Behind His Eyes Convicted: The Missing Years

  “So you didn’t know that he’d gone around the country to see her?”

  Harry shook his head.

  “Ms. Matherly knew.”

  “We never talked about it.” Harry’s eyes widened. “What else does Liz know?”

  “If you’re asking if we think she knew that your sister allegedly poisoned Mr. Johnson, we don’t. There’s no evidence—at this time—to suggest that. In an interview with the CBI, she mentioned that Mr. Johnson had an obsession with a person from his past and that upset Ms. McCoy. She claimed that his preoccupation was the only source of contention she’d ever witnessed between the two of them.”

  Harry’s head shook slightly from side to side, allowing his too-long blonde hair to fall across his eyes. Pushing the unruly curls away, he said, “They all need to shut up.” He turned back to the window, just in time to see the officer exit the room, leaving Amber alone at the metal table.

  Harry handed SAC Williams his phone. “Here, the damn thing’s going to explode if I get another message from Liz. Can you hold it for me while I go in there?”

  Williams’ lips twitched into a slight smile. “You want me to hold your exploding phone?”

  Harry grinned. “Yeah, thanks.”

  When Harry opened the door, Amber’s head popped upward, and her tear-filled eyes looked directly at him. Instantaneously, her expression morphed to need. “Oh, thank God, Harry. You need to help me. They’re saying things that don’t make sense. They’re saying that I was involved in Simon’s death and that attack on you. Please… please…” she reached out to him “…tell me that you know I wouldn’t do that.”

  Walking toward his sister, she stood. Harry wrapped his arms around her, hugging her shuddering shoulders. He fought his own emotions as her tears dampened the cotton of his shirt. After a moment, he helped her to sit again and sat across from her. “Amber, they read you your Miranda rights, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, but why? Why would they even think that I would—”

  Harry interrupted, “You need to get a lawyer. Stop talking to them or even to me… I’m an agent—”

  “I know what you are! You can help me. Find out who’s saying these vile things. Make this all stop. I loved Simon. I love you! I would never do anything to hurt…” her words faded into tears. Suddenly, her eyes opened wide. “I bet it’s that bitch. Claire Nichols! She’s the one saying these things about me! It’s not enough for her to have her billionaire jailbird and you, but she wouldn’t let Simon go either. She tried to kill Rawlings. I bet she found out that Simon and I were engaged and she tried to…” Her anger turned to sadness. “…no, she didn’t try. She succeeded in killing him.”

  “She isn’t telling anyone anything. You sound delusional.”

  “No!” She stood. “You don’t know. You don’t know what it’s like to have someone who you love willing to travel all over the damn country to get one last chance with a woman he hadn’t even talked to in years! Years!”

  “Stop,” Harry said calmly.

  “No! I’m not stopping. You need to know what she’s capable of doing. Hell, you know, don’t you? She has some kind of power over men. I don’t understand it. I mean it’s not her looks and definitely not her brains.” Her eyes widened. “Emily said she’s having issues. Well, she’s crazy if she thinks she can tell the world lies about me!”

  “Amber, stop talking. Everything you say can be used against you—”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why, Harry? Are you going to tell them what I say?” She looked around, turning until she faced the window. “Or are they watching?” She walked to the darkened glass and turned back. “Are you in here as my brother or an agent?”

  “I’m both, but I’m in here right now as your brother. I’m telling you to stop talking and get a lawyer.”

  “I have lawyers,” she said smugly. “I have lawyers, assistants, accountants. I have a whole damn company at my disposal. The stupid bureau will never get any of this to stick. I’m innocent. Sure, I was pissed when I found out that Simon was going all over the damn country trying to get his wimpy nerve up to talk to that bitch. Wouldn’t you be upset? I mean, who goes to multiple events and then doesn’t even talk to her? Ha! I loved reading that stupid book. I hope that after Simon talked to her, Rawlings beat the sh—”

  Harry stood. “Stop it! Now! Shut the fuck up and listen to yourself. Are you really that stupid? You’re in a damn interrogation room. Shut up! I’m getting Liz and getting one of your many attorneys over here. And I’ll call Mom and Mrs. Johnson. You don’t want either one of them hearing about this from some news report. In the meantime, shut up!”

  Amber crossed her arms over her chest, pressed her lips together, and continued to glare as Harry walked from the room. Instead of heading out to Liz, Harry knocked on the door to the observation room. Williams opened it, and Harry entered, falling into one of the empty chairs. Williams sat next to him where they stayed—silent—for minutes upon minutes. Finally, Harry turned and said, “I need to get her that attorney.”

  Williams nodded. “You gave her good advice, son. You can’t make her take it.” Williams handed Harry his vibrating phone.

  Taking a deep breath he walked through the crowded hallways toward the waiting area, avoiding eye contact with everyone he passed. Once there, he stood and watched as Liz paced a small area near the corner of the room. She was holding her phone with one hand, willing it to ring, and had the other arm wrapped around her stomach. “Liz?” he asked.

  Her anguish imploded as she ran towards Harry. Flinging herself against his hard chest, she sobbed. Finally, she asked, “What’s happening? I’m so glad you’re finally here.”

