Truth (14 page)

Focused on her light jacket in the hall
closet she stepped into the living room. The swirl of emotions
combined with her pounding head and queasy stomach stymied her
footsteps. She became mesmerized by the tall floor to ceiling
windows. Flooding the luxurious room were hues of red and orange;
the panoramic expanse radiated colors of the setting sun as it
reflected off the purple haze covered mountains. Momentarily she
became awestruck by the beautiful view.

Amber switched on the lights, filling the
room with sudden brilliance and taking away the outside. Claire
turned from the now dark window back to reality, which now included
the glare of her roommate, accompanied by an unfamiliar angry tone,
“Don’t you get mad?”

Claire stared at Amber’s expression. She’d
met more intimidating expressions before. Slowly she responded,
“Yes, I get mad.” Nonetheless, her true emotion remained concealed
by her calm tone.

“
Then show it!” An eternal
silence pursued. Eventually, Amber huffed and returned to the
kitchen.

The sound of cabinets closing too loudly
declared Amber’s ability to show her emotion. Claire knew she
should talk – she had no idea what to say. So instead, she reached
for her jacket, grabbed her purse, and walked out the front
door.

Palo Alto had many small cafés on University
Boulevard, only a short walk from their condo. Most were open
during the early hours, with all kinds of delicious coffee. While
many of these establishments closed their doors in the evening,
other street fronts brightened with dining choices as the sky
darkened and the lights of the city came to life. When she opened
the door and walked from the brightly lit foyer of their building,
the cool dusk air hit her face. The street lights illuminated the
sidewalk, and people hustled along the pathway. Suddenly, Claire
realized it was Saturday night.

She didn’t want to go to a real restaurant.
She didn’t want to sit and watch happy patrons chat and eat. No,
she wanted time alone, time to sift and consider her thoughts and
feelings. Without thinking, she turned toward the northeast, away
from the setting sun and toward the water.

During her first week in Palo Alto, Harry
showed her a beautiful park along the San Francisco Bay. Perhaps
she’d lived too long on private property. Her desire for fresh air
and nature overtook concerns for the descending darkness or
abandoning side streets. With each step toward her goal, the
tension in her head and neck eased.

Could it be possible to
hate and love someone too?
Claire
wondered. The overpowering compassion back at the condo wasn’t just
for a young man in a tragic situation; it was for the young man who
grew up to become the husband she had loved. She blinked her eyes
against the breeze and remembered good times. Theirs was a heated
passion. She contemplated the man who made her hate her own
existence one moment and love it the next.

As her unconsciousness flooded with
memories, feelings stirred deep inside. Concurrently, her
consciousness screamed for her to remember his atrocities, the
cruelties which outnumbered the kindnesses. However, her heart
ached and argued -- perhaps, his positives could overtake his
negatives. After all, doesn’t everyone have a good and a bad
side?

This is why I’m not ready to face him. This
is why I can’t face anyone right now.

Claire knew her thoughts
and feelings were wrong. He’d given her every reason to hate him,
seek vengeance, and aid in his destruction.
So why was this so hard?
She tried
to push Tony back into his assigned compartment.

Her thoughts moved to Amber. Instead of
crossing Middlefield Road, Claire should be back at the condo
talking to her friend. However, after spending so much time alone
and years hiding her true emotion with Tony, Claire wasn’t
comfortable sharing her feelings.

She couldn’t control the way she felt.
Apparently her mask wearing skills were rusty.

Hopefully a walk along the shore will help
me sort out my feelings and revive my energy. Then maybe I can face
Amber. She deserves that.

*****

Parked near a four story stucco condominium
on Forest Avenue, Phillip Roach compiled his information for Mr.
Rawlings. Although Claire Nichols hadn’t used the phone with the
number he’d determined was hers since she received the calls from
Mr. Rawlings, Phil believed this was her place of residence.

In the past twenty-four hours, Phillip
learned a lot about Claire Nichols: She’d applied for her birth
certificate and social security card – all matters of public
record. She opened a bank account with a deposit of $100,000 from
an unknown source – not public record.

