Convicted - Romig Aleatha (читать книги полностью без сокращений .TXT) 📗

Everything became clearer the other day when the deputy director allowed Harry to speak with Ilona. Although he wanted to be assured of her safety, he was prepared for her tirade. The call progressed much differently than he’d anticipated.

“Ilona, are you all right?”

“Harry?”

“Ilona, I’m so sorry. I never imagined there’d be a connection from me to you. I thought you were safe.”

“I know...Ron knows.”

Harry couldn’t believe Ilona’s resolve. If only she’d been that strong when they were married; then again, maybe strength came with the love and support of a devoted spouse, something she now had in Ron. “Is Jillian all right?” he asked.

“She is.” Ilona chuckled. “She thinks we’re on vacation.”

Harry smiled.

“Do whatever you need to do, Harry. I have no idea who you’re after or what this is about—but if there’s a connection to us—please take care of it.”

“The threat was meant as a warning for me to back off.”

Ilona’s voice rang through the field office’s telephone. “I think I know you better than that—at least, I hope I do. You nail this person, whoever it is who’s threatening us. I know you can!”

“Thanks, Ilona. I expected you to chew me out for getting you into this.”

“You’re a few days late. I would’ve, but I’ve had time to think. Someone feels very threatened. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t resort to this. I’m fine and Jillian will forget this vacation as soon as it’s over.”

When they hung up, the indecision that had been looming like clouds around Harry since he’d re-entered the case evaporated. Claire was where she wanted to be—her message said so. There was a time he’d let his personal feelings get in the way. Now, it was strictly business. Claire Nichols was an informant and the granddaughter of an agent who’d been murdered. If the Boston office was confident in her safety then Harry would concentrate his talents where they were better utilized—interrogation and research. Currently, with his ability to communicate with Rawlings severed, research was his mode of operation.

Harry looked over his recent findings. An inspection of the bureau of motor vehicles for the state of New Jersey found twenty-two thousand plus blue Hondas registered in 1989. The search could be considerably refined if Harry could enter a year or model for the Honda—he couldn’t; however, thanks to Claire’s phone call, he had a name: Catherine Marie London. When he ran her name, he hit the jackpot—1987 Honda Prelude registered to Catherine Marie London. Further scrutiny of the registration revealed the color: blue.

To further follow up on Claire’s information, Harry searched marriage records for New Jersey. His search came up blank. Thinking of the Rawlings’ somewhere in the South Pacific, he realized that people can go anywhere and get married. The FBI’s databases weren’t restricted by state or country. Utilizing the bureau’s database, Harry tried again. This time, he hit pay dirt—marriage license issued by the state of New York, February 25, 1988, to Nathaniel Rawls and Catherine Marie London.

Harry referred to his timeline—Nathaniel Rawls was convicted on charges of multiple counts of insider trading, misappropriation of funds, price fixing, and securities fraud in 1987 and sentenced to three years in Camp Gabriels, a minimum security prison in upstate New York. Nathaniel’s sentence was reduced to twenty-four months due to prison overcrowding. It made sense that he and Catherine Marie London were married in New York, at the prison where Nathaniel was incarcerated. Harry wondered why Catherine hadn’t kept the name Rawls. Was she hiding from Nathaniel’s crimes as Rawlings had done with his change of name?

The search he’d started on Nathaniel Rawls continued to generate information. The screen of his computer sustained a non-stop scroll listing a plethora of civil suits. Scanning the generalities, most cases named Nathaniel Rawls as defendant and asked for financial restitution. Perhaps that was Catherine’s reasoning, distance herself from the financial ramifications of Nathaniel’s crimes.

Out of curiosity, Harry scrolled the list of plaintiffs. The name Rawls caught his attention. He clicked: Samuel Rawls seeks to void marriage of Nathaniel and Catherine Marie Rawls. Harry’s head spun. The complaint was initially filed with the New York state court in March of 1988. Harry rubbed his temples. Damn—Samuel didn’t waste much time voicing his disapproval of Daddy Dearest’s new wife.

It appeared the complaint met substantial roadblocks until June of 1989—less than a month after Nathaniel’s death, when the case went from summons to disposition in record time. Based on mental incompetence and undue influence, Samuel Rawls’s complaint was granted, and the marriage of Nathaniel and Catherine Marie Rawls was voided by the state of New York.

Harry knew without checking that three months later Samuel and Amanda Rawls were found dead in their rented California bungalow. He also knew that Patrick Chester was the only witness to a commotion the same day at the Rawls’s home. In the initial interrogation, Chester mentioned a woman—Samuel’s sister and a blue Honda. No wonder Amanda Rawls wasn’t anxious to introduce Chester to her step-mother-in-law—her husband had just had the woman’s marriage voided. Wow, and Harry thought his family life was screwed up!

Harry shoved his chair backward and paced about the living room of his condominium. How in the hell did the police in Santa Monica not put these pieces together? The ballistics evidence alone should’ve sent up red flags—damn, flares! A rookie cop should’ve seen that it wasn’t a murder/suicide!

Harry’s questions continued—What did Rawlings do, besides payoff Chester, to cover it all up? Why? Why would he help the woman who killed his parents—unless he was involved in their murder? This may be circumstantial, but it created a connection and a reason why Catherine would want Amanda and Samuel dead. Was there a reason Rawlings would want them dead?

Picking up his phone, Harry called Agent Jackson. After a string of button pushes and requests, his call was finally answered.

“Agent Jackson, this is Agent Baldwin from San Francisco.”

“Baldwin?”

“I believe I have significant information in the Rawlings case.”

“Are you well enough to travel Agent?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“We’ll see you in Boston, tomorrow.”

Harry exhaled. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be there.”

His blue eyes sparkled with excitement. Traveling cross country was a hell-of-a-lot better than sitting in his damn condominium. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to all of this. Harry couldn’t shake the thought that somehow Rawlings was still involved; nevertheless, Catherine London was the reason Claire ran—the person who scared Claire into leaving the country, her family, friends, even at the risk of sullying Rawlings’ reputation and company in the process. Claire wouldn’t have done that if the threat wasn’t real. Now, Rawlings was cooperating with the bureau. How deep did this go? Did Rawlings have information on Sherman Nichols or Nathaniel’s murder? Harry wanted to know what Rawlings had told Agent Jackson.

He’d share his information—then Jackson could share his; quid pro quo.

Gathering his research, Harry made a mental list. He needed to call SAC Williams and let him know he was going to Boston, and since he’d been forbidden to travel, he needed to be sure to emphasize—this trip was at the request of Agent Jackson. While Harry waited for the computer to finish running a backup, he pulled out his phone and sent a text.