The Mentor

by Rebecca Forster

  “Are you done?” he asked.

  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  “Then before you go, let me tell you a couple of things,” Eli said quietly. “First, what Wilson and I talked about was not definitive and I’m not sure I can divulge the content. I’ll check on that. Second, Wilson Caufeld knew I was just doing my job, and third, I wasn’t the last one to talk to him that night, and I’d bet I wasn’t the one who broke Wilson’s spirit. I never had that kind of power.”

  “I didn’t say you were the last. I said whatever you brought him put his last days in motion and that something wasn’t good. Why don’t you deny that?”

  “Why don’t you ask if what we talked about was the truth?”

  “I already know the answer to that.” She stepped forward defiantly, but Eli wasn’t intimidated.

  “Well isn’t that just interesting. I thought you were damn cute, Lauren, but I didn’t know you were omnipotent. Maybe you should take your little Romper Room mirror that sees all and point it a little closer to home. I’d bet you’d find your friend Mr. Lassiter looking back. Why don’t you ask him when the last time was he saw Judge Caufeld? Ask him what they talked about. He doesn’t have any confidentiality problems. Go ahead, ask Lassiter and then come back to me and tell me what he says.”

  “How dare you, Eli,” Lauren breathed. “You might as well attack me.”

  “I have no reason.”

  “If you have a reason to attack Allan, then tell me. Tell me now and I’ll listen. But if you’re playing a game, remember that I’ve played before. I was too young to figure it out when my mother’s life was at stake, but I know how you work now. Don’t expect me to roll over and see things your way. The FBI creates havoc and leaves misery and then they just walk away until they find another person to torture. It’s part of the job description. What an idiot I’ve been. I thought it was just the field agents who were beneath contempt. I thought you’d broken the mold.”

  Eli laughed gently, “You know, one thing Judge Caufeld always said about you was that you were fair. I would have agreed with him at one time.”

  “I don’t really care what you think about me, Eli, and don’t pretend to an intimacy with Wilson. You didn’t get to know him, you discovered him. You pried into his life, you gathered information. That doesn’t make you a friend.”

  Lauren turned away. She held a handkerchief to her face, and it covered her nose and mouth. It was a big white thing that a man like Wilson might carry. In the dim light Lauren’s braided chignon gleamed like golden sand, too many shades to identify, and all of them blending to a color that was dazzling. That braid wasn’t quite perfect today. It was just a little off like her perception of what had gone down that fateful night. But Eli had no proof to give her, only suspicions and those suspicions kept him up at night.

  “I was an admirer, Lauren, and I know that something is wrong here.” He spoke softly. “I might have set the ball in motion, Lauren, but I think you better look in your backyard to see who ran with it.”

  Lauren glared at him, but Eli wasn’t cowed. His interest was elsewhere, and so intense Lauren was drawn to him. She stood by his side. Lauren looked over his shoulder only to turn away in disgust the moment she saw who he was looking at. Allan was accused under Eli’s scrutiny.

  “You are detestable.”

  Eli took her arm, leaving no doubt she would not be let go until he had his say.

  “Just watch, Lauren. Ask yourself if Lassiter looks like a grieving friend? Is that a smile of condolence or relief?” He pulled her closer still, his fingers now digging into the soft flesh of her upper arm. “Funny thing is Mr. Lassiter was so much more than just a friend to Judge Caufeld. Like you, Lauren. Wilson Caufeld loved him.” She refused to look at Eli when he cast his eyes her way. “You grieve. I feel sorrow. Most of those people are devastated by the loss and, yet, Lassiter’s eulogy was like a closing argument,” he whispered low into Lauren’s ear, abridging what had been a horrid homage, “let’s wrap up the loose ends of Wilson’s life and get on with our own.” Eli spoke normally. “Now there’s a touching way to send off a man you owe everything to.”

  Lauren shook off his hand. “Allan wasn’t even sentimental when Wilson was alive.”

