Carson shook his head. “There’s no way you’re going to convince me that he came to see you before you were in custody.” Even as he said the words, something like dread had started a slow coil in his gut.
“He didn’t ... at first.” Stokes reclined in his chair once more. “At first he sent this blond bitch to see me.” He shuddered. “Cold as ice, that bitch. But damn, she was a looker. Never seen one so beautiful be so fucking cold.”
Annette Baxter.
The dread mounted. “Do you recall her name?”
“Didn’t give it to me. Said she was there representing Wainwright.”
“And she offered you the deal?” Disbelief hit Carson square in the chest. This just couldn’t be. Stokes had to be yanking his chain. But every instinct urged otherwise. Had him second-guessing all he thought he knew.
“She did. Told me what I had to say and how it would go down. Plum down to the part where I’d get to talk to you personally if that’s what I wanted.” He shrugged. “Wainwright didn’t like that part much, but he agreed to it.”
Baxter had definitely gotten to this guy somehow no matter what the visitors’ log showed. She wanted Carson to believe Wainwright was dirty. Wainwright had protested the idea of Carson talking to Stokes from day one.
This game was over. Carson stood. “I’d say it’s been nice, but that would be a lie.”
Stokes lunged to his feet. Chains rattled. “You don’t believe me.”
“You would be right.” Carson pushed in his chair. “You’re a sick bastard, Stokes. And whatever Annette Baxter is up to, it’s not going to work.”
“So that’s her name?” Stokes raised an eyebrow. “Annette Baxter?”
Carson scoffed. “Like you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t.” Stokes growled under his breath. “I’d damned sure like to take that apart, though, one frigid piece at a time.”
Carson shook his head. “I’m finished playing games. Tell me the truth now or I’m out of here.”
Stokes leaned as far across the table as his shackles would allow. “I’m telling you the truth. The woman came to me, told me what I had to do to get this deal, and then Wainwright showed up and confirmed it. Never saw her before or after and didn’t know her name until you just said it.”
“You can’t substantiate your claim,” Carson countered. “Your word isn’t good enough.” He was wasting time.
“Wainwright told me about the rings,” Stokes blurted, his eyes wild with anticipation. “Wedding bands. Gold, I think.”
Uncertainty started to tug at Carson’s gut. He thought the rings were gold? “You don’t remember the rings?”
Stokes looked around, obviously buying time. “I don’t know. Wainwright told me but I forgot. Didn’t matter. All I had to do was say I did it and sign the paper.”
“You really expect me to take your word over Donald Wainwright’s?” This was insane.
Stokes rolled his beady eyes. “That’s just it. Wainwright ain’t afraid of me talking now. He knows nobody’ll believe me. Probably just have me killed by one of these other lifers. But you”—Stokes stuck his face as close to Carson’s as his restraints would allow—“you know something ain’t right. You feel it.”
He was telling the truth. Carson’s instincts literally hummed with that certainty. But ... that wasn’t possible. No way. “Why, for all intents and purposes, turn yourself in and confess to crimes you didn’t commit?” hedemanded, disgusted all over again that he was going along with this for even a second. “You’d been tied to all those other murders, but not to my family. No one knew where you were. What you’re claiming doesn’t make sense.”
Fear or something on that order flickered in the maniac’s eyes. “I got a problem with my ticker. No insurance, no decent treatment. I knew it was just a matter of time before I was caught anyways. I wanted it on my terms. Nine murders or twelve, what’s the difference?” He blew out an indignant puff of air. “The sentence was gonna be the same. This way I got some say-so.”
Carson flattened his palms on the table, anger at himself, at this low-life bastard erupting. “Wainwright did you a huge favor to get the truth. To solve two heinous crimes. Why would I put any stock in a word you say?”
The bastard threw back his head and howled that grotesque laugh of his. Then he leveled his gaze on Carson and stared right back. “You wouldn’t be here otherwise.” Amusement glittered in those beady eyes. “Trust your instincts, boy. That’s the only way you’ll ever find the truth.”
Stokes was right about one thing: His own mother had tipped off the police, and she’d gotten the reward. But the other, the ludicrous claims against Wainwright, couldn’t be substantiated.
“You’ll see,” Stokes hissed, “that I never laid eyes on your family until Wainwright showed me the crime scene photos.” He nodded knowingly. “You check it out. You’ll find out I’m right.”
“So you never had the rings in your possession? Never even saw pictures?” Carson wasn’t sure why that mattered, but somehow it did.
“Never saw that shit in no pictures or nothing. I’m telling you,” Stokes repeated, “Wainwright told me what to say.”