He also discovered, just yesterday, her
account received a life-giving infusion. Phil wasn’t the investing
type, but from his scan of the information, Claire Nichols had an
impressive investment portfolio. The notable wealth came from a
wire transfer. The originator of the transfer was an account in
Switzerland. To most people that would be the end of that
transaction. Phillips’s sources were not that easily deterred. The
monies came from a high-end gems and jewelry broker named Pulvara
operating in San Francisco. Phil planned to visit his business
Monday.

He gave Ms. Nichols credit. She’d tried to
remain under the radar, even using a post office box at the Palo
Alto Post Office. It would have worked, except the federal
government, as well as the Indiana state government, didn’t accept
P.O. Box numbers as an acceptable address to send official
documents. Ironically, Ms. Nichols adherence to domestic laws led
Phillip Roach to the corner of Forest and Gilman.

Phil wasn’t willing to relay all of this
information to Mr. Rawlings. First, he wanted to visit Mr. Pulvara
to learn more before he jumped to conclusions on her recent
windfall. Second, he wouldn’t divulge the exact address without
visual conformation. After all, she could have deceivingly listed a
friend’s address. Or perhaps, she paid someone for the use of their
mail box. Phil glanced between the large luxurious building and his
laptop, as he worked to compile a detailed report. He planned to
say he was getting closer to pin-pointing Ms. Nichols’ whereabouts
when he saw a petite brown haired woman suddenly visible through a
large window on the fourth floor. He strained to see the woman,
stories above. Yes, it looked like Claire Nichols.

Reaching for his camera with the telephoto
lens, she walked away from the plates of glass, and he lost sight
of her. Momentarily questioning his vision, he debated adding her
address to the report. Then like a gift from the surveillance gods,
Claire Nichols stepped through the front doors of the building.

Wearing a jacket to protect her from the
spring wind, the brunette turned toward the northeast. Phil watched
her bury her hands deep into the pockets of her coat. The breeze
blew back her hair, exposing her face and slender neck. Utilizing
the long telephoto lens, he zoomed in on her features. Due to the
wonders of technology his camera’s illumination element diffused
light, creating the illusion of daytime even in dusk.

Despite the brown hair, Phil’s intuition
told him this was the same woman in the photos he’d studied.
Without question, the surveillance gods had offered him Claire
Nichols. Depressing the button on his camera, multiple photos
snapped in seconds. Phil pulled his car out of the concealed
parking space and slowly eased his way along Forest Street. He
drove ahead of where she seemed to be going.

In his rearview mirror, he watched Claire
progress along the sidewalk, only feet from his newly parked car.
He snapped her photo. She clearly appeared absorbed in her
thoughts. Forcing her into his automobile would be easy, but that
wasn’t Mr. Rawlings’ request. Mr. Rawlings wanted information.

An investigator’s job was not to question.
Therefore, he would never do so aloud. Yet, internally, Phillip
Roach wondered why, if Mr. Rawlings was concerned about the woman
who reportedly tried to kill him, he only wanted facts. As Phil
observed the attractive lady his instinct told him he hadn’t been
hired to keep Mr. Rawlings safe. No, he’d been hired to report the
every move of a woman Mr. Rawlings wasn’t willing to
emancipate.

As Claire passed, Phil pretended to look
down. Once she passed, he eased out of his car, onto the sidewalk
and fell into rhythm with her steps.

Things are not always what
they seem; the first appearance deceives many.
The intelligence of a few perceives what has been carefully
hidden.
--Phaedrus

Chapter
9

Phillip Roach reread his email:

To: Anthony Rawlings

Date: March 23, 2013

Subject: Claire Nichols

From: Phillip Roach

Mr. Rawlings, due to the late hour in Iowa,
I’m emailing the information I’ve acquired thus far:

I had visual confirmation. Claire Nichols
has been located -- her address: 365 Forest Ave. Unit 4 A, Palo
Alto, California. She recently obtained a copy of her birth
certificate, social security card, and a driver’s license. She
isn’t employed. Her bank account is healthy, opened with the
deposit of a $100,000 Cashier’s check. This was traced back to a
bank in New York; it was purchased with cash. I have some top
notched associates working on this, but it seems to be a dead end.
It was purchased the week before her release.

