Behind His Eyes - Convicted: The Missing Years (19 page)

Her eyes diverted to her food. “It did sound sexist. If I wanted that, I could do both.”

“If?” His alcohol-infused mind had no idea of the dangerous road he was maneuvering. Her shoulders squared, reminding Tony of Claire when she was about to tell him a piece of her mind. However, instead of stern, Patricia sounded sad.

“I mean, I’m not too old… but… you know what they say?”

Tony looked at her questioningly.

“All the good ones are taken.”

The food and wine helped lift a layer of grayness. He chuckled, “I thought you were going to say the good ones were gay.”

“No, I’m extremely confident that isn’t the case,” she murmured as she ate another bite of pasta.

As the last morsel of noodle was consumed, Tony’s phone buzzed. “Excuse me. With all that’s going down, I hate to miss any messages.”

Patricia nodded.

It was a text, from Brent.

“I JUST HEARD FROM EVERGREEN AND WANT TO REVIEW THIS PLEA AGREEMENT WITH YOU. WHERE ARE YOU? CAN ERIC DRIVE YOU?”

Tony wanted to take issue with his last comment, but truth be told, he shouldn’t drive. The pasta had helped to lower his blood-alcohol level, but not enough. He replied.

“I’M AT THE OFFICE. I SENT ERIC HOME FOR THE NIGHT. I CAN DRIVE, BUT PROBABLY SHOULDN’T. A DUI WOULDN’T BE GOOD FOR MY REPUTATION.”

See, he thought, I still have a sense of humor.

“I’LL BE THERE IN FIFTEEN MINUTES. DO YOU NEED FOOD?”

“NO. I JUST ATE—REALLY. JUST COME HERE.”

“SEE YOU IN FIFTEEN.”

Tony looked up to Patricia’s doe eyes.

“It’s none of my business,” she began, “but you were grinning. Was that good news?”

“Probably not. I’ll find out soon enough. Brent’s on his way here to discuss the plea agreement.”

“Oh,” she sounded sad. “I should go.”

Tony nodded. “Thanks again for the food and wine… can
you
drive?”

“I’ll be fine. Two glasses of wine with a meal, no big deal.”

He smiled again. “I don’t think that’s a real saying.”

Shrugging, Patricia gathered the containers and the wine. “I’ll leave this in my office, just in case you run out of whiskey.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, big meeting first thing.”

“I’ll be there Mr.—I mean, Anthony. You can count on me.”

Fifteen minutes later, Brent walked through the open door. “So,” he motioned toward the couch. “Is this your new bed? I told you to come to my house. You would have saved me a drive, and Courtney’s one hell of a cook. She wouldn’t let you drink your dinner.”

“You’re getting damn pushy, and I didn’t drink my dinner. That was my hors d’oeuvres. Patricia brought me some pasta.”

“Good. I’d like you thinking straight while we discuss this. Once you agree, there’s no turning back.” Brent threw the envelope on the table. “Afterward, I’ll join you for a drink.”

“Is it that bad?”

Brent shrugged. “I’m not a fan of any of it. I still would rather that you plead not guilty. There’s enough circumstantial—”

“No. I’m not doing that. Then I’d be taking a chance on a jury and who knows how long it would all take. I want to do this and pay my debt. I want to come clean. For the first fuck’n time in my life, I want to do the right thing.”

“Tony, that’s not true. Don’t get me wrong: you’ve done some messed-up shit, but you’ve done good things too. Don’t be a martyr.”

“I’m hardly a martyr. I’m not doing this to save anyone but myself. I already confessed this shit to the FBI. I can’t live with the idea that one day, when I have my family back, there’ll be a knock on the door and my world will crash in around me. I’m laying my cards on the table and cashing in my chips. Tell me what kind of deal you and Evergreen came up with so that I can get out of prison sooner rather than later.”

As Brent sat and opened the envelope, his tired eyes swirled with emotion. “I sat in on Catherine’s arraignment this afternoon. She’s been charged with seven counts of murder. There isn’t enough evidence yet with the Rawlings’ plane to incriminate her.”

“She fuck’n admitted it to me in my office—it’s on tape.”

“She implied it. There wasn’t an explicit confession. Now she’s claiming total innocence.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you sure we should wait on that drink?”

Brent shrugged. “Do you have anything less strong than the Johnny Walker? I’d rather save that for later.”

Tony’s dark eyes widened. “As a matter of fact I do. Wine?”

“All these years and I never knew you were running a damn liquor store in here.”

Tony left the office and returned with Patricia’s bottle of wine. “Might as well finish this off.” As he poured, Tony asked, “Seven? Did they list names?”

“Yes, Nathaniel Rawls, Samuel and Amanda Rawls, Sherman Nichols, Jordon and Shirley Nichols, and Allison Burke Bradley.”

Tony lowered his head to the table and wearily lifted it back up. “That’s the better part of Nichol’s family tree.”

Brent nodded.

“Those names go way back.”

“There’s no statute of limitation on murder.”

“She didn’t personally… I mean other than Nathaniel and my parents… right?”

“Murder for hire resulting in death carries the same penalty as murder.”

“Will they be able to prove it? That she was involved?”

“I’m not privy to all the information. From what I’ve gleaned, the FBI has extensive research connecting the cases with the poison that she used.” Brent took a drink. “There’s more.”

“More charges? Are we still talking about Catherine?”

“Yes, we’ll get to you later. They’re also charging her with attempted murder—four counts.”