  “There’s a difference between sentiment and downright glee. Do you think he’s forgotten why we’re here, or is he celebrating the occasion?” He side-stepped once and cocked his head so that he could look at her even though her eyes were downcast, and her face turned away. “Can you tell me what he was doing the last few days of Wilson’s life?”

  Her eyelids fluttered. Her lashes kissed her cheeks once, twice, three times before finally opening so her eyes could meet his. Those beautiful eyes were red-rimmed from crying, exhaustion and now rage.

  “You are beyond contempt. You pretend affection for Wilson and then attack the man he loved more than anyone in the world.” She shook her head sadly. “I can’t fathom what you expect to gain. Do you think by pointing a finger of suspicion at Allan that you’ll score some brownie points? Think maybe Mark Jackson will take another look at you and say ‘hey, this is my kind of guy?’ Or do you just want to prove what a rebel you are? Well, I’m not going to let you take away the last person in the world who means something to me, Eli. I’ll tell everyone who’ll listen that you’re not fit to investigate Wilson’s murder.”

  “That’s not what I want, so don’t waste your breath,” Eli countered.

  “I don’t care what you want. The most docile assignment and you managed to end it with a tragedy. I don’t know what you did, but you played a part. I feel it. I know it and if it’s the last thing I do I will make you pay for making Wilson’s last days so painful.”

  With that she tried to sweep past him, but the doorway was narrower than it appeared and Eli larger than his good nature led one to believe. He towered over her, making no move to step away. Eli enveloped Lauren with the force of his personality, the scent of a man, the warmth of his breath and the touch of his fingers.

  “I find what there is to find. There are people who had a lot to lose with Wilson walking around and I’m not talking about Henry Stewart.”

  “That’s absurd,” she scoffed.

  “Is it? I think someone didn’t want Wilson to make it to the confirmation hearings.”

  “This isn’t a movie, Eli. That’s no reason to kill him,” Lauren countered.

  Eli relaxed and thanked God for small favors. She was listening.

  “I know some people who think a pair of shoes is enough to kill for. What do you think a reputation goes for? A business? A license to practice law, for instance?”

  “If you have an accusation, Eli, make it.”

  “I accuse when I’m sure; I investigate when I’m not.”

  “Not this time you won’t. I can promise that.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Just do me one favor. Ask Lassiter about what happened in ’85. That was the last year he worked with Judge Caufeld in his law firm.” Eli opened his arm. She was free to go. But when she tried, he pressed his card into her hand. She was two steps out the door when he remembered to add: “Just so you know, I talked to the agents who were in the hall that night after I left the judge. The last visitor Wilson Caufeld had the night I talked to him left angry. In fact, they said he looked like he could kill.”

  Lauren took another step praying he wouldn’t continue, but he did.

  “It was Allan Lassiter.”

  13

  “Lauren?”

  Monique, Abram’s secretary, was standing in the door of Lauren’s office, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.

  “Yes?”

  “Abram wants to see you.”

  “Do me a favor? Tell him I’m waiting to hear back on some test results...”

  “I don’t think so. You better come this time.”

  Monique didn’t wait, which was just as well. Chitchat was a pain when there were important things to think about. In the few weeks since Wilson’s death, L
auren had learned how different people react to challenge and fear. Judge Martinelli, into whose court the ill-fated Stewart trial had landed, decided the prosecution was golden. She ruled on the motions without hearing them argued again. She reversed Wilson’s ruling on Henry Stewart, simultaneously revoking his bail, terrified if she didn’t get him behind bars, she would be next on the militia’s hit list. Lauren missed the challenge of Wilson’s court, but she understood Martinelli’s desire to make all of this go away before anything happened or anyone else was hurt. Judge Martinelli had a marshal living with her.

  Edie declined a guard, opting to handle things on her own; relying on the gun she always carried to help her out of trouble. Lauren had thought about carrying her own revolver since she had a permit like every assistant but decided against it and settled for parking in the secured garage the judges used. Abram, low-profile on the actual case, insisted on an escort morning and night. The spectacle made for great press. They were the good guys once again and everyone was pulling for them.

