Truth Read online

  “I do not. As I’m sure you’re aware, with a pardon, the criminal record is expunged. Ms. Nichols does not owe the court a thing. She is free to go wherever she chooses. And furthermore, she is not required to keep the court or the state of Iowa informed of her whereabouts. I took her to the airport and left her at the gate. There is nothing more I can tell you.”

  Mr. Rawlings counsel continued, “She had a ticket for San Francisco, but prior to boarding the plane, her reservation was cancelled. Do you know where she went instead?”

  Jane truly didn’t know about the cancelled flight. She was very glad she’d heard from Claire. If she hadn’t, that information would have been upsetting. But, she could appear genuinely surprised. “I don’t know anything about her reservations being cancelled. And as I said, I don’t know where she is now.”

  “Ms. Allyson, she had a first class ticket. Do you know how Ms. Nichols could afford such a ticket?” Mr. Simmons continued.

  “As I mentioned, some things are confidential.” Standing, Jane said, “Now gentleman, if that is all? I have work…”

  Anthony’s voice resonated low and menacing, “Ms. Allyson, I am not happy with the recent turn of events. I plan to learn of all individuals involved in this miscarriage of justice. And it’s obvious, you played a role.”

  Still standing, Jane met Mr. Rawlings’ stare. This was her forte -- why she became an attorney. “Mr. Rawlings, I was your ex-wife’s co-counsel during her trial. I represented her then and would gladly do so again. If you have complaints about her pardon, I recommend you take them up with Richard Bosley. His signature alone opened the door of her cell.” Jane’s words slowed, “And I’m certain, a man of your stature did not intend his concern regarding self-preservation to be interpreted as a threat. That would not coincide with your benevolent image and – I’ll add -- is illegal.”

  Standing, Mr. Simmons eloquently interceded, “You are correct, Ms. Allyson. My client is obviously distraught over the recent turn of events. You can understand his concern. After all, Ms. Nichols tried to harm him once. It’s only natural for him to be concerned she may try to do it again.”

  “Yes, Mr. Simmons. I see how your client would be concerned that my client would cause him harm.”

  Tony did not appreciate Ms. Allyson’s veiled implication. He didn’t want Brent informed of Claire’s accusations. Standing, Tony summoned his most affable voice, “Thank you, Ms. Allyson. I’m glad you understand my concern and hope you didn’t misinterpret my alarm. If you remember anything else regarding Ms. Nichols’ departure or learn her location, I would appreciate being informed.” Tony extended his hand.

  Jane took his hand and firmly shook it. “Mr. Rawlings, you will be among the first I call. Are we done?”

  “Yes, I believe we are.”

  After the two men exited her office, Jane collapsed into her leather chair and exhaled audibly. Well that was fun. She smiled to herself. Funny how one petition could continue to bring her pleasure.

  *****

  The exercise room in the lower level of the condominium sported the newest machines and guaranteed fitness in just minutes per day. Claire usually waited until after seven-thirty for her morning workout. Most of the residents were professionals who utilized the equipment before heading to their respective careers. The small gym burst with fitness enthusiasts every day from five until seven. Since she didn’t have a job, waiting until the crowd thinned made more sense.

  Flat screen televisions glowed with closed caption from every direction throughout the fitness center. She watched and read. Never again was Claire Nichols going to be uninformed about the world around her. The display on the elliptical machine read nine more minutes. She willed her legs to continue, yearning for her pre-prison tone.

  Contemplating the day’s activities, she made a mental to do list. At eleven o’clock she had an appointment in San Francisco with a jewelry broker. Since obtaining her birth certificate she’d fulfilled many of her needs: driver’s license, bank account, clothes, telephone, computer, cosmetics, a used car, and insurance. Truthfully, Claire was proud of her new to her Honda. It was the same make she owned in Atlanta, just a few years newer. Of course, she sent Jane Allyson a Money Order for her services.

  Claire wasn’t advertising her location. However, short of assuming an alternate identity, she knew she couldn’t stay completely hidden. In an effort to avoid a trail of credit card receipts or loans, she utilized cash as much as possible. The recent expenditures took their toll on her $100,000. Although she currently had no living expenses that would inevitably change. A one bedroom condo on the third floor would become available soon. Claire weighed the pros of living close to Amber and Harry, her only two friends against the cons of her unknown future employment.

