Ann pulled a postcard free from a magnet clip on the refrigerator. “She needs to be outside of press attention entirely until she has her bearings back. I’m thinking I call Greg Tate.”
Paul considered that solution and found it an interesting one on so many levels. “That works, provided we can conceal her travel itinerary.”
“I can fly her down and be back in forty-eight hours. Tell people I’m on a Christmas shopping trip—I’ll find something I can buy and wrap while I’m there.”
He smiled, knowing how she disliked shopping. “I’ll come up with something better than that to cover your absence, but it makes sense for you to provide the transportation. Call Greg and see what he says. I’ll give Yancey a call, put her on standby in case Janelle needs someone with her full-time as these first days unfold. Then we’ll take the dog for an abbreviated walk and get on the road.”
Ann nodded and picked up the phone to call an old friend.
five
FOR A THIRD TIME THE WARDEN flipped pages of the pardon packet addressed to his attention. “It’s a first in my career, I’ll give you that. What do you need first?”
Paul purposefully stretched out his legs in a very uncomfortable visitor’s chair, well accustomed to the realities of the Illinois prison system. “We’d like to have a private conversation with her—in the chapel if possible. We’ll need some time, probably a couple of hours. She’ll be accompanying us when we leave.”
“The chapel is no problem, nor her being signed out through the system. Her possessions are going to fit in a couple of boxes, so packing will be quick enough. Her IDs will have expired, driver’s license and such, but her medical records here are current. I’ll have them pulled.”
“She will likely want to say farewell to a friend or two,” Ann put in. “If we limit the number of names she provides, can that be arranged for the chapel as well?”
“Depending on the persons, we’ll try to accommodate you,” the warden agreed. He turned back to Paul, studying him with interest. “The head of the Chicago FBI delivers papers like this in person, it suggests there is something beyond just ‘new evidence’ and ‘miscarriage of justice’ cited by the governor in the pardon. Anything else you can tell me?”
Paul smiled easily. “There’s a need to keep news of the pardon away from the press until we’ve secured her safety, as a murderer is about to realize the person framed is now free. The FBI is assisting since the murder weapon has come into our possession. And we also have a personal interest in this matter.” He checked the time. “She has been free for two hours and forty-seven minutes and does not realize it yet. Would it be possible to finish our conversation, you and I, once we’ve broken the news? And Ann and Janelle are talking about arrangements from here?”
“I see your point.” The warden pushed back his chair. “I’ll handle the arrangements personally. You can follow my aide to the chapel, and I’ll have her escorted there momentarily.”
Paul glanced at his wife and got a slight nod toward a photo on the wall. He looked over at it. “You play soccer, Jim?”
“I’ve been known to kick around the ball. Sports leagues are helpful in a prison; we foster them as rewards.”
“Janelle was a good soccer player in high school. If you could find her an outfit like they are wearing in that picture? It’s neutral enough to feel like street clothes. Timing was such we haven’t yet addressed those practical matters.”
“I can do that for you.”
“Appreciate it.”
Paul was sure the governor’s name and the fact the paperwork had been signed less than three hours ago was moving things along faster than his credentials on their own. Whatever worked suited him.
He let his hand rest in the small of Ann’s back as they followed the aide through corridors toward the chapel, not saying what was on his mind while there were others to overhear.
The aide unlocked the chapel for them; they were looking at pews facing a small raised platform, some folding chairs on the stage. A round table and short counter formed a catchall for songbooks, Bibles, and a communion area, with two restrooms and a small office at the opposite end. “There are basic refreshments here,” the aide said, pointing, “pretzels, tea, a vending machine with cold sodas. Several classes meet here. The phone on the wall is a direct line to the office. I can remain out here or return to the office, whichever suits you.”
“We’ll call as we need you, thanks.”
“Sure.” He left them in the chapel.
Ann let out a long breath and dumped her briefcase on a pew bench. “It’s going smoother than I expected.”