  Now Lauren was being summoned and couldn’t imagine why. Abram had been cool since the funeral. Monique wasn’t looking at her when she came in. Not a good sign.

  “Close the door.” Abram’s back was to her. Lauren paused and cocked her head. “Sit down.” This order came with a turn of his head. She could see his profile as he stood over his mounted battle scene.

  Lauren sat, waiting patiently while Abram fiddled with his soldiers.

  “Do you know why the military is so fascinating, Lauren?” Lauren figured out the question was rhetorical without too much effort. She settled in for a soliloquy. “The military is fascinating because it is the one institution where all people work in incredible harmony, disregarding concerns for personal safety and individual desire, because the objective is the common good. That is stunning selflessness.”

  Finally, he looked at her, but it seemed she was lacking an element essential to his needs. Hands clasped behind his back, Abram walked to his desk and stood behind it.

  “You are breaking rank, Lauren, and it bothers me a great deal.”

  Lauren’s mouth fell open. “That’s news, Abram. I’ve done nothing but work on the Stewart case for the last year and a half, and never so intensely as these last weeks. If anything, I’m doing more than my share.”

  “So Edie has told me. Judge Martinelli is predisposed to the prosecution and willing to move the Stewart matter along even more quickly than Judge Caufeld would have. However, I understand there are certain things Edie has asked you not to pursue because they are both irrelevant and time consuming. Yet you relentlessly, and aggressively, do so against her wishes.” Lauren rolled her eyes. Abram’s hand came down on the desk. Lauren jumped. Something new was added. Force. “Giving you such a high profile on the Stewart case did not elevate you to administrative status. Edie Williams heads special prosecutions. When she says something is wrong, it is.”

  “Nothing needs fixing, Abram.” Lauren pushed herself out of her chair. “Everything’s under control. If I haven’t made my strategy clear to Edie, or explained my objectives properly, I will...”

  “Sit,” Abram ordered before controlling his anger. “Why don’t you make things clear to me, first, Lauren? Explain to me why it is that you have requested the LAPD release all records, including autopsy reports, witness reports and investigative notes, on the matter of Wilson Caufeld’s murder? What possible bearing could that have on anything you are doing at the moment?” Abram laid his hands flat on the top of the desk. “While you’re at it, tell me why it is that you’ve requested weekly updates from the FBI agents who are assigned to investigating that murder? Which, by the way, Mark Jackson has told them not to supply. Why have you petitioned Judge Martinelli for Judge Caufeld’s phone records—chambers and his home? A petition she wisely denied.”

  Lauren set her jaw. “I don’t think the bureau is following through as they should. The investigation is either stalled, or there are people inside the office who don’t think it’s worth a whole lot of time.” Lauren paused, waiting for him to respond. When Abram didn’t, she went on albeit with a touch less confidence. “Okay, they’re doing what they can. I know Mark’s pulling out all the stops to find Henry, but I need those police reports to see if I can link Henry Stewart to the crime. It would definitely have bearing on the prosecution of Henry, if not George, if we can establish that Henry was involved in the murder of Wilson Caufeld. The threats alone were enough to classify them as committing a hate crime. We certainly will have no trouble asking for the death penalty if we can tie Henry to Caufeld’s death. If he was the trigger man and we can link...”

  “That’s enough, Lauren. That’s enough!” Abram tugged at his slacks and settled himself in his chair, fatigued by her misplaced zeal.

  He tapped his fingers atop a letter he had just received from a friend who was wishing him well on his quest for Wilson’s now vacant seat. Beneath that was a message from his senator’s office politely replying that they were considering all fully qualified candidates before making their recommendation to the president. It was a tasteful word of caution. A conviction was needed on the Stewarts before a commitment could be made to Abram. A lot of good Caufeld’s death had done Abram’s ambition. Now here was Lauren trying to run off on a tangent that would lengthen this trial for no good reason. Too bad Henry Stewart couldn’t have taken her out, too.

