Birmingham’s princess stared at him in shock. “What did you say?”
“Do it! Now!” he commanded. “Or I’ll have no choice but to use force.”
Annette watched, bewildered, as the detective cuffed Elizabeth.
“You’re next,” he said to Annette. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
Then Annette knew. When she turned her back he would shoot. She would be out of the way without a lengthy, media-hyped trial. Damn.
“Do it,” Lynch demanded. “Turn around now!”
Annette had no choice.
She summoned the image of Carson Tanner, wished him well, and turned her back to the man with the gun.
44
5:40 a.m.
Birmingham
Criminal Justice Center
Carson sat down behind his desk. He surveyed the files and notes he’d left yesterday ... or had it been the day before that? Damn, he was so tired he couldn’t remember.
“Let’s do a sound check.”
“Loud and clear,” Carson said, answering Schaffer’s voice coming across the tiny communication piece in his ear.
The clear device stuck to his lapel would pick up his voice as well as any sound in the room. Schaffer and Davis were monitoring the communication link from the Bureau’s van down the block from the Criminal Justice Center.
“Heads up, Tanner,” Davis said, “Wainwright has entered the parking garage.”
Carson prepared for the confrontation. He’d spent five years admiring Donald Wainwright. Wanting to be just like the man. Wainwright had been like a father to him. Far more than a mentor and boss.
The idea that Wainwright had anything to do with this cover-up tore at Carson’s insides. How could he do that to Carson? He’d watchedCarson go through hell all those years. How could he have done it to Carson’s family?
And Drake. How the hell could he have known what he apparently knew and look Carson in the eye? Have him to dinner?
The idea that Dane had been involved felt wrong. Dane had never been a fighter. Never a bully. He’d been harmless. That part just didn’t make sense.
Carson’s office door flew open. Wainwright barged in. Maybe now Carson would know the whole truth.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Carson?”
The DA’s face was rage red, the veins in his neck bulging with fury. Otherwise he looked exactly as he did every day. Classic suit, crisp shirt, and red power tie.
“You might want to have a seat,” Carson suggested, working hard to keep his tone calm.
Wainwright loomed over Carson’s desk, refused to take a seat. “Where is this evidence you’ve supposedly discovered?” He leaned down, braced his fists on the desktop. “I hope you know this is going to cost you everything. I’ll have you up before the bar by week’s end.” He moved his head firmly from side to side. “No one threatens me, and this feels exactly like a threat.”
Carson opened the small box he’d placed on his desk and slid it toward Wainwright, then gestured to a chair. “As I said, you might want to have a seat.”
Wainwright glanced at the contents of the box, then leveled a glower on Carson. “You called Aidan Moore, you called me, forthis?” He pointed at the evidence. “So what, you found the missing rings. What does that prove? Nothing. What the hell did you think you were doing turning this into some kind of goddamned conspiracy?”
“It’s not just the wedding bands.” Carson closed the box, met that enraged glare without so much as a blink. “It’s the statement given to me by Stokes.”
“Fuck Stokes.” Wainwright laughed outright. “Who’s going to believe him?”