  Obtaining work was high on her priority list. However, it wasn’t easy. She wanted to work in meteorology. Her lack of recent experience and desire to avoid any station or weather organization connected to Rawlings Industries severely limited her options. Six minutes left on the elliptical.

  Without a job, she needed more money. One evening while talking to Emily on the phone, the subject of her jewelry came up. When arrested, Claire was wearing diamond earrings, a diamond journey necklace, a diamond watch, and of course her engagement and wedding rings. If it had been up to her, she would’ve only been wearing the rings. Now as she struggled to complete the final five minutes on the machine, Claire smiled. If only her ex-husband knew how his insistence for her to wear the jewelry would probably net her a fine profit. Today’s meeting was to determine the value of her bounty.

  Harry recommended Mr. Pulvara. He only deals in high quality jewelry, not a common pawn broker. It didn’t take an expert to know Claire’s jewelry was very high quality. However, Mr. Pulvara only sees clients through recommendations and by appointment. Thanks to Amber she had both.

  Claire valued Harry’s recommendation. His connections in the Bay Area went beyond his real job as President of Security for SiJo Gaming. Amber joked about being her brother’s boss. Nevertheless, with a degree in Criminology and five years’ experience with the Bureau of Investigation and Intelligence, under the California Department of Justice as an investigator, Harry was more than qualified. Two minutes remained on the elliptical display; thankfully the resistance lessened.

  Claire returned her attention to the TV. Suddenly, her lungs deflated, not from exercise, but from the picture on the screen. She stared helplessly at her wedding picture, the one released to the media. Although closed caption flowed across the bottom, she couldn’t concentrate. Finally her mind focused, and she read, “…Bosley, diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. It is unclear why Ms. Nichols’s name was not released to the public. Governor Preston has promised a full investigation. Mr. Anthony Rawlings’ publicist stated Mr. Rawlings is shocked by this turn of events. He has no comment at this time. MSNBC has not been able to reach Ms. Nichols for comment.”

  Her legs no longer moved; the machine moved her. She gawked at the television as the newscaster progressed with other stories. When her feet hit the solid floor, her muscles tightened. Claire knew she should cool-down properly, and although her legs yelled in protest, the voices inside her head conquered.

  Claire looked to the mirrors completely covering one wall of the gym. Normally she didn’t like seeing herself hot and sweaty. However, today she couldn’t look away. She wondered; do the other people watching the same program recognize me? The bride in the picture beamed photogenic. Her porcelain complexion, blonde hair, and designer dress looked so different from the woman in the mirror. Other than her eyes, which Claire immediately diverted to the floor, the differences outnumbered the similarities.

  Her thoughts swirled as she rode the elevator to the fourth floor. Entering the condominium, she called to Amber -- no answer. She’s probably already left for work. Claire sat at the kitchen table. Ignoring the perspiration dripping down her back and between her breasts, and booted up her new laptop. While the PC cam
e to life, she searched for her telephones. She actually had two! It was probably silly, but she had her real iPhone with a blocked number and a pay as you go phone. The latter was used to communicate with Emily and Courtney. Claire was trying to stay under the radar. Her iPhone was on her bedside stand, but she couldn’t find the other, which was strange. That phone rarely left her side, being her primary source of communication with her sister. The two siblings were working on their relationship. They’d talked more during the past two weeks than in years.

  Back in the kitchen, she drank a glass of water, made a cup of coffee, and began to read the homepage. She saw two photos: her wedding picture and the cover of Vanity Fair. Her stomach twisted as she read the article. It divulged her public life during the last two and a half years: her marriage, lack of prenuptial agreement, lavish trips, high-end shopping, charge of attempted murder, plea of no contest, and sentencing. As she began the part about the pardon, she heard the front door. Turning to the source, Claire watched as Harry came toward her. His liquid blue eyes flooded with compassion. Obviously he’s seen the news. He held her other telephone in his outstretched hand.

