In regard to the alleged incident, Mr. Anthony Rawlings has been charged with intimidation, eluding federal agents, assault with the intent to commit bodily harm, two counts of false imprisonment, and accessory to commit murder. Mrs. Claire Rawlings has been charged with attempted murder. The alleged victim was identified as Ms. Catherine London, a longtime employee of Anthony Rawlings. She is still hospitalized with non-life-threatening injuries, said to be the result of a single gunshot.
The motive for the return of this high-profile couple, as well as the motive for the alleged crime, has not been disclosed.
The door bounced off the wall as Agent Baldwin determinedly entered SAC William’s office in the San Francisco FBI field office. Indignantly, Agent Williams looked up, disgust evident in his expression. “Baldwin, I assume your entry is in relation to your resignation.”
“Sir,” Harry managed through gritted teeth. “The Associated Press? I devote over a year of my life and career to a case, and I learn that Rawlings and Claire have been arrested in Iowa from the Associated Press?”
“It’s no longer your concern.”
“That’s bullshit,” Harry replied as he threw the printed press release on Agent Williams’ desk. “I know I was no longer their contact, but you know I have a personal interest in this case.”
Agent Williams pressed his lips together, deliberating his response. After a prolonged, uncomfortable silence he said, “Yes, Agent, I’m well aware of your personal connection, as are many others. That does not give you the right to barge into my office or to demand information. Do I need to remind you of your position within the FBI?”
“Sir, my reviews have been outstanding since leaving the Rawlings case. I just want to know what the FBI has done for the Rawlings.”
“You just… really, Agent? Would you like me to perhaps log you into their private files?”
Harry shifted his footing. That was what he wanted. The last few times he’d tried to access anything, even from within the bureau, his access had been denied. There were ways to access cases through backdoors, but there was always the possibility that such digging could set off alarms and alert others to his activities. Harry cleared his throat and said, “I know I screwed it up—I screwed it all up—but that doesn’t negate the fact that I know this case backward and forward. I know that Claire said she was running from Catherine London. She believed that the woman was a threat to her, her child, and even to Rawlings. Ms. London scared Claire enough to force her to disappear. Now Claire’s been charged with attempting to murder the woman. Sir, surely you see that somehow this all came to a head. Right now, everything I’ve read makes Ms. London out to be a saintly, kind woman who’s been victimized by Claire and Rawlings. Before I left the case, I heard audio of Rawlings’ confessions. Everything he confessed to doing was in conjunction with London. We can’t sit back and let those local-yokels prosecute either of them without coming forward with our information.”
SAC Williams shook his head. “Son, this case has moved past you and even me. What the FBI reveals is not up to either one of us.” He leaned forward. “However, I will say, it’s refreshing to have you speak about testifying for both of them. If nothing else, you’ve made personal growth. That may temper my response to the insubordinate way you entered my office.” He motioned to a chair. “Have a seat. I have the feeling you know more than you’ve let on.”
Harry exhaled and sat facing the SAC. He stretched his long jean-covered legs out before him. Being between assignments, Agent Baldwin was currently working daily at the San Francisco field office and living in Palo Alto. “I may have done some more research in my spare time.”
“Perhaps the bureau isn’t monopolizing enough of your time. We can always use more desk jockeys if research is your new forte.”
Ignoring his comment, Harry continued, “It didn’t and it still doesn’t make sense. I’m not talking about Claire. I may still believe that her decision to go back to that ass—I mean man—was a bad and possibly dangerous move, but that isn’t what’s been eating at me and keeping me awake at night.”
“Go on.”
“I’ve listened to Rawlings’ confessions over and over. The evidence doesn’t match his statements.”
“I’m listening.”
“Sir, will this go any further? You said the case is beyond both of us. Will what I tell you make a difference?”
“Let me be the one to decide that. You obviously believe you know something. What is it?”
