While scanning the computer screen, Claire called to Amber, “Did you read this police report?”
Amber came through the archway from the kitchen. “I did. It didn’t mean a lot to me. Why? Do you see something interesting?”
“I didn’t remember Nathanial having two children. Yet, there’s a statement about Samuel’s sister.” Claire typed the necessary information into the New Jersey public record’s website. “I’m trying to see if I can find any record of her under Nathanial’s information.”
Amber stood behind Claire as she typed. The information popped up: Children: 01. Samuel Rawls. Claire tried another avenue; she typed in Sharron Rawls and waited. The screen read: Children: 01. Samuel Rawls. She looked up at Amber and shook her head.
Amber exhaled, “Is there a name listed?”
“No, not on this report.” She scanned the pages. “I wonder if they pursued this angle. The article I read before, said the crime scene looked like murder – suicide. Why would they decide that, if someone else was there?” She hoped Tony wasn’t truly responsible for his parents’ death. Maybe he included the article because he felt their deaths were a product of the work of the securities officer and FBI agent who testified at Nathanial’s trial.
“I don’t know. Maybe they decided that person wasn’t connected.” Amber offered.
Claire shrugged and went back to the report. It contained the dialogue of the 911 call. She read, thinking of Tony calling about his own parents. No doubt, this kind of trauma would have long lasting effects. His grandfather died and then only months later his parents. She knew she shouldn’t, but Claire’s heart ached for the young dark-eyed man. No wonder he had issues with relationships and control.
Amber went back to the kitchen as Claire settled into the high backed dining room chair. The dialogue on the printed page incited goose bumps on her arms. She read:
21:02:36: Caller: I’m at 7208 Mongolia Drive. Please send the police. I just found my parents and I think they’re dead.
21:02:39: Operator: I will send the authorities immediately. Please tell me your name.
21:03:02: Caller: My name -- my name is Anton Rawls.
21:03:09: Operator: Anton, are you in the house?
21:03:47: Caller: No. I’m next door.
21:04:07: Operator: Good. Don’t reenter the residence until the police arrive. Did you see anyone else?
21:05:02: Caller: No. Send someone fast.
21:05:27: Operator: The Santa Monica Police are on their way. They’ll be there in three minutes. Please stay on the line with me. (silence) Anton? Are you there?
21:06:18: Caller: Yes -- I’m—I’m -- here.
21:06:49: Operator: Good. Did you see a weapon?
21:07:13: Caller: I don’t remember.
21:07:42: Operator: Are you sure they’re dead?
21:08:29: Caller: My mother is. I checked her when I found her on the floor. (Gasp)Oh! There’s blood on my hands, I didn’t even realize…
21:09:42: Operator: Did you say there’s blood? (Voices in background) Anton? – Anton?
21:10:52: Caller: This is Patrick Chester. Anton is sitting down. The cord doesn’t each that far. Are the police on their way?
21:11:03: Operator: Yes, Patrick. Who are you?
21:11:28: Caller: I’m the neighbor of the Rawls. Anton called from my phone. Oh, I hear the sirens. Can I hang up now?
21:12:01: Operator: Just another minute. Let me please speak to one of the officers when they arrive.
21:13:12: Caller: All right, let me go answer the door. (Silence – voices) This is Officer Griffiths – ten four. (Line disconnected: 21:14:03).
Claire stared at the report and felt moisture coat her cheeks. Yes, she hated her ex-husband for the things he’d done to her, but no one should have to experience what she just read. She placed the pages on the shiny polished table and pushed back the tall upholstered chair with her feet. Dabbing her eyes, she tried to focus on the melting stacks of pages before her. It was too much. They were acquiring evidence to prove Tony’s guilt, but at this moment Claire didn’t feel vengeance. She felt pity for the man she’d loved.
Unconsciously, she used her sleeve to wipe her eyes and massaged her throbbing temples. She couldn’t stop the awful images of Tony’s parents that floated through her mind. Trying desperately to think of something else, she remembered Amber saying it was a nice day. She’d spent most of it inside. Claire needed a break from all this information.
As she put the report on a stack of pages, another title caught her attention: Santa Monica Coroner’s Report. Her stomach lurched. Claire didn’t want to read more; she was on overload. Closing her eyes she contemplated the unread information. Would it tell the estimated time of death? If it did, would it condemn her ex-husband, or absolve him? Did she want to know the evidence? Or could ignorance allow her peace?
Opening her eyes she looked at the clutter. The pounding in her head and twisting of her stomach told her to walk away. She placed the coroner’s reports in a manila folder, closed the folder, and allowed her hand to linger on the smooth cardstock. The information wouldn’t go away. She could read it another time. In more of a dream state, she continued to fight the visualization of Amanda Rawls lying on her kitchen floor, a dark red puddle of thick liquid surrounding her form.
By the time she and Emily were asked to identify the bodies of her parents, they were cleaned, laid on cold silver tables, and covered with clean white sheets. The coroner reported they both died instantly; their deaths were quick and painless.