Claire looked up, then side to side. Where were the people?
“I know you heard me. You spoke to me. Don’t worry, you won’t be in trouble, but we need to get back.” Meredith put out her hand. “Please, let’s go back.”
Claire reached up—the sensation of her hand in Meredith’s was real. At least, Claire believed it was.
You must stick to your conviction, but be ready to abandon your assumptions.
—Denis Waitley
Harry stared at his notes and relived his recent conversation with Agent Jackson from the Boston field office. Jackson was very specific—Anthony Rawlings was cooperating with the FBI and would not be apprehended at this time. When Harry questioned the attempt on his own life and the threat to his family, Jackson reminded him that there was no proof of a connection to Rawlings.
He was right—there was no proven connection. Could Harry’s gut be telling him he wanted Rawlings guilty, instead that the man was guilty? Maybe the whole beat down in the back alley accomplished the exact opposite of its intention. Since it occurred, Harry was more focused and determined to close the case. He needed assurance that everyone he cared about was safe. Surprisingly, that list of people—people whom he cared about—really cared about—was more static than he’d previously realized. Harry had family who’d been there for him and friends he could count on. Those people deserved his attention.
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?