Harry looked down momentarily before bringing his bright blue eyes back to the SAC. “If you decide to take this beyond this office, and if it’s possible, I’d like to be officially back on the case.”
SAC Williams didn’t verbally reply; instead, he nodded. It wasn’t a promise but it wasn’t a refusal. It was a spark that gave Harry the fuel to share his research and intuition. Harry began, describing in extensive detail Tony’s confession: his claim to have paid someone to sabotage Simon’s plane.
“Rawlings couldn’t say how the transaction worked, other than that he initiated contact with someone who took his money and promised results. A few weeks later, Simon’s plane crashed. To Rawlings the transaction was complete. It’s rather narcissistic of Rawlings to believe he had that power, but I guess not surprising. What bothers me was the NTSB’s final analysis of Simon’s plane.”
Williams lifted his brows, wanting Baldwin to continue.
“The NTSB didn’t find any evidence of tampering.”
“Why was this not discussed earlier?”
“I didn’t bring it up…” Harry confessed “…because I wanted to see his ass rot in prison for what he did. I didn’t care if it made sense or not. The man paid to have my best friend’s plane sabotaged. Simon Johnson wasn’t only my friend: he was my sister’s fiancé. He was a good man who didn’t deserve to have a hit put out on him simply because he wanted to close part of his life before he moved on to the next. I also hated what Rawlings did to Claire. So, even though I knew the evidence didn’t fit, I was happy with Rawlings’ confession.”
“What changed?”
“I’ve done some messed-up things in my life. My priorities have been skewed, but every time that happened, it was in favor of the bureau. I gave up the rights to my daughter. I told Ilona, and myself, that I did it to keep them safe. I’ve backed away from commitment with Liz and anyone else because I never know where my next assignment will lead or if I’ll come home. Again, I’ve told her it’s for her. I don’t want to leave her hanging for months or years on end. While all of that is true, it isn’t the full truth. Can I assume that you know what I mean?”
SAC Williams nodded. “Yes, son, the day we take that oath we’re all married, and the FBI is a bitch of a wife. She demands all of your attention.”
Harry’s lips formed a straight line. His characteristic grin and blue-eyed smirk disappeared behind his solemn expression. “I agree. The FBI is my other half, and I can’t ignore that the bureau stands for something other than revenge. I chose to give up my life to uphold the laws of this land. It’s more than that. I believe in that oath that I took years ago. That doesn’t mean I didn’t screw it—figuratively and literally,” he added with a slight upward turn of his lips, “but I can’t sit back and watch a man take the blame for a crime he didn’t commit. Don’t get me wrong: Rawlings is guilty. He hired someone with the intent of ending Simon Johnson’s life, which is conspiracy to commit murder. But in this case, it was just that—conspiracy. Simon’s death did not result from a sabotaged plane. In my opinion, his crash was related to an overdose or perhaps a poisoning. I’m not sure.”
SAC William’s brows furrowed. “You’re not sure. You construct this entire story and end with I’m not sure?”
“I don’t know if it was accidental or if it was intentional. I don’t believe Simon would’ve intentionally taken a medication to which he had a sensitivity. Perhaps it was an ingredient of another medication? I don’t know.”
“What are you
saying?”
“Although Simon’s body was badly burned, I was able to order an analysis of his tissue remains.” When the SAC’s expression changed, Harry added, “I ordered the tests while I was on the case. It took a while for the results. Honestly, I was expecting to find actaea pachypoda. More than expecting—I wanted to find it. If I had, it would’ve confirmed Rawlings’ connection.”
“I should’ve been notified if actaea pachypoda was found.”
“You weren’t notified, because it wasn’t found,” Harry admitted.
“What did you find?”
“The only unusual marker was a normal-high level of diphenhydramine.”
“Normal-high? What does that mean?”
“Simon had 17.5 micrograms/liter of diphenhydramine in his tissues. A lethal dose isn’t obtained until over 19.5 mg/L. Simon’s dose was high, but not out of the normal range.”
