Truth - Romig Aleatha (читать книги полностью без сокращений бесплатно txt) 📗
“Well, perhaps I’ve been busy trying to get to know my sister again and oh yeah – my husband. Details of your disappearance three years ago, when I thought you just didn’t want me in your life, well, they haven’t been high on my priority list.”
Claire inhaled deeply and exhaled. Emily’s anger was justified. “I want you to know I did not, and would not, just email or text you or John out of my life. If it happens again, please know it isn’t me.”
Emily’s end of the line went silent. She finally responded, with distress not resentment, “Why? Are you seriously afraid it could happen again?”
Claire didn’t hesitate. She no longer wanted to delude her sister. “Yes.”
“I promise, if I can’t get ahold of you, or I get those kinds of messages – I’ll have the police break down Anthony Rawlings’ door.”
Claire smiled. “Thanks, Sis. Hopefully, that’ll never be necessary. Right now I’m learning what I can about how he did it last time.”
The two spoke for a while longer. During her time in Iowa, her calls were not only monitored but time restricted. The two sisters relished their new lengthy soul revealing conversations. Emily informed Claire she’d be going to New York the first week of April to bring John home. With his sentence complete, the condition of his probation required regular interaction with a probationary officer. As long as he did that, he could travel, or live, anywhere within the continental United States.
Due to the charges of fraudulent billing, The New York State Bar Association suspended John’s admission to the bar, disabling him from practicing law. For any chance at redemption, an appeal must be made to the governing body’s disciplinary committee. Emily wasn’t sure what he’d do. She was just happy they’d be together.
Claire wanted to ask to join Emily in New York. However, instinctively she believed her presence was currently unwelcome. She hoped it was only momentary, besides Emily and John needed private time.
Amber arrived home to find her dining room table covered in piles of disheveled papers. It was the information Claire saved from Tony’s box, along with new information Amber and Harry helped accumulate. Harry’s connection to the Bureau of Investigation and Intelligence was definitely advantageous.
From the box, Claire saved pictures. Looking through the stack, she placed them in chronological order. The first series was from her parent’s funeral. If she hadn’t stared at them for hours, in her cell in Iowa, the subject would be upsetting. Instead, the circumstance of their existence dominated her thoughts. The photo in her hand was of the grave site. She saw the vibrant autumn trees surrounding the double plot and a seemingly appropriate gray sky. The faraway shot showed Emily with John on one side and Claire on the other. There were many people behind them. The next one caused Claire’s stomach to churn. It showed a close-up of her, alone – her name handwritten on the back. She recognized the distinguishable writing. She’d seen that same script on many notes throughout her two years with Tony.
She didn’t meet Anthony Rawlings until almost five years after these pictures were taken. Yet, the looming question remained; did he personally shoot these photos? It added to the mystery. She wished for pictures of the crowd, some way she could scan for his familiar face. Thinking back, Claire remembered news coverage – her father was a policeman, and even though his death wasn’t in the line of duty, it was considered newsworthy. Suddenly, she wondered if the footage still existed. Working at a television news station, she knew many videos were disposed of after a certain length of time. Nonetheless, if she could watch, even a few seconds of the crowd, Claire would find Tony – tall, dark and handsome – if he were present.
The next stack of photos revealed images from Emily and John’s wedding, with the same alarming close-ups of Claire with her name written on the back in Tony’s handwriting. The sea foam green dress made Claire smile.
She realized if she took these pictures to the police, they didn’t prove Tony’s presence. Of course, he could pay someone to take the pictures. Yet, Claire was certain a handwriting specialist could verify his handwriting.
The other bit of information, Claire retained, from Tony’s box of confessions, was the Top Secret report. Over the past four months she’d wondered how he obtained the document. It looked official, containing the Top Secret watermark. Originally, she placed it in the box of information to burn. However, just before leaving her cell, Claire decided to remove it. Looking back, she chastised herself for taking the box to the incinerator at all.
She couldn’t really justify her actions, only that at the time she wanted freedom and separation. Watching the contents burn proved temporarily therapeutic. As the flames enveloped the box and its contents, she felt her life with Tony shrivel into parallel nothingness. At the time, it was cathartic.
In the days and weeks that followed, she realized the error of her ways. With time to meditate, muse, and contemplate her life’s milestones, it seemed that at many junctures she’d acted impulsively. Whether it was refusing to leave Atlanta after the loss of her job, signing a seemingly benign napkin, getting into a car and fleeing Anthony’s estate, or burning a box of confessions, the choices and their consequences continued to return and rear their ugly heads.
The Top Secret report told the true identities of two important players in the downfall of Nathaniel Rawls; securities officer, Jonathon Burke and FBI agent, Sherman Nichols. It was the glue that held Claire to Tony’s well played plan of revenge.
After contacting Amber, they worked together to regenerate the information Claire could recall. If only she hadn’t burnt it. Regrets were useless. Their progress thus far was all that mattered.
Claire was lost in her thoughts of the photos when Amber entered the condominium. Claire looked up at her roommate and said, “Hi, I didn’t expect you this early.”
“The day is too nice to spend cooped up in my office. What’re you doing in here?”
Claire explained her less than conventional pile system. First, she had the stack of Rawls information. She was surprised how easy it was to obtain supporting documentation that Nathanial Rawls not only existed, but was married to a woman named Sharron, had one son named Samuel. Samuel married a woman named Amanda and they had one son, Anton. The information was all available through public records from New Jersey. She’d even been able to access the appropriate websites online while in prison. The birth records confirmed Anton Rawls was born February 12, 1965, not surprisingly, the same day as Anthony Rawlings. His change of name didn’t include a change of birthdate. Claire wondered why he didn’t change that too. It seemed like a serious piece of evidence to overlook. He must not have deemed it necessary. Claire doubted he ever considered his identity would be discovered. Truthfully, without his box of secrets, it would have remained hidden.
As Claire and Amber discussed some of the information, Claire picked up a police report from Santa Monica Police Department. Claire asked, “How did Harry get these reports about Samuel and Amanda’s deaths?”
“Since it occurred in California, I think he called in a few favors from some investigators he used to work with.”
Claire scanned the report, “I haven’t seen this before. It tells all about the scene and even has statements from neighbors and…” flipping another page, “oh my, here’s the statement from their son.” Claire pulled out a chair and sat. She imagined a young Tony finding his parents dead in their Santa Monica bungalow. Being only twenty-four, she shuttered at his endured horror. Imagining wasn’t difficult; the report gave a very detailed description of the crime scene. Thankfully there weren’t pictures.
