"I understand my error and I regret my conduct toward Mrs. Devereaux." Lawrence knew he sounded sincere, even though it went completely against his nature to act contrite. But he was selling the sniveling apologist well. The parole board members were eating it up.
A woman on the panel said, "And you understand, Mr. Alamain, that we, in the United States, take these type of crimes very seriously. What may be acceptable in your home country may not be permitted here."
"Of course," Lawrence said meekly, stopping himself from pointing out that his "crime" had occurred in his home country. He glanced around the room, "I am quite sorry that Mrs. Devereaux is not present for this hearing, so she could hear my apology personally." For effect, he added, "But I understand that she has moved on with her life and I wish her well in her marriage and for her future."
The panel members all bobbed their heads at that. They were sold.
Lawrence tried not to smirk, as he glanced sideways at his attorney. Julian Huntington III had barely said two words since the hearing began.
One of the panel members leaned forward. "If we grant parole, Mr. Alamain, do you understand that you are required to remain in Salem and meet regularly with your parole officer?"
"Absolutely, sir." Lawrence remained obsequious. "I have every intention of making Salem my home and doing what I can to make up for my past wrongs."
Fools, he thought, as the heads bobbed once more. The chair of the panel then asked Lawrence to leave the room while the vote was taken, but the outcome was obvious.
An hour later, Lawrence stood next to Huntington in the Salem Parole Office, which took up a corner of the Salem PD headquarters, as a low-level bureaucrat processed his release papers. Adjusting his Girard-Perregaux watch, recently recovered from the prison property department, Lawrence looked over at Huntington, who placed a stack of papers inside a manila folder.
"This is the last of it," Huntington said, passing the folder to Lawrence. "The information on your parole requirements are in there. . . . You're free to go." The attorney shifted uncomfortably.
Lawrence tried not to laugh. The meeting a few days earlier had obviously left the attorney questioning his decision to take on Lawrence's representation. Nonetheless, he had done his job and had nothing to worry about. "Thank you, Mr. Huntington," Lawrence said. "You performed most admirably, and I see no further need for your services at present." With the folder in his hands, Lawrence headed out of the Parole Office to meet Ivan, who was waiting just outside the door. Before Lawrence could say a word, however, he was interrupted by a shout from down the hall.
"Hey! What's going on!"
Stopping still, Lawrence could not stop himself from smirking as he heard Roman Brady's voice behind him. Turning slowly, he said, "Commander Brady. . . . How nice it is to see you again."
Roman looked from Lawrence to the attorney and back to Lawrence. "I said, what's going on, Larry."
Lawrence did not respond to the gibe. There was no need. He had the upper hand. "What's going on, Commander, is that I have just been granted parole." He tried not react to the shocked look on Roman's face, but could not stop himself. "Evidently, the date must have slipped your mind, Commander."
Roman shook his head. "Your parole hearing is not for another few weeks. That can't be right."
"Perhaps you should explain that to the members of the panel," Lawrence replied. "I guess they failed to mention it to you when the hearing was moved to this week." Thanks to Ivan. "That would explain the lack of observers at the hearing."
"Observers?" Roman raised an eyebrow. "Observers like Jennifer, who might have told the parole board how you raped her? Or Alice Horton, who might have told them how you held her captive and then tried to collapse those tunnels on her and her family?"
Lawrence chuckled. "Please don't be so melodramatic. It would have made little difference. The members of the panel plainly understood how I was the victim of a political witch-hunt, a vendetta to blame me for a crime that, it turns out, never happened."
Lawrence smiled inwardly as Roman seemed to struggle to find a response, most likely having already overtaxed his limited brainpower.
"On that note, I believe Ivan and I shall be leaving," Lawrence said. "It has been quite a long time since I have had the opportunity to enjoy my freedom." He motioned for his henchman. "Come, Ivan."
Lawrence ignored the harsh glares he received from people inside the Salem PD headquarters as they made their way to the exit. It took only a few minutes to reach the limousine that Ivan had waiting outside. Once inside, Lawrence reached for a bottle of champagne sitting in a bucket of ice.
"Is there anything you wish to do in Salem, sir, before we leave?" Ivan asked.
"No." Lawrence shook his head. "I assume the plane is ready?" When Ivan nodded, Lawrence smiled, twisting the top of the champagne bottle so it erupted with a satisfying pop. He did not pour a glass though, as he directed Ivan. "The airport then. I believe it is time that we went home. We shall return to Salem soon enough."
He glanced down at the manilla folder with the details of his parole obligations. Laughing, Lawrence tossed the contents of the folder into the ice bucket.
He thought back to what he had told the panel about his intentions to make up for his past wrongs. That's absolutely true, Lawrence thought. I have plans to make up for past wrongs. They just may not be the wrongs those imbeciles on the parole board think I was talking about.
Lawrence laughed again, as he raised the champagne bottle and emptied its contents of over the papers.
Oh, those poor, deluded fools. They have no idea just how much I intend to make up for the past.