Behind His Eyes Convicted: The Missing Years

  Their conversation came to a halt as Catherine was led into the courtroom. Quickly assessing her, Brent saw that she’d lost weight in prison and allowed her hair to go gray. The end result was that she appeared older and frailer. She definitely appeared older than her true fifty-three years. Brent wondered about Tony’s rule and how well Catherine had learned it. Appearances were of the utmost importance. From his eye, Catherine appeared to be more a frail grandmother, than a serial murderer. He hoped it wouldn’t work.

  When it came to evidence, Claire’s computer had been destroyed in Catherine’s fireplace. Nevertheless, she’d saved all the paper documents. All of her research connecting Tony to his past had been confiscated by the Iowa City police in 2013 after her disappearance, and labeled as evidence. As the Simmonses and Vandersols listened, the US Attorney used that information to spin a well-fabricated web for the jury. If Brent hadn’t known it to be true, he would have questioned its veracity. For small-town America, it was a thriller! The story began with a young girl who’d been abandoned by her family. By the time the prosecution was done, he’d set the stage for the most fantastic game of vengeance and revenge that Brent had ever heard. Unfortunately, the story wasn’t a novel, and it wasn’t fiction. Innocent lives had been lost and others destroyed in the name of this twisted vendetta.

  His statement had gone on for over two and a half hours. Throughout, Brent watched the jury. Not once did they seem bored or disinterested. As a rule of thumb, the opening statement should be short and concise. Brent glanced at John and raised his brows. It was an unspoken question, attorney to attorney. What did you think? John shrugged. Brent prayed that it was a hit out of the park. After everyone who’d suffered, he wanted the frail woman at the front table to die a lonely death in a lonely cell. It wasn’t a nice wish, but it was the one he harbored.

  Not far from the courthouse was a popular diner. As long as the judicial system stayed in business, the restaurant was assured a good lunch crowd. It was frequented by judges, lawyers, staff, and the public. In essence, the entire room was filled with ears. Truthfully, it wasn’t only the law and lay people who were listening. As the two couples made their way to lunch between the morning and afternoon sessions, they were witness to reporters. Even though it was only the first day in front of a jury, the reporters were hungry for news. It seemed as though the granting of a gag order did nothing more than whet their appetite.

  Over the last year, especially with John’s employment at Rawlings, the two couples had become closer. If Brent had to pinpoint one reason, he’d say it was because Courtney was determined that she was going to be part of Nichol’s life. Thus far, access to Claire had been adamantly denied, but Courtney had been given the ground rules. “If you ever are to see her, you may not mention him—at all.” Without a blink of her eye, Courtney agreed.

  As much as the Vandersols and Simmonses wanted to discuss the morning’s opening statement, they tried to keep the conversation away from the proceedings. There were ears at every turn. If any one of them was deemed responsible for leaking information, they’d be banned from the remaining trial. None of them wanted that: the morning had only been the beginning.

  As they finished their lunch, John asked, “Would you two like to come over for dinner? I think Emily and I would both like to discuss some of this background information.”

  Emily nodded, adding under her breath, “Claire had mentioned some of this years ago, but it seems pretty farfetched. I hope they can make it believable.”

  Brent watched Courtney’s eyes glow at the invitation.

  “The prosecutor had me totally enthralled. I had no idea he’d been talking for so long,” Courtney said.

  Knowing that his wife was always willing to do whatever it took to get close to Nichol, Brent said, “That sounds good. Give us a little time to stop by home after they wrap up for the day, then we’ll be over. Let us know what we can bring.”

