Poverty had been the least of Annette Baxter’s problems. The reports from her adolescent years were filled with claims of sexual and physical abuse.
“Baxter,” he went on, “eventually found her way to Nashville. Lived on the streets, doing anything necessary to survive. Until she was nineteen.” He paused to allow his audience to process those details. “That’s when Fleming discovered her. He brought her to Birmingham and took her under his wing. The exact nature of their personal relationship is somewhatundefined.” Since Fleming was more than thirty years her senior, the prospect that they might very well be lovers was more than repulsive.
“She’s garnered quite a name for herself as a fundraising organizer,” Elizabeth noted. “I’ve seen her from time to time at the larger functions.”
Carson was getting to that part. But Elizabeth’s confirmation that he was, in fact, the only one in the room unaware of Annette Baxter’s existence before today amazed him. Apparently his all-work-and-no-play lifestyle had isolated him from Birmingham society far more than he’d realized.
“My theory,” he continued, “is that her fundraising work not only provides her with a legitimate cover but also gives her diplomatic contact with the power in the city. The most advantageous aspect of cultivating those connections would be to provide access and/or information for Fleming’s activities. Ultimately, I believe she operates as a fixer, of sorts.”
“A fixer?” Drake echoed.
“Someone who sets up situations to manipulate an outcome or to resolve a problem,” Carson clarified. “According to Special Agent Kim Schaffer’s reports and surveillance logs, whenever trouble surfaces in an activity Fleming is suspected of facilitating, Baxter shows up for a meeting and then the problem disappears.” The Bureau’s cooperation comprised a single, brief report that provided little information but did speculate as to Baxter’s business arrangement with Fleming.
“Schaffer?” Wainwright looked confused.
Carson nodded. “She’s my Bureau contact.”
“I thought SAC Talley was handling this personally.” Wainwright was clearly put off by the news.
“Special Agent in Charge Talley directed me to Schaffer.” Carson had surmised that she was the agent most up to speed on Fleming. “Is that an issue?”
Wainwright gestured vaguely. “Considering the high-profile nature of this case, I assumed Talley would jump at the opportunity.” He glanced at Drake and laughed, but the sound held little amusement. “I suppose we should be grateful they’re cooperating at all.”
“You’re convinced Baxter can be turned?” Elizabeth asked, her question directed at Carson. She would want to give the mayor a sense of whether or not the end result was attainable.
“Yes.” Carson didn’t hesitate. “She’s close to Fleming. Close enough that she unquestionably recognizes the potential for getting burned if he goes down. With the right incentive, she’ll see the prudence in saving herself.”
“The upshot,” Wainwright declared, “is that we need to sever our city’s ties to any and all organized crime links. Baxter is our first promising opportunity to get to Fleming.”
“That will make the mayor a very happy man,” Elizabeth chimed in. “I’m sure we all comprehend”—she looked from Wainwright to Carson and then to her father—“that organized crime is one of the most pressing global issues. An issue that needs to be addressed with the same urgency as terrorism since organized crime in fact fuels terrorism.”
“A most valid point,” Wainwright seconded. “It’s men like Fleming who fund the very terrorists our troops risk their lives to stop. From gunrunning to drugs, that cash flow ultimately ends up in the hands of terrorists or their supporters. Stopping the flow is the least we can do not only for our city, but for our country as well.”
“Hear, hear.” Drake shifted in his chair to face Carson. “We’re counting on your unbreakable determination to accomplish what others have tried and failed.”
“You can count on me, sir,” Carson guaranteed. Having the senator personally involved allowed Carson the opportunity to reiterate to him that he had made the right choice fifteen years ago.
I hate you! Do you hear me, Mother? I hate you!Carson’s heart reacted as those painful words haunted him a second time today. Words he could never take back, could never make right. Mad as hell, he’d barged into his mother’s office, caught her midsession with a patient, and said things no son should say. That patient had been only too happy to recount the whole ugly scene to the police, initially making Carson the primary suspect in the slaughter of his family.
Drake had staunchly stood behind Carson, even when he had doubted himself.
For fifteen years Carson had worked hard to prove his worth. That he somehow deserved to be alive ...the lone survivor... when he knew in his gut that it should have been him who died. Wished a million times that it had been.
But Carson hadn’t been home that night. Because of that he had spent every day of this undeserved gift trying his best to earn it. An impossible task, but one he would continue to strive toward for the rest of his days.
No matter the mistake Carson had made last night, he would not fall down on the job a second time.
Every living, breathing human had his or her breaking point. Had a weakness of one kind or another that could be exploited to attain cooperation. Annette Baxter would be no different.
All Carson had to do was pinpoint that spot.
8
6:50 p.m.
Five Points South, Birmingham
Java Joe’s