“Why is this worth my time or the bureau’s?”
“Because, sir, according to Simon’s mother, he had an unusually high sensitivity to diphenhydramine.”
“Benadryl,” Williams said.
“Yes, Benadryl, which is available at every drugstore and convenience mart throughout the country. Mrs. Johnson said that it was nothing new. It’s something Simon dealt with since a small child. He knew how to avoid it. Just a little Benadryl would make him incredibly sleepy. Mrs. Johnson vehemently swore that Simon would never knowingly consume Benadryl or any medication containing Benadryl, like Tylenol PM, prior to flying. I’d have to agree. Simon was very conscientious. He had his whole life ahead of him. Unfortunately, I was away on assignment when he died, but I was around when he proposed. Amber was ecstatic and so was Simon. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Let me get this straight: you want to reopen this closed case because Mr. Johnson’s plane was not tampered with and he had an unusually high sensitivity to the only foreign substance found in his body. Do you believe that he was poisoned?”
Harry contemplated his answer. “Do I believe? I don’t have enough information to believe or disbelieve. I’ve been taught to look at information objectively. Objectively, I have more questions than answers. Another piece of the puzzle that doesn’t fit, in my opinion, was my attack and the threat against Jillian. I mean, Rawlings was with Claire. It wasn’t very much later that he confessed to conspiracy. Why would he have me attacked and threaten my daughter? How would he even know about her? That was the point of what I did when I chose the bureau over parenthood. I wanted to separate that part of my life and assure her safety. I know Rawlings has money, and initially that’s what I told myself. I said he paid to get all the information he could on me. I believed he saw me as a threat. Even I don’t believe that anymore. I was no more a threat to him and his relationship with Claire than her bodyguard was, especially in his eyes. He’s too egotistical to see anyone as a threat. People like him believe they own the other person. No one belonged with Claire but him—he didn’t care enough about me to threaten my family. I believe someone wanted to stop my research. I just don’t know who that someone could be.”
“Are you insinuating a mole? Here in the bureau?”
Harry chewed his cheek for a second while his blue eyes looked down and then back up again. “How many people here at the bureau know about my daughter?”
Williams leaned back and contemplated the question. “Prior to your attack, only myself and the deputy director.”
“I suppose it’s your call, if you feel an internal investigation is needed—”
“Son, who outside of the bureau knows about your ex-wife and daughter?”
“No one knows. They’re no longer part of who I am. I have no past.”
“Everyone has a past.”
Harry mulled the SAC’s last comment over in his thoughts. “Sir, that’s what I know. I also know that we had a deal with Rawlings. I knew about it, you knew about it, and the Boston field office was in on it. The FBI may be a demanding wife, but she doesn’t go back on her word.”
“That’s very upstanding of you. Again, it isn’t your call.”
“May I travel to Iowa?”
“As an agent or a private citizen?”
All moisture disappeared from Harry’s mouth; his tongue suddenly became thick. “Are you saying that if I go to Iowa, I’m no longer a part of the FBI?”
“No, unless you entered this office with the intention of resigning?”
“I didn’t, sir.”
“If you choose, as a friend of the Vandersols, to take a few days of leave and visit Iowa, I won’t try to stop you. However, if you use your position in the FBI with the local authorities or anyone else while there, you will be subject to disciplinary action. The call is yours. This case almost cost you your badge. Consider your options and tread lightly.”
“Hypothetically, if I go to Iowa, as a friend of the Vandersols, and I learn anything particularly useful, may I share it with you?”
“I don’t see any violation in that.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Agent, never enter my office with that attitude again. I don’t care what bone you have to pick with me.”
“Yes, sir, I apologize. Will you take my concerns to the deputy director?”
“Put in for your leave, son. We’ll talk when you return.”
“Yes, sir.”