  “Ridiculous! Farfetched! Fiction!” Catherine’s attorney began, capitalizing on the US Attorney’s earlier flair for the dramatic. “I hope you’re all ready for a show, because that is exactly what the government wants to give you. Just look at my client. She’s worked her entire life as a servant. Oh, the wealthy have other names… housekeeper, maid, whatever. How many of you have someone who picks up after you, manages your household, and assures that your dinner is on the table? Catherine London has done that for three generations of the same family. She has worked and worked.” He lowered his voice. “She has witnessed things that no one should witness. But yet, she didn’t betray her employer. No—not until he did it first…”

  Brent and Courtney knew the routine at Yankton. Instead of surrendering their belongings, it was easier to carry only the authorized items into the visiting room. With just their keys and identifications, they arrived at the prison. Being too early for the prisoners, they migrated with the other visitors into the visiting room. As they found their way to seats, and sat quietly, they watched the other people. Some appeared confident, while others looked side to side, wondering what would happen next. Brent found it strange that only a year ago this had been a difficult and uncomfortable process. It wasn’t that they now enjoyed it, but the entire routine had become normal. The metal detector seemed less invasive. The guards and questions seemed less subjective. Brent equated it to the airport security system. Though it was a pain in the ass, it was no longer troublesome to step into the glass cubical, lift your arms, and allow the machine to scan your entire body. It just was. That was the process at Yankton—it just was.

  Not long after 10:00 AM, he and Courtney watched as the inmates entered through the north door of the building, the opposite end from where they themselves had entered. They were all dressed in their khaki shirts and pants. Their black shoes with soft soles created a muffled thunder as the visitors stilled, waiting for their loved ones.

  On the way, they’d discussed how nice it was to visit outside. Although it was summer and the morning temperature was conducive, it was evident that wasn’t happening. The threatening South Dakota sky and forecast of severe storms had them trapped indoors.

  The inmates scanned the crowd from veiled lids, searching. Near the middle of the pack, Brent saw Tony, his height giving him away, and noticed how once Tony spotted his friends, his gait changed. No longer did he blend into the masses with his head slightly bowed and steps shuffled. In an instant, he was walking confidently with his familiar stride. Though the latter made Brent smile, his heart ached at seeing his friend as the former.

  Tony extended his hand, but before Brent could shake it, Courtney was up out of her seat, and wrapping Tony in a quick, friendly hug. “How are you doing?” she asked in her cheeriest voice.

  “I’m all right. How are you?”

  Brent shook Tony’s hand just before he took his required seat. “We have some news,” Brent offered.

  Tony nodded. “I saw it already. There was an article in this morning’s Wall Street Journal.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s so nice of them to spell out the whole Wall Street connection between me and Nathaniel.”

  Brent inhaled. “I’d hoped you hadn’t seen it yet. Keep in mind that it wasn’t negative against you. As a matter of fact, they made a big point out of how Rawlings Industries has been carefully scrutinized and come out clean as a whistle.”

  “I’d rather avoid any publicity, especially any connected to Catherine.”

  “They’re adding Rawls to her name, now. The reporters are, I mean,” Courtney added.

  “Isn’t that great?” Tony asked. “She’s going to spend, what was it? Five life sentences in prison, but she finally gets my grandfather’s name back. Ha!” Tony forced the laugh. “Think of all the lives that could have been spared if only they’d given her that honor years ago.”

  Courtney reached out and touched Tony’s hand. “It’s over. It’s all over.”

  His dark eyes clouded. “Not for thirty-four more months.”

  “I know I’m here today as
a friend, not your lawyer,” Brent said, “but let me remind you, you’ll go up for review in less than a year and then every six months after. There’s always a chance that it could be less.”

  “And I could go batshit crazy, and it could be more.”

  “Don’t say that, Tony,” Courtney said. When Tony smiled in her direction, she cocked her head to the side and asked, “What?”

  “It’s dumb I suppose, but no one here calls me that. I think I miss it.”

  “Well, Tony,” she said, emphasizing his name, “what else do you miss? What can we do to make this better?”

  Though his expression didn’t change, Brent saw a spark of something in Tony’s eyes: a recognition or connection like he hadn’t seen in some time. “What is it? What did you just think of?”

