“I understand, Mr. Rawlings. We will get to the bottom of this.”
Chief Newburg called for additional officers and began taking statements from Anthony Rawlings and his household employees. The process lasted deep into the night. Most of the staff were blissfully ignorant. Chief Newburg wondered how so many people could reside under the same roof and have no idea what was happening with one another.
By the time they finished, Tony figured Claire had possibly been in the hands of some zealot for an additional five hours. It took all of Brent’s persuasive power to keep Tony from calling Emily and John and telling them exactly what he thought of their charges. After all, Claire’s baby was his baby. He’d never cause her or it harm. He reasoned: All right, maybe I did. Now, I wouldn’t.
During the questioning, another team of investigators descended upon the house. They went from room to room and searched everything. One investigator, searching their private suite found Claire’s box of research. He deemed the information worthy to be designated as evidence and took it back to the station for processing. They also asked about the estates security system. Was there video footage? Could they access saved files?
The press was already hot on the hunt. Someone leaked to the media that the ICPD was investigating Anthony Rawlings and his estate in conjunction with the reported disappearance of his ex-wife and current live-in relationship, Claire (Rawlings) Nichols.
As soon as everyone left, Tony returned numerous calls from his publicist who was working feverishly to restrain the outgoing information. Shelly was doing her best, but stalling or limiting was all she could promise. It was coming too fast and too furious; curtailing it was impossible.
Any emotion, if it is sincere, is involuntary.
Chapter 57
Moments before Tony’s plane touched down in Iowa:
At a roadside motel, somewhere in Illinois, Claire dried her newly temporarily-died red hair while Phillip explained the first part of her escape. “You’ll stay in Florence for a few days before you make your way across Italy toward Switzerland.” His voice came through the thin bathroom door as she changed into the clothes he’d brought. “The secret of staying hidden is moving, but not too erratically.”
She slid the squeaky pocket door, creating an opening large enough for her to exit the ugly pink and black tiled bathroom. The smell of stale smoke overtook her senses as her eyes scanned the shabby motel room. Thread bare carpet highlighted the traffic areas. Despite the surroundings, Claire’s voice sounded stronger than before, “Eventually I want to settle. I have a child to raise.”
From the corner of her eye, in the cloudy mirror above the low dresser, she saw her unfamiliar reflection. She noticed the looseness of the new clothes. They hid her pregnancy much better than her previous outfit.
“You will, after you acquire the money from the account in Geneva.”
Claire nodded. Catherine’s documents had specific instructions for accessing Nathaniel Rawls’ hidden fortune. It seemed appropriate. If his decree could send her into hiding – his money could finance her future. Claire even justified it as her baby’s grandfather’s support. It was amazing how the mind can twist things, making them legitimate, especially under duress.
Phil went on, “You’ll have a week to travel from Florence to Geneva. I’ll meet you there next Thursday. Your hotel reservation is set in Geneva. I need to know where to meet you. It’s too dangerous for you to have contact with anyone in the United States, even me. While leaving the U.S. you’re Lauren Michaels. In Geneva, minus the time you’re in the bank, you’re Isabelle Alexander. Hopefully, once I’m there, we’ll discuss your eventual destination.”
“Hopefully?” Claire asked.
“Your transaction must be complete. Temporary identities are one thing; securing a permanent identity with a new residence is expensive.”
Claire nodded. She wondered how much money the Switzerland account held.
Phil left Claire at a cafe in Burlington, a suburb of Cincinnati. From there she called a taxi which took her to the Cincinnati International Airport. She had to admit, he was smart. The curbs at the airport had video surveillance. With this plan, if she were to be identified, he wasn’t connected.
Claire realized she was flying international with nothing more than a carry-on; Phil supplied her with the basics. She would need to purchase everything else new in Italy. His plan provided her with enough starter cash to sustain her until she completed her financial transaction in Geneva.
The first security check was unnerving. Claire summoned every mask she’d ever worn. Once she passed to the other side of the check point and nodded to the last TSA agent, she sighed with relief. From that point on, Ms. Lauren Michaels confidently met each agent and scan head-on.
Lauren was thirty thousand feet in the air, crossing the Atlantic Ocean, by the time the police finished searching Anthony Rawlings’ estate. The striking green-eyed woman with deep amber hair rode economy-class, wedged between a mother with a sleeping child and a man in a cheap suit. The man to her left was not only a barrier to the aisle, but after he consumed too many seven dollar beers, his attempts at flirting made her debate the pros and cons of committing assault and battery.
It took all her self-restraint to not pull the large diamond from her purse and wiggle it under his nose. In her daydream she curtly said, “Leave me alone, jerk; I’m engaged.” But sadly she realized that was no longer true.
The diamond was the only instruction from Phil, Claire didn’t follow. She could leave her Prada purse, her overpriced clothes, and her Cartier sunglasses... just not the ring. Claire closed her eyes and remembered the afternoon she’d finally accepted it...
It was a Saturday; Tony was working from home. She’d spent most of the morning out in the gardens. Before, when they were married, Claire longed to work in the gardens, planting and tending his beautiful plants. Back then she worried it wasn’t appropriate. Now she didn’t care and didn’t ask. One day she started talking with James, the gardener. He helped her find the tools. Tony never complained. On the contrary, he delighted in her hobbies, often asking questions about her plants and supporting her desire to get her hands dirty and tend the small living things.
On that particular Saturday, after digging, dividing, replanting, and weeding, Claire decided to cool off in the pool. Tony must have seen her swimming. She’d only been in the cool water for a few minutes when he joined her. While they talked and swam in liquid bliss, he reached for her hand. Seeing the dirt still under her nails he mentioned, “I think you need a manicure after all this manual labor.”
Claire giggled and pulled her hand away. “I wasn’t planning on having anyone look that closely. Besides, I haven’t had a chance to shower yet.”
“Now that sounds intriguing!” His eyes twinkled as his lips formed a mischievous grin. “In the meantime, I know a way to deflect people’s attention from your nails.”
She was holding his shoulders and the moment for no particular reason felt right. Later, Claire decided it was the ordinary calmness she liked; nothing special, just realness that comes with every day. Her answer surprised him, “Well, that shower I’m about to take...” Her emerald eyes returned his sparkle. “Perhaps if you can figure a way to bring the ring in there, I’d slip it on. I mean...” She cooed into his ear, “I wouldn’t want it to go down the drain.”