She spent much of the original money on
necessary items: a car (2011 Honda Accord LX), clothes, personal
items, telephones, computer, etc.

Her bank account recently received another
deposit of $50,000, and she created an investment portfolio worth
near $750,000. The source of this money is still being
investigated. I hope to learn more Monday. I have confidence this
information will be obtained.

Attached are photos taken Saturday
night.

I will await your directives for continued
observance and will remain completely devoted to this case until
you instruct otherwise. Phillip Roach

Phil double checked the attachment: Multiple
photos of Claire walking along a street, the close-up views were
quite detailed. He continued to click. The numerous photos gave the
illusion of Claire Nichols literally walking down the street. He
slowed his clicks; she now sat on a park bench. Next she held an
iPhone. The conversation changed her expression – relieved,
happier. A few more views of her on the bench and then there’s
someone with her. Click, they’re talking -- the other person who
wore a jacket and baseball cap was a man. Although the hat
concealed his features, Claire’s expression suggested familiarity.
The next shot showed the two of them walking from the bench to a
waiting car. No physical contact, however both of their expressions
appeared relaxed and casual. As Phil clicked, Claire opened the
passenger door of the blue Mustang while the man opened the
driver’s. The last photo showed the license plate.

Phil smiled; satisfied
with his report and hopeful Mr. Rawlings would feel the
same.
SEND
.

*****

The cool clear water refreshed Derek Burke
as his plane descended toward Boston. Below the clouds and between
the buildings he saw sprouts of green. As April began so did spring
on the East coast. He’d been gone two weeks, making five weeks
since he and Sophia were in the same city. He knew it wasn’t either
of their preference, but after accepting Shedis-tics job offer, he
worried it’d be their future.

Relishing flying first class with wider
seats and increased leg room, Derek closed his eyes and nervously
awaited their reunion. The anticipation combined with apprehension
obscured the roar of engines. He considered Shedis-tic’s final
offer... the next time he flew from coast to coast it would be in a
private Shedis-tic’s plane. They offered him unlimited access and
ability to fly from Santa Clara to Provincetown in hours, without
the hassle of commercial flights.

The enticement package was incredibly
appealing. The salary alone was more than Derek had ever considered
requesting, and the signing bonus would alleviate most of their
debt. Sophia’s larger studio could become a reality sooner, rather
than later.

Throughout the negotiations he’d done what
he promised and called Sophia discussing each offer. When he
explained the financials and necessary living requirements, she was
on board. However, her attitude changed when he mentioned the
travel component. Not just traveling to and from the west coast,
but weeks and months traveling outside the country. It was
inferred, most of his travels would take him to the Orient, the
location of the world’s major software players. After all,
Shedis-tics didn’t expect to overcome the competition by watching
from afar.

Unfortunately, Shedis-tics required a
decision prior to his return home. With a heavy heart, Derek
accepted. The pros far outweighed the cons. His new position
officially began May 1. He prayed his wife would see why he gave
them an affirmative answer.

Imagining Sophia’s beautiful slate gray
eyes, amazing scent, and soft skin -- anticipation conquered his
apprehension.

“
Sir, you may exit the
aircraft.”

Lost in his own thoughts,
he’d completely missed the landing. Derek nodded. The attendant had
his bags ready near the door. Yes, this first class thing was nice.
And to think, this would be
slumming
compared to the Shedis-tics
private plane.

Derek took his phone out
of
airplane mode
and it immediately vibrated. As he approached the luggage
carousel, Derek read Sophia’s text message:
I HAVE A SURPRISE FOR YOU! TAKE A TAXI TO BOSTON HARBOR
HOTEL. THERE’S A PACKAGE FOR YOU AT THE FRONT DESK -- Smiley
face.