“The surprise arrival was useful.” Paul pulled out his wallet and walked over to feed the soda vending machine. This location was probably as neutral as they could get. The chapel walls had been painted a light blue, and someone had taken the time to trim out the windowsills in a crisp white. The sunlight on the snow outside added reflected brightness to the room. He and Ann had talked over their strategy for the first half hour with Janelle. After that, topics would depend mostly on how she was reacting. Greg Tate’s professional advice on that had been useful.
He passed a Diet Coke to Ann. “You still think Greg is the right call?”
“You’re wondering because he and I used to be . . . ?” She crossed her fingers.
Paul laughed and tipped his soda can toward her. That Ann had dated widely in the years before they met was part of her history, which kept reappearing in unexpected ways. It no longer bothered him, for he’d been the only one she’d said yes to marrying.
“I’m confident he’s the right combination of person and place,” she replied. “The case details—those were always going to be our strong suit. We need him for the rest of this. No matter how wide Janelle’s emotional swings are in the first weeks, he’s going to have already seen stronger ones.”
He opened cupboard doors, looking for the pretzels. “I’m inclined to think there’s going to be the opposite problem—little to no emotion for some time.”
Ann nodded. “Just as likely too. So long as we sort out what to do with Tanya before Janelle gets her equilibrium back and decides betrayal deserves payback, this can work.”
“One of the values of Greg living on an island. Janelle doesn’t head toward Tanya without us having early warning.” He pulled a folder from his briefcase and set it on the counter, having given up on the pretzels. “She’s going to have figured out by now that Tanya set her up. It’s been six years. That’s a lot of time to think.”
“Probably, but I’m not suggesting anything near that idea unless she opens that door. But it would be fitting, don’t you think, for Tanya to be here next year in Janelle’s place?”
“I could live with that outcome.”
At the sound of voices outside the chapel, Paul set his open drink down on the nearest windowsill and slid hands into his pockets. The corrections officer who opened the door was younger than those they had seen up to now. Beside him stood a woman a few inches taller than his wife, an athlete either by environment or choice, with light brown hair neatly French-braided and caught in the back, wearing the olive-green T-shirt and khakis assigned to inmates. A faint sheen covered her face, no doubt accounted for by the prison being hot, even in winter. He was sweltering in his suit and tie but hadn’t wanted to drop the visible signs of authority until this was concluded.
“Ms. Roberts, please, would you come in and have a seat? I’m Paul Falcon, and this is my wife, Ann. We’d like to speak with you concerning your case. Thank you, Officer.”
The young man gave a puzzled nod and reluctantly stepped out. Paul picked up his soda, chose a back pew that would position her in his line of sight, and sat down, stretching his legs out and offering a friendly smile. The woman was still standing where she had entered the room, looking around to assess an uncertain situation. “If you don’t mind me calling you Janelle,” Paul continued, voice easy, “I’ll do so. Please help yourself to your choice of soda.” H
e gestured to a row of cans on the counter. “I could only guess at your preference. In the folder beside them there is a document from the governor of the state of Illinois. He’d like to pardon you, Janelle, if you’ll accept the gift from the people of Illinois. Legally it requires your signature. He’s already signed the document and sent a copy to the warden. You’ll be free to leave the prison with us after we’re done talking here.”
“You found who really killed Andrew.”
She was fast to the bottom line, and he liked it. “We believe we know who killed him, yes. My wife and I are certain you did not. And the governor is an honorable man who listens to people who have a job like mine. I head the Chicago FBI office. Please, get yourself a drink, look through the papers. When you’re ready to sign, I’ll show you the page and line.”
She glanced toward Ann.