  Trying to sound strong she took the phone, “Thank you, I guess I left that at your place last night.” Amber may have better food, but Harry had the better television. Last night the three of them watched a Lakers game at Harry’s. Claire wasn’t really a basketball fan, which goes against her Indiana roots. It’s just that the Hoosier glory days were before her time. She’d heard stories, but they never ignited a passion for the sport.

  Her expression, the moisture in her eyes, and her obvious interruption from a work-out, told Harry Claire saw the news. Handing her the telephone he said, “This keeps chirping, I think your battery is about to die.” He looked into her green eyes, “Claire, are you all right?”

  She sat straighter. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

  His compassion changed to surprise, “Oh, I just worried that … well, when I saw the news… all right.” He turned back to the coffee machine.

  Claire checked the telephone – two text messages and one voice mail. She checked the texts. The first was from Courtney, sent at 10:45 PM last night – TONY JUST LEARNED YOU’RE OUT OF PRISON. YELLING AT BRENT. NOT HAPPY. WANTS ANSWERS. LOVE YOU. WILL TELL MORE WHEN I CAN. STAY SAFE. Claire stared at the screen. Why didn’t I see this last night? She didn’t hear it beep with the game. Fear swept through her in a wave as her heart beat wildly in her ears.

  “Claire, what does it say?”

  She looked from the screen to Harry and shook her head. She tried to hide her fear, but she couldn’t hide the tears slipping from her eyes. She hit another button and continued to read.

  Sniffing, she wiped her eyes, tried to appear composed, and read through blurred vision. The time read 6 AM - only two hours ago, also from Courtney, PRIVATE DETEC TRYING TO FIND YOU. KNOWS ABOUT CANCELLED TIX TO SAN FRAN. CHECKING OUT INDIANA. CHECKING EMILYS PHONE RECORDS. HEARD TONY’S VOICE W/ BRENT. NOT HAPPY!!!! BE CAREFUL.

  Silently, Harry stood motionless, intently watching Claire’s every move.

  “I’m sorry,” she offered, “I need to check this voice mail.” She didn’t want to answer his what question, and hoped he’d leave her alone to listen. He didn’t, although he went back to his coffee on the counter and gave her some space. Claire activated her voice mail and listened to Emily’s voice:

  “Claire, it’s a little after four in the morning here. That’s what? Two there, I think. I know you’re asleep but you need to know, I just got a call at this hour, from some man named Roach. He said he’s a private investigator working for a mutual friend. He said you may be in danger and needs to know your location, for your protection, he said. I didn’t believe him. Please call and tell me you’re safe.” Claire’s tears multiplied as she listened to her sister’s scared voice. “He said he knows I’ve been talking to a disposable phone in California and asked if it’s you. I just kept saying, I don’t know where she is and I have no other comment. Finally, I hung-up on him. Can they really look into my phone records? I’ll get one of those phones too. I’ll call you later with the number… so even though you don’t recognize it, please answer. I love you, and I really do believe all you’ve told me. Let me know you’re safe. Bye.”

  Warnings and alarms rushed through Claire’s mind as time stood still. Her body involuntarily sought to run -- the flight instinct. However, that monologue had been talked to death -- run where? She’d started a life. Therefore, flight wasn’t an option. Therefore, biology told her to fight. Not physically, Claire knew that wasn’t possible. This scenario was what she’d hoped to avoid. The text messages and voicemail confirmed her fear.

  Naïvely she’d hoped -- no prayed -- since she hadn’t heard anything for two weeks, maybe Tony would just let her go. It may’ve been fantasy, but the two week reprieve was heavenly.

  Claire stood to go to her room. She would finish the article on her laptop, later.

  Harry tried again, “Claire, please tell me what’s happening.”

  “Nothing, I’m fine.” She made to the hallway before Harry touched her shoulder.

  The contact initiated an immediate flinch. Straightening her spine, she spun to face him. A look of terror and panic filled her beautiful eyes. The expression shocked him. Harry expected sad or maybe mad, but what he saw was unbridled fear. It took his breath away. While an investigator for the Bureau he’d seen that look. Without thinking, he asked, “What did he do to you?”

