He started to argue but she kept going.
“Waste all the time you want chasing after these other scumbags, Annette Baxter is the one. She and Fleming have some sort of connection or relationship that transcends business. Get her and you’ll get Fleming. It’s that simple.”
And at the same time, that complicated. Schaffer was the one who didn’t fully comprehend the situation.
If Carson could help it, she never would.
Still, there had to be more to the agent’s decision than what he’d seen and heard so far. “Call me a stickler for the facts,” Carson countered, undeterred, “but there has to be some concrete reason you believe Baxter is your best bet.”
Schaffer assessed him a second time. “You just won’t be put off, will you, Tanner?”
His gaze narrowed as he searched hers. “Pardon my frankness, Agent Schaffer, but what the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means”—she held his gaze in a deep probe—“that I received a tip about Baxter. And if you quote me on this I’ll personally spend the rest of my career making yours miserable.”
“Let me get this straight.” He held up a hand as much in disbelief as in surprise. “You have another source and you were going to keep that from me?” He laughed drily. “Had to be a hell of a tip for you to expend the full thrust of your investigation, not to mention resources, based on that one source.”
“And why wouldn’t I?” She shrugged. “The tip came from your office. Do you have any reason to believe the district attorney himself would intentionally offer misleading information?”
What the hell? Wainwright had assigned Carson to this investigation. Had given him the entire case file, but failed to declare that he’d provided some additional information to the feds? No way.
“You didn’t feel compelled to mention this before?” Carson made no attempt to disguise his skepticism or his annoyance. “What was the nature of this tip?”
“You’re asking me?” Schaffer had the look, the one that said she’d given all she intended to. “Look under your own rugs, Tanner, before you come over here telling the Bureau how to sweep their floors. I’d start with your boss. He knows something you don’t. I find that quite interesting, don’t you?”
As much as he hated to admit it, the ballsy lady was right. He damned sure intended to take her advice. That was the thing about this case: Every time he got answers, twice the number of questions popped up.
If Schaffer had a vendetta against the DA’s Office, that would certainly explain Wainwright’s disappointment at having her assigned to the case. On the other hand, Carson couldn’t fathom Wainwright’s motive for not disclosing all relevant facts. Nor could he fully believe that Baxter possessed some damning knowledge against the DA’s Office. The concept that thesetwo unknowns could be somehow connected was a viable premise, though the former hardly made sense.
The one thing he knew with absolute certainty at this point was that if he didn’t get Annette Baxter first, she would get him. Local law enforcement wanted her, the feds wanted her. It was only a matter of time before she was backed into a corner with no escape. And then she would use Carson for leverage to get a deal.
And he would be screwed for real.
He thought of the close call with the near hit-and-run and then the gas leak ... that is, if Otis Fleming didn’t beat them both to the punch.
Carson rolled through the security gate and into the street, headed to his office. He intended to wait for the right moment to approach Wainwright. Questioning his mentor’s ethics or motives wasn’t something he intended to explore without due consideration. His cell phone vibrated. He dug it from his pocket. “Tanner.”
“Mr. Tanner, this is Sergeant Johnson at the Mountain Brook precinct.”
Carson’s instincts went on alert. He understood before he asked that this was not going to be a social call. “How can I help you, Sergeant?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but we have a minor situation.”
Carson glanced at his watch. Almost one. Nothing on his schedule that couldn’t wait. “What’s the trouble?”
“Sir, your uncle, Maxwell West, had ... an episode at the neighborhood Kroger this morning.”
A ripple of a different kind of tension rolled over Carson. “Is he all right?”
“Physically he’s fine, sir. I checked his record and found a few other reports indicating that episodes of this nature have happened in the past.”
A few other reports.That was putting it kindly. “I appreciate your call, Sergeant Johnson. Are there any charges?” Just what Carsonneeded. His uncle going off into one of those bizarre worlds of his and acting out his paranoia.
“No, sir. We persuaded the store manager to accept payment for the cleanup and any damages. There’ll be no formal charges filed.”
Carson exhaled some of the tension. “I’m on my way.” He slid the phone into his pocket and set a course for Mountain Brook. This was something Carson failed to value at times. Though he’d lost his family at sixteen, in the years following that tragedy he’d gained an extended family in the law enforcement community. Folks watched one another’s backs.
All the more reason the suggestion that Wainwright would purposely leave out vital information just didn’t feel right.