THE SCRUMPTIOUS AROMA of garlic and the light rhythm of jazz overpowered Harry’s senses and loosened the tension as he entered his condominium in Palo Alto. Walking quietly toward the kitchen, he stopped and gazed toward the stove, more specifically toward the woman unaware of his presence. Her hot black skirt, long tanned legs, and bare feet could make him forget everything else that he’d endured throughout his day. Still unaware of his voyeurism, Liz stood near the stove swaying rhythmically to the music coming from her phone, her attention monopolized by the amazing Italian sauce in the pan. He watched as she’d stir, taste, and hum. Quietly, he stepped behind her, wrapped his arms gently around her waist, and planted a kiss at the base of her neck.
Jumping, she shrieked, “Hey!” Immediately, the stovetop was dotted in a rain of tomato sauce. Turning into his embrace, she chided, “Look what you made me do.”
“Hey, yourself,” Harry chuckled. “I know what I’d like you to do.” His finger swept across the stainless stovetop swiping sauce in its wake. Placing his red-coated finger between his lips, he tasted her delicious concoction. “Hmm, this is good.”
“Good?” Her lower lip pushed forward in a feigned pout.
“Hmm…” He nuzzled her neck. “…yes, good.”
“I’ve been cooking for hours and all I get is good?”
“Well,” Harry teased, “all things are relative. The sauce is good. This…” His lips once again found the soft skin above her collarbone, each kiss dipping lower and lower along the scooped neckline of her blouse. “…is delectable.”
“Oh?”
“Do you doubt me?” He asked as his bright, innocent eyes met hers and his thumb found the roundness of her breast. “I’m fairly confident that as delicious as your neck is, under this blouse…” He ran his hand over the firmness of her behind searching for a zipper on her skirt “…and under this skirt, it’s even better.”
The spoon which had commanded Liz’s attention now lay on the tomato-splattered stovetop as her head fell back, giving Harry better access to her exposed skin. As his hands wandered, she said breathily, “I think I may see where you’re going with this.”
Turning off the stove, Harry tugged on Liz’s hand and pulled her toward their bedroom. “I think I’m suddenly famished.”
Caressing the hardness in his jeans, Liz giggled. “Maybe I’m the one who’s hungry?”
“I like the way that sounds.”
“B-but,” she stuttered, putting on the breaks. “Amber and Keaton are coming to dinner tonight.”
Lowering her to their soft bed, Harry watched her golden hair fan behind her blushed cheeks. “Let’s cancel. I like the idea of our
own private dinner.”
Liz looked over at the clock, her blouse now untucked and her bra exposed. “They’ll be here in a half an hour.”
“I’d rather take longer,” Harry said. “But I’m never against fast food.”
Liz playfully hit his shoulder. “You’re crude. I need to finish dinner.” Standing and adjusting her clothing, she added, “Besides, if I’m the dinner, I’d rather be a three-course meal. I’m not fast food.”
Harry lay alone on their bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Then let’s change places. I’m all right with being the meal, and I’m pretty sure I can do fast, if necessary.”
Liz laughed as she threw a pillow his direction. “Sorry, buddy. Besides, I love your being between assignments. We have plenty of time for all the dining you want.” Looking at his exaggerated pout, she said, “Just wait until after they leave.”
“Fine, I can wait, I suppose.”
“You don’t have a choice. I still need to set the table and make the salad.”
Propping himself up on his elbows, Harry said, “If I help with dinner, can I make reservations for later?”
Shaking her head, she walked back toward the kitchen.
The conversation flowed light and easy as Amber and Liz talked about SiJo, and Harry and Keaton discussed their predictions for the upcoming basketball tournament. It wasn’t until Amber kicked Harry under the table that he even listened to his sister’s question. “Why didn’t you tell her? I’ve been dying to say something all day. Liz, I can’t believe you haven’t seen the news,”
Harry searched from Amber to Liz. “Well, you see, sis, I just got home and, well, we had better things to do than talk about the latest news.” He took a bite of garlic bread and smiled a toothy grin. “We were kind of busy.”
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