His wife simply nodded, her smile mostly one of compassion. “It’s true. The governor signed the papers three hours ago. We picked them up and drove down to walk through the bureaucracy for you. I’m sorry we’re short of a civilian change of clothes we can offer, but we’ll find a mall after we leave here to let you choose something appropriate. We asked if they would find one of the soccer uniforms for now. While I’m not one for much makeup, you’ll no doubt do better with the makeup in my purse than I will.” Another smile. “You’re innocent, Janelle. We believe you. So does the governor. I’m truly sorry it has taken so long for someone like us to come and get you out of here.”
Janelle walked over and picked up a can of Pepsi, popped the metal ring, then hesitated. She lifted the folder beside the sodas and chose the half pew by the stage facing into the room. Freedom began in the smallest of ways; for six years she’d been handing over the metal tab on the soda can so it couldn’t be squirreled away and turned into a weapon. She drank half the soda and opened the file, began to read.
For several minutes there was no sound.
“You have a pen I can use?”
Her voice was a bit husky and not much else . . . yet.
Paul went over and handed her one of his better pens he’d selected for the occasion. “Initial the pages with the blue tabs—you’ll see the governor’s already there—sign the last page on both sets. Today’s date is December seventeenth.”
She placed the two documents on the pew bench, initialed as the tabs indicated, boldly signed her name, added the date to each document. She handed him back the pen.
“Consider the pen yours now.” He offered her the case that went with it. “One of the signed documents stays with you. Later this afternoon we’ll stop and get you several copies made. I’ll take the other original back with me to the governor’s office for you.
“This pardon sets aside all matters entered against you. If asked on any job application whether you have ever been convicted of a crime, your legal answer is no. If asked by a lawyer, police officer, or any other party if you’ve ever been arrested for a crime, your legal answer is no. The arrest, the charges, and the conviction have all been set aside, made null and void. A pardon is not identical to a court-overturned sentence, but legally it frees you to the same level.”
She gave a long sigh and nodded. “Okay.” She tried a smile. “Thanks.”
He returned to his pew, being careful not to crowd her, shedding his jacket on the way. She was still sitting with her back to the wall, not unexpected, as he would have done the same. The next hour was the real test of how she was handling matters and would determine if they needed to adjust their plans.
Ann had laid out the contents of her briefcase on the round table. She now walked over and set the briefcase beside Janelle. “Some of the materials we are going to go through with you you’ll want to keep, so please consider the briefcase yours now. Whatever is going back with me can easily fit into Paul’s.”
Janelle ran her hand lightly across the soft leather. “I’m free. I can walk outside right now if I like.”
Paul took that one. “Yes. We’ll go with you now if you would like, and we can have the rest of our conversation far from here. But if you could trust us for a few minutes that you are now in fact free, we thought you might like to say goodbye to friends here first before you leave. If you give us the names of those you’d like to see, we’ve arranged, where possible, for them to come here to the chapel.”
“There’s a few.”
Ann handed her a notepad. “Make a list and we’ll start those arrangements right away. Later we can add anyone you might have missed.”
Janelle was starting to blink back tears. She wrote down a few names, bit her lip, added another two, then offered the pad. “Those six really are it.”
Ann accepted the list, walked over and picked up the wall phone receiver, and gave the names to the warden’s aide. She returned the list to Janelle. “He thought it’ll take about forty minutes.”
“What do you have to show me?” Janelle asked.
Ann smiled and walked over to the table. “For starters, travel. We’ve made arrangements for you to spend the next few weeks away from the press, so you can get your bearings in peace. If you are agreeable, I have a friend, Greg Tate, who has property on an island in the Gulf of Mexico just off the Louisiana coast. It’s a place with sandy beaches, a rather laid-back tourist town, some year-round residents, and peaceful this time of year. If you like the area and desire to stay for a while, it’s ready-made for finding work. There are restaurants he owns that can always use talent, some retail shops too.”
