I do. But you.” Schaffer folded her arms over her chest. “Why would I put any faith in a single word you say?”
Carson felt a twinge of sympathy for Annette. Even as a child, no one had believed her when she’d told the truth. No wonder she’d stopped trying and had chosen another path to survive. He studied her profile, noting again the delicate features that so belied the tough-as-nails woman beneath.
“I have no reason to lie.”
Judging by Schaffer’s expression, that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “I can think of one or two.” She relaxed into the thick sofa cushions. “Holderfield. Drake. Ring any bells?”
“I didn’t kill anyone,” Annette fired back. “Those murders—”
“The murder weapon used on Zac Holderfield,” Schaffer interrupted, “has been linked to an alias of yours. My people, as well as the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department, are working overtime to confirm that link.
That same weapon we now know was used to murder Drake.
” She lifted an eyebrow at Annette. “How do you explain that?”
“Those murders,” Annette began again, seemingly unfazed, “are part of the setup. I know too much. They want to discredit me so that nothing I claim against them is reliable, and then they want me on death row. Or dead.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Schaffer said to Carson, “but this entire investigation has been about bringing down Fleming.” She rested her gaze on Annette once more.
“We were, still are for that matter, perfectly happy to offer you a deal including immunity. All you have to do is provide the evidence we need. I might even be able to make the murders go away. We might not work as hard as we need to in order to prove the gun was yours.”
Before Carson could respond, Annette countered, “That may be the way it started for you, but that was never the goal for Wainwright and Drake. They want me, not Otis Fleming. And the gun isn’t mine.”
“I don’t have any doubts,” Carson said to Schaffer, “that they want to nail Annette, but”—he turned to Annette then—“I’m certain at least the secondary goal is to bring down Fleming.”
“There are things you don’t know,” Annette explained. It wasn’t until then that he noticed how tired she looked. Even her voice lacked the usual commanding air. “I went to see Otis just before we started our search for Dane. He told me he had negotiated a deal for himself.”
When had she gone to see Fleming? The only time Carson couldn’t account for Annette’s activities was while he had been with Elizabeth. No matter what Fleming said, Carson knew just how badly Wainwright wanted to bring him down. “What could Fleming have possibly offered in exchange for himself?”
Annette moistened her lips. “Me.”
Carson choked out a laugh. Unbelievable. “And Fleming told you this?”
“Yes.”
“How can you be sure,” Schaffer interjected, “that he was telling the truth?”
Annette looked straight at Schaffer then. “Because Wainwright was there.”
The disbelief drained out of Carson, only to be replaced by an equally startling emotion he couldn’t quite label. “In Fleming’s house?”
“Having tea,” Annette confirmed.
A prolonged moment of stunned silence followed.
“The bottom line,” Schaffer announced, shattering the tension-filled quiet, “is you don’t have any evidence to back up your accusations. As much as I like you, Tanner”—her gaze connected with his—“I can’t go on hearsay or conjecture. I need something tangible to make this leap.”
“We have a witness.” Carson’s gut knotted. He hoped like hell the agent wouldn’t see the lie in his eyes.
“Who?” Schaffer didn’t bother keeping the doubt out of her tone.
“Dane Drake,” Annette answered for Carson. “He was there when Carson’s family was murdered. He knows what happened as well as the steps that were taken to cover up the truth.”
Again Carson was blown away by the woman’s ability to lie without the slightest flinch. How could he trust anything she told him? Panic trickled in his chest. He was basing his entire theory, risking everything, on what she had told him . . . on her.
“I need to question this witness,” Schaffer said without preamble. “Where is he?”
“He’s in hiding.” Carson wondered how many laws he would have to break before this was over.
“As you can well imagine, considering that his father has been murdered, if Dane shows his face he’s a dead man.
” The image of Dane sprawled on that bed flashed in Carson’s head.
He clenched his teeth to hold back the grimace.
“So what exactly is it that you’re proposing?” Schaffer wanted to know. “What’s your strategy? And what do you expect to gain?”
