The case file on Annette Baxter had indicated that her former friend, and alleged pimp, Delta Faye Cornelius, was dead. According to Ms. Cornelius, she’d had to disappear for a while due to a business deal gone sour. She’d only moved back to Nashville three months ago. The feds hadn’t reached out to her since she was listed as deceased. In reality, she didn’t look far from it. According to her driver’s license, which she had used to ID herself when Carson first arrived, she was fifty-six, but she looked every day of eighty. Frail and withered. Her long gray hair had once been coal black. Gold eyes were sunken andheavy-lidded. In the hour since he’d entered her home she’d smoked half a pack of Camels.
Early that morning Carson had run a DMV check on her for no other reason than that her name was on the list of Baxter’s past associates. He’d run the whole list. Having a hit come back on Cornelius had piqued his curiosity. He wasn’t sure what he had expected to learn from the woman, but since no one else had interviewed her there was always a chance he might discover some usable factoid. So far that hadn’t happened. In truth, this was the only lead he’d been able to dig up. Anything was better than nothing.
“To your knowledge Ms. Baxter has no family?” he prodded. Since Baxter had her present secured like Fort Knox, his only avenue of approach was to find something in her past. A single item that might give him leverage.
Delta Faye swung her head from side to side. “Not a soul.” She stopped abruptly, cigarette dangling precariously from her thin lips. Her wrinkled features puckered into a deep scowl. “Wait. There was someone she talked about.” She pursed her lips and concentrated with visible effort.
Carson’s pulse rate escalated.
“Oh, I know,” Delta Faye announced. “A sister! She worried about her sister all the time.” Her brow furrowed as if puzzling over her own answer. “I didn’t remember that at first because I never actually saw the girl.”
Caution stalling his optimism, Carson searched the woman’s eyes. She had to be mistaken. Annette Baxter had no siblings. Even if she did, there was no guarantee that the link would provide any advantage. “Are you sure about that?”
Delta Faye nodded. “Polly ... or something like that.”
“Did her sister live in Knoxville?” Despite his doubts as to the significance, anticipation had him sitting on the edge of his seat.
Another dramatic shake of her head. “No. I think she was in some institution or something back then. Annette was real sad about it. She missed her sister a lot.” Delta Faye lit up another cigarette. “I don’tknow how I forgot about that. Poor girl. Annette worked so hard to save money. Never could get enough ahead to make a difference I don’t reckon.”
“What difference did she feel compelled to make?”
Those feeble shoulders moved up and down. “Medical care or some such. She wanted her sister to have some kind of treatment.”
“Do you know the nature of the treatment?” That would, at least, give him a starting place.
Delta Faye wagged her head. “Don’t have a clue.”
Before Carson could thank her for taking the time to talk to him, Delta Faye repeated an earlier question she had posed. “How’d you say she was doing now? I’ve often wondered about that girl. That’s about the only reason I let you in the door.”
Since he had no intention of reciprocating in the exchange of information and he’d clearly gotten all he was going to get, he opted not to continue the interview. It was always wise to stop while one was ahead.
Lucky for him, his cell phone vibrated, saving him the trouble of making excuses. He checked the display. Luttrell? “I apologize, Ms. Cornelius, but I have an urgent call.” He looked from the phone to the lady. “I’ll be back in touch if I have any more questions.”
She didn’t argue or bother getting up to see him out. “You tell that girl to come see me sometime. We can talk about old times.”
Carson promised to relay the message, though he doubted Annette Baxter had any desire to revisit that part of her past. Following up on this lead might very well have proven worth the trouble. The possibility of a sister intrigued him. But he had to substantiate that claim before it would be of any use. If he corroborated the assertion, the real question was: Why had Baxter kept her sister a secret? Could be something significant, could be nothing at all.
Once back in his car he returned Luttrell’s call. “What’s up?”
Luttrell’s initial hesitation set Carson on edge. His friend exhaled a resigned breath. “Wainwright didn’t want me to distract you, but you’ll hear about it soon enough.”
Easing away from the curb, Carson mentally braced. “Sounds like bad news.”
“Yeah. It’s bad. They found Zac Holderfield’s body a couple of hours ago.” Luttrell put his hand over the phone and made a comment inaudible to Carson. “Sorry about that, I’m at the scene. Anyway, Bill Lynch is in charge of the investigation. At this point, looks like a botched drug deal. One shot to the upper torso. The body was dumped in a ravine off Highway Thirty-One.”
Damn. Disbelief was quickly overridden by the realization that Zac’s family would be devastated. “That’s a damned shame.” Carson didn’t bother asking about witnesses or evidence. Too early, particularly since the body had apparently been moved from the primary crime scene and dumped at a secondary site. Unless someone came forward, it would take days or weeks, possibly longer, to piece together a reasonably accurate chain of events, much less pinpoint a suspect.
“Hang on.” A male voice in the background informed Luttrell that the ME had arrived. Luttrell thanked the messenger, then said to Carson, “I gotta go, man.”
“Yeah, all right.” Carson stopped at a traffic light, closed his eyes, and shook his head at the senselessness of the tragedy. “Keep me posted on the progress, would you?”
“Will do,” Luttrell agreed. “Since you’re tied up, Wainwright wants me to work with Lynch on this one.”
Made sense. Lieutenant William Lynch was one of Birmingham’s most respected and decorated homicide investigators. Carson exorcised the flashbacks from fifteen years ago. Lynch had worked hard to find the person or persons responsible for the murders of Carson’s family. He had remained supportive time and again over the years whenever Carson needed him.
“Lynch is a good man,” Carson told his friend. “He’s a team player.” And he respected the DA’s Office, which wasn’t always the case.
The investigation of high-profile crimes committed within the Jefferson County jurisdiction automatically included the DA’sOffice. That Zac’s father was the administrator of Birmingham’s premier hospital and was heavily involved in civic matters put his son’s murder on that list. Generally, Carson was the DDA assigned to those investigations, but Wainwright wanted him totally focused on bringing about Baxter’s cooperation.