Janelle came over to the round table as Ann spread out photos she’d printed from the town’s website. “You’re talking mostly looking at the ocean, walking sandy beaches, and eating seafood that was alive a few hours before, as what to do with your time. There isn’t even a grade school on the island—kids take the ferry over to the mainland. This destination is closer than I would like to your last experience with a beach, but Chicago has eight inches of snow on the ground right now, central Illinois is fighting ice, and it’s bad weather most of the way down to Texas. I thought you’d prefer someplace you could be outdoors at any hour you like without having to first bundle up like an Eskimo.”
Janelle faintly smiled and slid over one of the photos. Ann had dropped a recent one of their dog into the random collection. “That guy belongs to Paul and me, but the last time I visited Greg there was a similar version in white following him around. He’s a dog guy rather than cats. This is Greg.” Ann tapped an old photo of Greg, playing baseball on a sunny afternoon. “I’ve known him for nearly all my life. He’s the one who hauls the cooler around when it’s full of ice and handles the grill when you’re trying to feed a crowd with brats and hamburgers. He truly loves to be helpful. He was married once, though it ended in a bad divorce after a work accident and rehab cost him a couple years of his life. He decided a change of location was how to best start over and so headed south until he couldn’t go any farther without fins. His father was still alive back then, had lived on this island for a number of years. I think Greg’s glad he’s there. We talk often enough I know he’s enjoying his life.”
Paul was watching Janelle as Ann talked and could see her growing stress as she tried to keep up with the speed of the unexpected information. He’d interrupt, but he knew Ann was doing it deliberately. Casual conversations that bopped around topics had a unique feel and rhythm to them, and Janelle hadn’t experienced the real thing for going on seven years. Freedom was an enormous culture shock—the distant memory of walking into a fast-food restaurant, driving down a busy road, sleeping in . . . it was all there in Janelle’s memory of life before prison but had been dormant for years. Today shocked it back to the forefront. She would walk out of here into a new normal. The stress related to her physical safety would fade, but a fast-moving world would arrive, and that was a massive new stressor. Remembering how to acclimate to new people who were just being friendly was just the beginning of the coming adjustments.
Ann paused the information falling like rain on Janelle, and just s
miled. “It feels like the first day of high school, doesn’t it? All of it hitting at once?”
“Something like that,” Janelle said softly.
Ann touched one of the photos. “This is the plane we’ll fly to the island. I paid for college piloting aircraft around for clients. I asked to borrow this one, since it’s good for sight-seeing. Greg will have arranged a place for you. I’ll be staying for a day and coming back to Illinois. You’ll have as long as you like to simply breathe, Janelle. The island does the Christmas thing in a big way—Come Vacation at the Island for Christmas—you won’t miss out on Christmas trees, music, streets strung with lights, even though the ‘snow’ around the trees will be fake white fluff.”
Paul offered from where he sat on the pew, not crossing over to the table yet, “Pardons are unusual things, and the press will learn about this one in a matter of hours, which is why we want to give you some downtime at an out-of-the-way destination. From here on out, simply say to anyone who might ask how to contact you that you’ll be traveling for a while. You should be free to talk to the press on your own terms, in your own timing, and in whatever detail you choose. If you would like to sit down and have just one conversation on the matter, we can offer names of two reporters with solid reputations in Illinois whom we know personally.
“You’re free to decline these arrangements in whole or part. You’re welcome to take off and disappear once you leave here, or on any day of your choosing as this unfolds. We won’t hold that against you or think less of you for it. We’ve made arrangements to draw five thousand in cash at a local bank today so you have some flexibility. If you prefer that we take you somewhere else today, we’ll be pleased to do so.”
Ann set a phone on the table. “It’s been activated for you.”
Janelle’s hand immediately closed over the phone. “This is overwhelming.”
“I know,” Ann replied gently. “We’re doing it rather deliberately because the next several weeks are going to feel overwhelming like this, even under the best of circumstances. We want you to feel that swirl of emotions while you’re still in a place familiar to you so you know what to expect.”
The Cost of Betrayal Page 5