  He wrapped her in his arms and whispered into her hair, “I’ve been here. I didn’t have my phone on me. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know.”

  She looked up. “You’ve been here? Why? How long? What’s happening?”

  “Amber needs an attorney—”

  “No! That’s ridiculous.” Her indignation came forth with each word. “They can’t charge her with anything. She would never—”

  “They already did,” Harry said, as Liz’s head shook back and forth. Taking her face in his hands, he closed the gap. “Liz, Amber needs you to be strong. Please, call SiJo. Get someone from legal over here right away. Call public relations and get them to run some kind of defensive maneuver. This won’t be good for SiJo.”

  Liz lifted her phone, but looked back up. “SiJo? You’re worried about SiJo? What about Amber? You’re an FBI agent—do something to help her.”

  “I am, and so are you. She needs legal representation before she says something that she can’t retract.”

  Liz lifted one finger as she spoke into her phone. When she was done, she looked back at Harry. “They’re on their way. Can I see her? Have you seen her?”

  “I’ve seen her, but you can’t.”

  “You don’t want me to see her or I can’t?”

  “Both. We can’t do any more here. Let’s go home.”

  She planted her feet. “Home? I can’t leave her. She’s my best friend, and she’s my boss. I won’t just leave her.”

  Harry forced a grin and placed a kiss on her forehead. “I love your stubborn streak, but now isn’t the time. Fine, we can wait until legal arrives, but then we’re leaving.”

  “Harry, you know that Amber wouldn’t do what they’re saying…”

  He placed his finger over her lips. “Stop talking about it. We’re in a police station. Both you and Amber need to just stop talking.”

  As they sat in the plastic chairs and waited, exhaustion as Harry had never felt before filled his being. His temples throbbed at the thoughts going through his head. He needed to call his mother. He needed to call Simon’s mother. He needed to file a report about his non-interrogation. None of that, though, was what he wanted to do. Harry wanted to climb into his bed and not come out for days. He wanted to pretend that everything was all right. He wanted to go back in time to when Simon was
alive… no, farther back than that, back to when Ilona told him she was pregnant.

  Harry closed his eyes and squeezed Liz’s shoulder. She had her head resting against him. It would be so easy to lay his head on hers… and try to forget.

  Love is not a feeling of happiness. Love is a willingness to sacrifice.

  —Michael Novak

  “I hate winter,” Tony stated, as he stared out the large pane of glass in Jim’s office.

  “Have you always hated winter?”

  Tony glared. It didn’t seem to matter how many times he said that he hated the questions, that was all Jim seemed to know how to do. “No, I didn’t hate it. I never noticed it.”

  “Didn’t you live in Iowa?”

  “I do live in Iowa. This,” he said, gesturing with his arm, “isn’t living.”

  Jim grinned. “All right, so you live in Iowa and never noticed winter?”

  Tony turned back toward the snow-covered terrain. The colorful flowers he’d helped plant and the green grass he’d helped mow were now covered in a thick blanket of white. He noted how the sidewalks that he’d shoveled only a few hours ago held an inch or two of new accumulation. Damn, when he got out of this hellhole, he swore he’d never lift another snow shovel. Honestly, he’d probably never mow a blade of grass either, but if Claire wanted help in the gardens, he was more than willing to do that. The sound of Jim’s exaggerated throat clearing reminded Tony about their conversation. Was it a conversation? It was therapy, but for the past eighteen months it was the closest thing that he’d had to conversation, other than when he had visitors.

  “Iowa has winter,” Tony replied. “There’s snow and shit, but I was always so busy I never paid any attention. I spent most of my time working or traveling. The weather was irrelevant.”

  “So you didn’t spend much time outside?”

  Tony shrugged, walked to the chair, and sat. “Not until Claire.” It was easier talking about her than it used to be. As long as they stayed away from the shit in the damn book and concentrated on their second chance, Tony actually enjoyed the walks down memory lane. Sure, they made him sad, but life was sad and Yankton sucked. If he was going to be down anyway, it might as well be while thinking about Claire.

  “Tell me what you and she would do outside.”

  Tony closed his eyes as his cheeks rose. The grin felt nice. “She liked to walk in the woods. We have acres and acres of land covered with trees. I’d lived there for about fifteen years before she came to the estate—”

  “Anthony,” Jim interrupted. “Honesty. Did Claire come to the estate?”

  Tony sighed and began again. “I’d lived there for about fifteen years before I brought Claire to the estate.” He opened his eyes to see Jim nodding. “I’d never ventured out into the woods. I didn’t want to. I’d surveyed the land from a helicopter after I’d purchased it. That was my only real knowledge of what lay behind the trees. I knew she liked to be outside. One time, while I was out of town, she started going out into the woods, not for hours but for entire days.”

  “How did you feel about her being gone all day?”

  “I didn’t like it. At first, I was confused. I was overseas and when I’d check the surveillance feed from her suite, I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t there. I called and was told she was out walking. Later, I found where she left the yard every day. It was the same place, but I couldn’t see where she went. All I could do is fast forward until she returned.”

  “How did that make you feel, to not know where she was?”

