“Carson.”
His attention swung to Wainwright, who had vacated his seat next to Patricia. Elizabeth pulled out of Carson’s arms and hurried to take that empty place. The two women fell into each other’s arms, sobbing and whispering softly.
Why hadn’t Wainwright called him?
“Let’s step into the family room,” Wainwright suggested quietly.
Carson pushed aside his frustration with his mentor. “I need a moment.” He walked to where Patricia and Elizabeth sat, knelt next to the woman who had just lost her husband, and took her hand. “If there is anything at all I can do, please just say the word.”
Patricia smiled vacantly, her expression frozen with pain. “Thank you for coming, Carson. The senator loved you like a son.” Her lips quivered. “He would want you to take care of Elizabeth and me.”
Could Carson be wrong about the senator? There was always the possibility he had known nothing about his son’s illegal activities. Someone else could have been covering for Dane. The thought hardened inside Carson. “You can count on it.” He hugged Patricia, let her feel his determination, then, knowing Wainwright was waiting, made his excuses and followed hismentor to the family room. Wainwright asked the two officers there to give them some privacy.
Carson asked the question twisting in his chest. “Why didn’t you call me?” He was in charge of investigating high-profile cases. “What else have you been keeping from me?” he tacked on before good sense could override his frustration.
“This case—”
“Don’t even think about using the it’s-too-personal excuse,” Carson warned. “Yes, it’s personal. But that won’t stop me from getting the job done. You”—he glared at the man he had admired for so very long—“haven’t been straightforward with me and I deserve to know why.”
It was during the moment of silence that followed that Carson recognized the cool fury on his boss’s face. Carson wasn’t the only one pissed off.
“I’m going to let that one go,” Wainwright said, “but you’d better watch yourself and listen up. No, you won’t be conducting this investigation or prosecuting the case. In fact, as of right now you’re on administrative leave.”
Shock radiated through Carson. That was the last thing he had expected to hear.
“What’re you talking about? What administrative leave?” That action was reserved for staff members suspected of wrongdoing. Unethical behavior and the like.
Cold, clinical dread dropped like a rock in his gut even before Wainwright spoke.
“Warden Fallon finally reached me after church last night. He wanted to know why you were questioning Stokes and requesting special privileges for that monster. I can’t imagine what possessed you to go down there, much less any of the rest. But I can tell you that this action was the final straw as far as I’m concerned. Since I turned the Baxter case over to you, your behavior has become erratic and completely unacceptable.”
“Wait.” No way. He didn’t understand. “I—”
Wainwright held up a hand to stop his protests. “Until I can conduct a thorough investigation into your activities during the past few days, you will remain on administrative leave. If I discover that you have, in fact, conducted yourself in any unbecoming manner that could jeopardize the case, your career in my office will be over.”
Carson felt as if he were in a tunnel, in the dark, watching this scene play out far, far away in the light at the very end. This could not be happening. He was the one who had unanswered questions.
“There’s been some misunderstanding,” Carson offered. He needed to explain, but the words eluded him. Images of him and Annette Baxter in any one of a dozen compromising positions kept bombarding his brain. But that didn’t matter ... what mattered was the truth. What Stokes had told him. Carson had the rings taken from his family’s murder scene. There were reasons he’d acted irrationally.
“There is no misunderstanding,” Wainwright countered. “I know about your personal involvement with Annette Baxter.” He shook his head, his expression heavy with regret. “That was the last thing I expected from you, Carson.”
Carson wanted to argue, but he had no case. He couldn’t excuse that one. He had royally screwed up. But there was more. Didn’t matter. Nothing he said to Wainwright now would matter. Carson had to have a rock-solid case. Innuendo and theory weren’t enough.
“I don’t know what’s going on inside your head,” Wainwright went on, “but you are systematically destroying everything you’ve worked for.”
The man Carson had admired, had striven to be like, walked out. Left him standing alone with nothing but the echo of his disapproval and disappointment.
The worst part was that Carson couldn’t deny a single one of his charges.
Two days ago this moment would have devastated him. Right now it just pissed him off. If Wainwright had anything to do with the cover-up of his family’s real killer, the self-righteous DA would be eating his words.Until Carson had a case, at least a credible scenario to build on, he would take this crap from his boss.
Still, if the feds hadn’t picked up his lapses into stupidity with Baxter in their surveillance, how the hell had Wainwright figured it out?
Luttrell walked past the door, didn’t so much as spare Carson a glance.
Fury discharged inside Carson. He stormed after his so-called friend. He caught up with him right before he entered the primary crime scene.
“We need to talk.” Carson manacled his arm and dragged him toward the front parlor.
