Free The Stranger Beside You by William Casey Moreton Page B

Karly makes me look like the Pope. 
    “He pieced it together,” she said.
    I clicked on several more of the links the Google search had produced.  Each of them displayed similar results in varying interpretations and translations.  None of it pointed me in one direction or another.  I was every bit as lost as before.
    “Am I looking for something that’s not really there?” I asked her.
    She sat on a corner of the desk.  “Your husband died today, and you are trying to make sense of it.  I totally understand.  For some bizarre reason, his final words to you were a quote from scripture.  That’s got to be confusing, but maybe he was simply cracking under the strain.  I mean, given the context, his words were appropriate.  I honestly don’t think Tom intended this to be a puzzle.”
    “I just…” I was on the verge of tears.  I clinched my fists and closed my eyes. 
    “Take a minute,” she said.  I heard the office door open and close. 
    Why did Tom run?  An innocent man has nothing to run from.  Special Agent Chapman and his men had arrested the wrong man, of that I was certain.  It was just a dumb mistake, so why had he run?  You can’t expect to just run away from the FBI.  Tom was smarter than that, and now he was dead.
    I wanted to scream for so many reasons.  The grief was intense, but also, I was mad.  Mad at the FBI, and mad at Tom.  I squeezed my fists as hard as I could, tears streaming down my face. 
    Then I decided Tom would not die for nothing.  Someone had to pay.  He was only dead because he had been falsely accused of a crime that he could not have possibly committed.  I would sue the FBI.  I would drag Chapman and his superiors in front of the media and make fools of them.  I would show the world what those idiots had done to my family.  I would settle for nothing less than justice.
    Suddenly buzzing with adrenaline-fueled rage, I opened my eyes and grabbed my cell phone.  I dialed Clive’s number.
    He answered, “Brynn?”
    “I want to sue them.”
    “Who?”
    “The FBI.”
    “Where are you?”
    “They had no right to arrest Tom.  He would still be alive right now if it wasn’t for them.”
    He was silent a moment.  For an instant I thought maybe the call had dropped.
    Finally, he said, “Brynn, there’s something you need to know.”
    “They have to be made to pay, Clive.”
    “We need to meet.”
    “I have to find Chapman.  I want answers, and I want them now.”
    “Before you march down there and make a scene, we need to…”
    “What do you know that I don’t?”
    Another pause, then, “I know why they arrested him.”
    I stopped breathing.  I could hear my pulse in my ear.
    “I think Chapman was telling the truth,” Clive said.  “I think Tom might have killed her.”
    •  •  •
    We were back at 26 Federal Plaza.  In the elevator Clive said to me, “They are going to show you something that you will find very upsetting.”
    I couldn’t help thinking, my husband died this morning, what could they show me that could be more upsetting than that?
    “I just want to prepare you,” he said.
    “How could you doubt Tom’s innocence?”
    “Everyone has secrets, Brynn.  I guess Tom did too.”
    “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
    “You’ll see.”
    Chapman’s office was mostly glass, with a desk and a couple of chairs.  His secretary told us he was in a meeting and would be there shortly.  She pointed at the chairs and told us to have a seat.  She offered coffee but I declined.
    A full minute passed in silence.  I was perplexed how Clive, one of Tom’s closest friends and the family lawyer, could believe such a thing about Tom.  My stomach was twisted in knots.  I had been a widow all of what, a few hours, and already Clive was telling me what a lying murderer Tom had been.  I wanted to tell him off, but I needed his help.  From my angle I had a clear view of a family photo on Chapman’s desk.  It was generic