  “Stop asking me that! I’m talking. I’m answering your damn question about being outside.”

  “You’re an intelligent man. I believe you can multitask. Try answering both questions at the same time.”

  Tony shifted in his seat and let out an exasperated sigh. “When I didn’t know where she was, I was upset, and I was worried…” Jim started to talk, but Tony spoke over him. “I was worried that she might try to leave. She was gone all day long. There’s a highway about another mile west of the lake. What if she kept walking and made it to the highway?” He looked again at Jim and shrugged. “But she didn’t. I didn’t even know she was at the lake until I got home and questioned her. And I was happy that she was honest with me,” he added with a feigned grin. “Later, after we were married, she took me there. The first time was during a snowstorm. We got there on cross-country skis. I felt cold.” This time his grin was real. “But not really. She was so excited, talking about the way everything looked in the summertime. She talked about flowers, trees, insects, and animals. I’d never realized all of that was just outside of my door. We went back in the summer, too.”

  Tony stood again and walked to the window. “That’s why I’m not selling the estate. She loves that lake and the grounds too much.”

  “What about your house.”

  “I told you, I’m having it demolished.”

  “Anthony, we discussed this. You’re not in the right frame of mind to make that kind of decision.”

  “Are you telling me that I can’t have my own house torn down?”

  Jim stood, walked closer, and leaned against the wall. “No, I’m suggesting that you wait and think this through.”

  “I guarantee I’ve thought it through. I have nothing else here to do here but think. I’ve thought about it until I don’t want to think anymore. Other than a few personal items… and a painting… it can all go.” He emphasized, “I want it gone.”

  “And you get what you want.”

  “I used to.”

  “Anthony, you’re grasping at anything to give you a sense of control. Demolishing your home is a way for you to rid yourself of the past. It isn’t that easy. If it were, there would hardly be a home that stood for more than ten years. Hell, most wouldn’t stand that long.”

  “I know the past won’t go away. I don’t want it all to go away—just some of it.”

  “You’ve made progress, even if you don’t see it. I see it.”

  Tony turned toward him. “Being complacent and putting up with the shit here doesn’t mean I’ve made progress. It means I don’t have a choice. I’m not going to be this person when I get out of here. I can’t.”

  Jim nodded. “I agree with you. When you’re out of here, you won’t be the man you are in here: you also won’t be the man you were before.”

  “I sure as hell plan on it.”

  “How did prison change Claire?”

  Tony couldn’t help the grin. “It made her bold and cheeky.”

  “It did?” Jim asked.

  “Yes. She was something else. I’ve never had anyone talk to me the w—”

  “Is prison making you bolder?”

  The spark left his dark eyes. “I’d say no, but I plan on being that way again after I’m out.”

  “Why do you think prison made her bolder?”

  Tony ran his hand through his hair. “Because it did. I told you. She was so much spunkier. Damn,” he said reminiscing, “I loved her retorts.”

  “What was she like before you kidnapped her?”

  Tony stared.

  “Think about that Anthony: how many times has Claire been in prison? Which time changed her the most? Could the personality that you enjoyed so much be her true personality, not the one you experienced after you kidnapped her?’

  “I don’t fuck’n know. She was different the first time she came—was brought to the estate. At the time it was what I thought I wanted.” Tony sighed. “I liked the control.” His eyes changed from dull to bright. “But not as much as I enjoyed her later. I guess I knew that she was behaving the way I wanted her to. Hell, she even said what I wanted.”

  “And if she didn’t.”

  Tony shrugged. “It’s like here. You do what you’re supposed to do, what you need to do, or else.”

  “Else?”

  “There are consequences.”

  “Anthony, I know that reading Meredith Banks’ book was difficult for you, but can you see how simila
r your situations are?”

  “I don’t like to think about it.”

  “Tell me one benefit of being here, at Yankton.”

  Tony muffled a laugh. “There isn’t one benefit to being here.”

  Jim shrugged. “Some people might disagree. I mean there are plenty of repeat felons. There must be something that’s appealing.”

  “What? A roof over your head and three square meals a day? I have that at home in Iowa, where I live.”

  “You do, but that’s a good start. How has your job stress been?”

  “What fuck’n job stress? Tim and Patricia keep me updated, but I can’t watch the stocks like I used to, I’m not involved with day-to-day decisions. Maybe you’re talking about my job here?” He tilted his head toward the window. “I’m pretty pissed off about the new snow that’s fallen. I just had that fuck’n sidewalk cleared.”

  “So, benefit number one, food and shelter. Benefit number two, less stress.”

  “If you’re going there, be more specific,” Tony corrected. “Less job stress. This place has plenty of other stress.”

  “All right, give me two of those stressors in this place.”

  Tony didn’t need to think about his answer. “The damn counts. I hate that, and being told what to do and when to do it. Nothing, none of your so-called benefits outweighs that.”

  “So what would make you come back here?”

  Tony squared his shoulders. “Nothing. Not one damn thing.”

  “Interesting.” Jim moved back to his chair and leaned back. “So what if it changed? What if you could come back, still get the benefits, but the stressors were less?”

  “Not interested.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “The counts, the shit, it would always be here. I’d still remember it.”