Tony’s brows rose. “Maybe I’ve drunk too much. There’s John and Emily. Who else did she try to murder, but fail?”

“From the video, there’s evidence of her pointing the gun at Claire.”

“All right, that makes three…”

Brent leaned forward. “You, Tony. She poisoned
you
. She’s claiming you knew all about it, but Evergreen is fighting her on it. He didn’t like being played, with your accusations against Claire and then your public change of heart and recantation. It made him look bad. Charging her puts an end to that case forever. You had that same unique poison in your system. He’s running with it.”

Tony collapsed against the chair. “Will I need to testify?”

“Would you perjure yourself?”

“I don’t want to. But then again, I want her to rot.”

Brent swallowed the deep red liquid from his crystal tumbler. “I recommend that you stick to your original testimony. You didn’t know anything other than drinking the coffee and waking up.”

Tony nodded.

“The press is calling her a serial killer.”

“Who else was at the arraignment?”

“They barred the press, but people with a connection were given special dispensation.”

Tony peered over the rim of the tumbler before he drank, and said, “The Vandersols were there, weren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“What about Cindy? I haven’t spoken to her since she’s learned the truth.”

“She’s pretty broken up. We’re trying to work something out with her to avoid a civil case. I mean you’ve taken care of her for years.”

Tony looked down. “I thought we were, but she did work. It’s not like we just let her live at the estate.”

“She was paid, had a roof over her head, and her education was being paid for. So she served food and cleaned. It was a hell of a lot better than what would have happened to her had you not stepped in after the death of her parents.”

Tony shook his head. “Yes, which sounds great, with one exception: her parents died because of us.”

“Let’s talk about that.”

Each player must accept the cards life deals him or her: but once they are in hand, he or she alone must decide how to play the cards in order to win the game.

—Voltaire

My Life as It Didn’t Appear: Chapter 4…

Like an obedient child, I listened to the rules and there were many. The most important one was to do as I was told. Truly, that was all encompassing. There were rules regarding attire—no underwear. My boundaries were defined. I could roam the house as long as I didn’t enter the corridor of Anthony’s office or suite without his permission or summons. Those rooms held the means to contact the outside world, and I was forbidden to communicate with anyone but him and his staff. Most days I had to myself, unless otherwise informed by Anthony or Kate. I could wake when I wanted, work out in the gym and swim in the indoor pool, watch movies in the theater room, or read in the library. Each evening at 5:00 PM I was required to be in my suite and await the evening’s instructions.

During the day my options were many and few. My cell had grown larger, but it was still a cell. Each glance outside my windows reminded me that I was trapped inside the walls of the mansion. Spring had arrived to Iowa, bringing longer days and life where only gray and dormancy had resided. The dead trees showed faint shades of color as buds formed and turned to lush green leaves. I longed for the freedom of walking outside, the ability to go to a store or a restaurant. I had designer clothes and luxurious surroundings, yet I desired what others took for granted. I craved the mundane life I’d lost.

My job duties were defined broadly. For lack of a better word, I was forced to become Anthony Rawlings’ whore. My existence and presence was for one purpose: to please him. If he didn’t want or have time for me, I was left in my suite, like a doll left on the shelf. If he wanted me, I was required to accommodate. The word no had been removed from my vocabulary.

During the days I’d assure myself that I had choices. The evenings and nights convinced me otherwise. Failure was not an option. That was not only something that Anthony liked to say: it was the truth. Failure had consequences—some very painful and demeaning consequences.

My first punishment was when I was late returning to his office. I quickly learned that displeasing him was not something that I wanted to do. I believe that fear of seeing the darkness arise behind his eyes was the true key to my captivity. I’d thought I’d seen the depth of his rage—I hadn’t yet—and I knew I didn’t want to see it again. If I disobeyed, ran through the grand doors and made it into the trees, yet failed to find freedom, I knew that my punishment would be severe. That didn’t need to be spelled out for me.

I’d been at his estate for nearly a month when I was awakened by a member of the staff and told that Mr. Rawlings was working from home, and I was to be in his office by 10:00 AM. It wasn’t that I didn’t usually wake by that time, but I’d developed a routine, and I wasn’t always showered and dressed. Of course, I did as I was told, yet as I prepared for my day, each decision was monumental. Usually during the day I dressed casually. If I were to see Anthony at night, Kate informed me what he wanted me to wear.

My first, mid-week summons to his office was a new, daunting assignment. I debated everything. Finally, deciding upon a pair of slacks, silk blouse, and high heels—because other than workout shoes, that was my only option—I arrived at his office door with minutes to spare. I’d been in his office on the occasional Sunday afternoon for lunch, but other than my first time in the regal room, I’d never been called there and required to fulfill my new duties. With each step down the grand stairs and along the marble corridor, I knew this would be different. He had plans. I just didn’t know what they were.

With my hand shaking, I knocked on the door to his office. I didn’t know if it was locked, but he had a way to open it from his desk. The door opened and I entered. He was talking on the telephone and motioned for me to be quiet. Silently, I walked to his desk as the door closed by the pushing of a button. Though the temperature of the room was the same as the rest of the mansion, I felt a chill that sent shivers to my core. He was upset with the person on the other end of the line. I didn’t know or care what he was discussing, but I had learned to read him well enough to know he wasn’t happy.

For minutes upon minutes, I stood, unsure of what to do. Each second hung in the air as his eyes grew darker and he wove some trinket around the fingers and knuckles of his other hand. It was the first time I saw this habit—one of his only nervous habits. I’d later consider it the rumble of thunder, warning of an impending storm.