  Tony shook his head. “Damn, am I that easy to read? I didn’t used to be.” He paused and looked at Courtney. “I can’t tell you how much your letters have meant to me, especially the pictures. Thank you.”

  “Of course, I’m glad to do it. Nichol is beautiful. You should be proud.”

  “Of her, I am.”

  “You have a lot to be proud of,” Brent offered.

  “Thank you.” His gaze fixed on Courtney. “I can’t imagine not having the visits or your letters. That’s just who you are and always will be. Thank you for taking the time. I was wondering if I should continue to write to you at your home or if I should send your letters to your P.O. box in Chicago?”

  Brent turned to his wife and watched as the color drained from Courtney’s cheeks. “What P.O. box?” he asked. Turning back to Tony, he continued his questioning, “What are you talking about?”

  Tony’s tone was gentle, almost sad. “Thank you, Courtney. Thank you for being J. Findes.”

  Tears fell from her eyes as Courtney tried to remain composed.

  “Someone tell me what’s happening,” Brent demanded in a hushed tone.

  “Y-you’re not mad?” Courtney asked.

  Tony shook his head. “I probably would have been, but not now. Not only am I not mad, I’m happy. I failed her then. I didn’t realize how awful this was… and this place is better than where she was. I’m so glad you helped her.”

  Courtney inhaled, trying to stifle her cries. “I never wanted to lie to you…” she turned to Brent “…either one of you. But I couldn’t… I just couldn’t…” her voice trailed away as she lowered her face.

  The temperature of the room rose exponentially; Brent and Tony had come so far. It truly felt as though the two of them were friends, connected as never before. Was it right to leave deception between friends? Or would the truth separate what had finally been solidified?

  “I’m not going to lie to you, Tony,” Brent confessed. “I knew about that. I didn’t know the name she used or where the address was, but I knew and I supported Courtney… and Claire.

  Tony leaned back.

  While Brent reached for Courtney’s hand, he saw the question in his wife’s moist blue eyes. Inhaling, Brent continued, “You’ve come clean with us. I guess it’s time to come clean with you. Just promise me that you won’t be upset with Claire.”

  Tony’s brows knit together. “What are you talking about? Why would I be upset with Claire that you wrote to her in prison?” It was as if they watched the light bulb illuminate. The spark of understanding ignited a flame behind his eyes and Tony’s voice brimmed with emotion. “It was you… Oh, my God. You’re the ones who freed her.” This time he was the one to look away.

  “Tony?” Courtney implored. “It wasn’t against you. It was for her.”

  At first Tony only shook his head; however, when he turned back, his eyes were red. “Thank you, for saving her. I understand. Two years ago, I might have been irate.” He scoffed. “I would have been—hell, I was, but things are different. What you did, the petition, the money… by freeing Claire, you gave me back my life.

  “I’ve spoken to Roach, and I just don’t understand what’s happened to her. But if you can… if it is ever a possibility to save her again… I don’t care who you have to deceive… just please, for both of us, for Nichol… do it.”

  Courtney wasn’t even trying to hide her tears. “I want to hug you so badly.”

  Tony swallowed. “I wish you could.”

  “Tony, she didn’t know—at first. Once she did, the only reason she kept it from you was for us.”

  Tony reached out and covered Courtney’s hand with his own. His soft brown eyes were bordered in red. With his famous grin, he said, “We’re good. I’m not upset at all. I’m indebted to you.” He widened his grin. “About $100,000, I guess.”

  Courtney shook her head. “No—”

  “No you’re not,” Brent said. “And you’re not paying us back. You already have.”

  Tony’s eyes widened, questioning.

  “I’ve had a few raises over the last couple years. I figured I deserved them.”

  Tony’s grin morphed into a full smile. “You do, my man, you do.”

  Brent leaned forward and spoke quieter. “I may have some news you don’t yet know.”

  “What?”

  “Amber McCoy has been charged in connection with the death of Simon Johnson.”

