3202 Fernway Road, Mountain Brook
Drake Estate
There was no strobe of blue lights at the scene.
Out of respect for the family, the police as well as the ME had left their vehicles dark.
The first person to approach Carson as he emerged from his rented car was Special Agent Kim Schaffer. She held a large cup of coffee in her hand.
“I’m surprised you weren’t the first one here,” she said bluntly.
At the moment Carson didn’t give one damn what she meant by that remark. “Just got the call or I would have been. Have you been inside?” He slammed the car door shut and headed in the direction of the house.
Schaffer followed, nodding. “It’s pretty straightforward. One shot to the chest.”
“Anyone else at home at the time of the shooting?”
“The wife. The gunshot woke her out of a dead sleep.”
An eerie sensation of déjà vu enveloped him as he considered that just down the road, around the curve and beyond the woods, his childhood home stood in the darkness. Fifteen years ago a too-similar scene had played out there. Only the lights announcing that a crime had taken place had been blazing. Shock and pain had radiated through the community whose worst fear at the time had been break-ins. Murder had never happened in the elite hilltop neighborhood. People who lived here had been above that sort of viciousness.
Until then.
And now. The other questions reeled through his mind, but he couldn’t think about that right now. Right now Elizabeth and Patricia needed him. When he was through here, he would find Dane and have some answers.
The Baxter/Fleming case would just have to wait. That his never-fail reputation was on the line no longer mattered. All that mattered was the truth.
When did you stop caring about the truth?
The words rang all too true. He’d been so focused on finding justice for so long; was it possible that he had started overlooking the truth? Settling for something else?
Winning? Building his career?
He shook off the disturbing thoughts. Now wasn’t the time.
Yellow crime scene tape had been draped around the perimeter of the property, reminding all who arrived that their presence was welcome by invitation only.
He couldn’t get right with the idea that no one from the office or from the local police had called him to the scene.
Senator Drake’s murder scene.
Unbelievable.
Drake had protected him when there had been no one else.
His family and the Drake family had been like extensions of each other until the night of the murders.
Before everything changed.
Before murder had altered the landscape of this exclusive area where the rich and powerful lived.
He would find Dane. He would have the truth.
Carson ID’d himself for the officers maintaining the security of the scene. Both knew him, but he showed his identification as a matter of procedure. At the front door he slipped on shoe covers and latex gloves, as did Schaffer.
Inside, Schaffer led him to Drake’s study, as if Carson didn’t know the way. He let her. Truth was, a fog had descended and wrapped itself around his brain. The same questions kept churning inside that haze.
Who would murder the senator? Had Drake known that his son had the wedding bands belonging to Carson’s parents? Had he used his position to cover up whatever Dane had done?