  Her eyes muted, a haze covered the brief glimpse into her true feelings. Claire’s countenance turned stoic. “Harry, I need to take a shower. Thank you for checking on me. I’m fine, and I know you need to get to SiJo.” Mustering a forced grin she continued, “I hear your boss is getting upset about all your recent time off.”

  He wanted to question her. Inquisition procedures were his specialty. However, she wasn’t a suspect. She was his sister’s friend – no, his friend. During the past two weeks they’d spent countless hours working as a team to put pieces of her life back together. He knew about the box of memories Anthony Rawlings sent her. He knew she looked like a child at Christmas when she purchased a telephone. He knew she did not attempt to murder her ex-husband. Of course, that was just Claire’s word, but Harry believed her.

  He didn’t know about her life with Mr. Rawlings. Somehow, whenever the subject came up, she eloquently changed it. Now the churning in his gut told him why. This petite, funny, friendly, pretty, delicate, kind woman in front of him was hurt. Maybe, just maybe, it was only a broken heart.

  It has been said, people drawn to law enforcement have a sixth sense, an ability to see what others do not. He prayed he was wrong. His sixth sense said there was much more than a broken heart in Claire’s past.

  Harry pushed his questions away, “Your right, I do need to get into the office. Are you still going to Mr. Pulvara’s?”

  “Yes, my appointment is at eleven. I really need to get ready.”

  “I’m sorry if I overstepped some bounds. I won’t push you; it’s none of my business.” The haze covering her eyes evaporated; the emerald green began to shine. Harry added, “If you need anything, you know my cell.”

  She smiled up at him and sighed, “Thanks, Harry, see you later.” She turned toward the hall, speaking over her shoulder. “Please lock the door on your way out.”

  Claire closed the bedroom door with the weight of her shoulders. The glossy wood felt smooth behind her head. She strained to hear the sound of the front door close and lock. The still coolness of her room filled her lungs. After enough time passed, Claire allowed more warm tears to flow. Her trembling hand pushed the small button on her door knob. She produced a mental checklist: security guard, locked front door, and locked bedroom door – was it enough? Suddenly chilled, Claire wrapped her arms around her torso and felt the shuddering of her chest as sobs resonated uncontrollably. After a few minutes she blinked away the moisture, tried desperately to calm her unsteady hands, an
d sent Emily and Courtney a text: GOT YOUR MESSAGE. THANKS. IM GOOD. CALL WHEN YOU CAN. I LOVE YOU TOO.

  Hot water pelted her upturned face as she stepped into the shower. The sensation of warmth flowed over her. Slowly, the heaviness washed away from her soul. By the time her feet hit the tile floor her thoughts centered on the future. The past was gone. She had survived. She wasn’t the same woman Anthony Rawlings took three years ago.

  As Claire exited the elevator with her telephones in tow she inhaled the unique scents of the parking garage. Easing herself into the leather driver’s seat of her car, she relished her new found independence. Yes, life threw her some obstacles; she was stronger for them.

  The GPS instructed her to turn right from the garage. The morning fog had begun to dissipate revealing patches of pale blue sky. She turned her Honda into traffic and thought about the jewelry inside her purse. Her lips turned upward as she pondered the value and remembered Anthony’s perpetuity for appearance. This time, she hoped it would work in her favor.

  Light thinks it travels faster than anything, but it is wrong.

  No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first,

  and is waiting for it.

  - Terry Pratchett.

  Chapter 4

  Sophia watched her husband pack his suitcase. “Derek, I just got back from Florence. Can’t you stay home?”

  “I told you, they want to meet me face-to-face.”

  Sophia sighed and smoothed the t-shirts he’d so precisely placed into the bag. It was so different from the way she packed. But then again, they were different. Some of their friends called them Darma and Greg. Looking at Derek’s suits, pressed shirts, and cuff links, they definitely had different styles. However, those differences brought them together and kept them united.

  Her bare feet allowed her head to fit perfectly under her husband’s chin. Standing to wrap her arms around Derek’s neck she smiled lovingly, “I know, just please hurry home.”