  The clouds over Tony’s dark eyes showed his processing. “I don’t understand. I thought the NTSB found no signs of tampering.”

  Brent shrugged. “They haven’t released any more information, only that there was sufficient evidence to press charges.”

  “What’s happening to SiJo?” Tony asked.

  “I really don’t know.”

  “Tell Tim to look into it immediately. As you know, this kind of shit makes it vulnerable.”

  “What? Do you want to buy it? It could go under the Shedis-tics umbrella—”

  “No,” Tony interrupted. “I want to help it. No matter how Amber and Harry lied to Claire, Claire cared about Simon and that company. Find out what they need.”

  Courtney smiled.

  “I’ll call Tim as soon as we leave,” Brent assured him.

  My family is my strength and my weakness.

  —Aishwarya Rai Bachchan

  Harry watched from behind the glass, unseen by his sister or the officer from the California Bureau of Investigation. It was the same division where Harry had gotten his start in law enforcement—the same bureau that fueled his desire for justice. It was the same bureau that was now questioning his very own sister in regard to the senseless death of Simon Johnson.

  SAC Williams patted Harry on the back. “I’m sorry, son. I’m sorry it all came to this.”

  Harry nodded. Words weren’t forming without emotion. He was a damn FBI agent; crying wasn’t part of the job.

  “You did the right thing. I know it may not seem like it at this moment, but the truth, the law, is always right.”

  Inhaling deeply, Harry managed to say, “You’re right. It sure doesn’t feel like it at this moment.”

  “Have you talked to her?”

  “No. I have about a thousand texts and voicemails from Liz. She’s out in the waiting room going crazy. She doesn’t know I’m here.” He turned his sad blue eyes to his supervisor. “SAC? I don’t know how to do this. Do I come clean and tell her that I’m the one who…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

  Williams reached for his arm. In the midst of turmoil, the point of contact was comforting. The older man had been as much of a father to Harry as his stepfather, and more of a father than the man who helped to create him. “That’s your call. I know that you’ll know what to say, if you do let her know you’re in on it. But remember, you weren’t the one who followed the phone trail. You didn’t dig up the text records or question the witnesses. You can’t take all the blame.”

  Harry sighed. “I’m the one who put her on your radar. Without me, she would never have been discovered.”

  “Think about your friend. Think about Mr. Johnson. Would that have been right for him? For his family?”

  Harry had lain awake
at night thinking about exactly that. “I can’t imagine the Johnsons. I mean, they still think of Amber like a daughter. They’re going to be devastated.”

  “One fire at a time, son.”

  Harry turned toward the window and wiped his eyes. He couldn’t hear what they were saying because he’d turned off the sound but he could tell by his sister’s expression that she was pleading her innocence. “She needs to shut up. I know we have the evidence, but she just needs to shut up!”

  “Then go be a brother: a brother who’s also an agent. Tell her what she can do to make it better.”

  Harry turned on his heels. “Nothing! She can’t do a damn thing to make it better. She killed Simon Johnson…” He shook his head. “…and it goes back to Claire. How does every damn thing go back to Claire? Simon’s obsession was what pissed Amber off so much. How could I be right here in San Francisco and hang out with them and not know?”

  “Simon never mentioned Mrs. Rawlings?”

  “He did, but not a lot. It was one of those things you say in passing. I’d get pissed at Liz about something and mention Ilona. He’d be pissed at Amber and mention Claire. She was his girlfriend in college—freshman year! That was forever ago. I remember thinking that it was weird that he’d gone so long without someone serious in his life. He chalked it up to devoting his energy to his work. That’s why he and Amber were so perfect. They met at Shedis-tics and she followed him to help with SiJo. They were friends before they became an item. I’m not sure Simon even saw her as girlfriend potential… for a while.” Harry shrugged. “I can’t testify to any of that. It’s what he said and she said. That was all before I moved back to California. Once I got here, they were definitely together. Other than a mention here and there of Claire to me, he seemed totally devoted to Amber.”