Carson felt some amount of relief at the idea that the agent was even willing to hear him out. Now if she would just suspend logic and go with his plan.
At this point, Carson had nothing to lose.
“I put in a call to Aidan Moore, the attorney who represented Stokes,” he explained.
“I tell Moore that I have new evidence indicating that Stokes and Wainwright made a deal that included this massive cover-up. That’s just the trigger.
Wainwright’s reaction will provide the rest of what we need.
” Slim, very slim. Who the hell was Carson kidding? The whole plan was damned anorexic.
Schaffer’s eyebrows shot upward. “Do you possess actual evidence?”
Carson opened his mouth to say not exactly but Annette beat him to the punch.
“Yes, we have the wedding bands taken from the victims.”
He nodded. “That’s right.” The wedding bands most likely couldn’t be linked to a perpetrator, but they did have them.
“You call Moore,” Schaffer said, drawing Carson’s attention back to her, “and he calls Wainwright. Then what?”
“Wainwright calls me. I agree to meet him with the rings,” Carson glanced at Annette wondering just how she would take this next part. “Your people monitor the meeting, during which I’ll manipulate the confession.”
Schaffer lowered her feet to the floor and leaned forward. “I know you’re good, Tanner, but do you really expect to be able to outmaneuver the man who taught you everything you know?”
Annette as well as Schaffer stared at him as they awaited his answer.
Was he crazy to think he could do this? Maybe. Probably. But he was desperate at this point. And, as he’d already recognized, he had nothing else to lose.
“Yes,” he said at last.
When Schaffer hesitated, he tacked on, “I’ll take full responsibility for everything if this goes wrong.
I’ll swear that I presented false evidence to you, causing you to misuse resources.
Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it, if you’ll help me make this happen.
” To some degree he was doing exactly that.
Now it was Annette who was startled and staring at him.
Schaffer shrugged. “What the hell? It’s your career on the line. And if we break this case, we’ll both be elevated to legend status.”
Carson took his first deep breath since calling Schaffer to ask for this meeting.
“Let’s do it,” he said, determination rocketing inside him. He might not win but he damned sure wasn’t going down without a fight.
“I can have my people in place within the hour,” Schaffer said, entering a number into her cell phone as she spoke.
Carson pulled his cell from his pocket. “I’ll make the call to Moore.”
Before he could select the attorney’s name from his electronic address book, his cell rang. His uncle Max’s name appeared on the screen. Shit. Not now. He didn’t need this now. But he couldn’t not answer.
The instant he pressed the button to accept the call he could hear his uncle’s frantic shouts. “They’re after me, Carson! Help me! I’m hiding in my shack . . . but they’re breaking through the door!” Each sentence was punctuated by shattering and crashing.
The connection ended.
Dammit. Dammit.
Maybe he could send a patrol unit over there.
“Is something wrong?”
Carson glanced up at Annette’s question. “It’s my uncle. He’s evidently gone off his meds again. Sounded like he’s tearing the place apart.” Carson stood. “I’ll have to get someone over there. He could hurt himself.” Or someone else, Carson didn’t add.
“I’ll go.”
His gaze collided with Annette’s.
“I can’t help you with Wainwright,” she explained. “There’s nothing I can really do right now except wait.”
“My team is making preparations,” Schaffer said.
“I’m calling Moore now.” Carson focused on his phone, selected the name and number. He still had to do something about his uncle. Annette’s offer was damned generous. “Okay,” he said to her before Moore answered. “You go take care of Max. I’ll do this.”
“You’d better use my car. No one will pay any attention to it,” Schaffer offered to Annette. “A warrant could be issued for you any minute now. You’d be no help to us behind bars.”
Moore answered as Schaffer scrounged up her car keys for Annette. Carson didn’t get a chance to say anything to Annette before she was gone.
He hoped like hell she didn’t get spooked and run.
Right now, everything pretty much depended upon her being able to back him up.
That and their dead witness.