  “Save your breath, Lauren. You may have convinced yourself there is a natural connection, but I don’t recall that anyone has been indicted for Wilson Caufeld’s murder. I don’t recall that we have even been officially advised that there is a suspect.”

  “Abram, everyone knows...” Lauren demurred with a condescending smile.

  “No, everyone doesn’t know. We have a system, Lauren, have you forgotten? Without a suspect, without an indictment, Wilson Caufeld’s murder has nothing to do with you or the Stewart prosecution. Even with an indictment this will be a separate matter and a separate trial. Now, if you can’t keep your personal concerns out of your work, then I suggest you remove yourself from this case.”

  Lauren opened her mouth to object and, thankfully, she thought before she spoke. Martinelli was making things easy. No doubt Edie was pushing to be reinstated and Abram was willing to bend with whatever expedient wind was blowing. Well, she wasn’t about to let the seasons change quite yet. Lauren wanted to convict the Stewarts and that was that.

  “No. No, I realize this is business.” Lauren smiled. “I was only trying to make sure that we used whatever we had to lock in a guilty on the Stewarts. I suppose now that we’ve got the standing issue resolved, everything is settled.”

  “I’m glad you understand,” Abram said quietly. “Do the job you were assigned. Do it properly, Lauren, and everyone will get what they want. Lengthen this trial by even one minute because of a personal agenda, and you’ll find yourself doing T-check cases. Edie, by the way, is in complete agreement on this.”

  “No doubt,” Lauren muttered.

  “If you have something to say, Lauren, be adult about it,” Abram shot back.

  “You know, Abram, as much as I admire you as U.S. Attorney, I can’t help but notice that my worth seems to have diminished just a tad now that Caufeld’s no longer hearing this case. I’d say that sounds strangely like you’re thinking about rearranging the players again, and that sounds oddly like you’re playing politics simply because you have the power.”

  “Lauren, someday you will say something to someone who is not quite as admiring of your youthful spirit as I.” Abram’s voice was dark, his eyes were narrowed. She gave him something to target.

  “Just an observation, Abram. I’ve always appreciated learning from professionals. I suppose that’s just one more lesson I should be grateful for.”

  “And I always said you were an intelligent young woman, Lauren, who learns quickly. Perhaps now is the time to prove my admiration hasn’t been misplaced.”

  They played stare down for a second or two beca
use there was nothing more to say. Abram was working when she left his office. Lauren blew off her chores while she got Allan on the phone, but he didn’t want to hear her story. He didn’t tell her she was right, he didn’t even sound like he really wanted to talk about Wilson or the investigation or anything.

  She thanked him for nothing, slammed down the phone and sat back in her chair. She didn’t care if she was the only one who really wanted to find out what happened to Wilson. She’d do it, and then they’d all be sorry they hadn’t helped. She didn’t care one bit that she was alone. She’d been alone before, though never, of course, so alone as now.

  14

  Lauren collapsed in her chair and rubbed both eyes with both hands the way a child would. She’d never make the cover of Vogue at the rate she was going. Throwing her arms over her head she stretched but her chair tilted on that cracked wheel so she went forward, letting her shoulders slump as she lay her head on the reams of paper, reports and case books littering her desk. Closing her eyes, Lauren listened to the dead silence. The cleaning crew had come and gone a while back, but she’d waved them out of her office. Lauren was busy then and now she was tired.

  The next day’s preparation was done for Martinelli, but Lauren was determined to go over the police report on Wilson’s death one more time before she called it a night There was something about the angle of the bullet entry that bothered her. Henry wasn’t a tall man and Wilson was fairly short. The bullet should have gone in... Her thoughts strayed. Her steam had run out. Even the memories of Wilson were fuzzy.

  It had only been a few weeks, and long hours of work were nothing new, but Lauren had lost sight of him. She was drifting off, finding her paper pillow surprisingly comfortable when suddenly she heard a noise, sharp, and loud enough to make her bolt upright. Her eyes were heavy and dry. They hurt when she moved them, looking around her brightly lit office to the shadowy hall beyond. Lauren tilted her head left, then right. Nothing. No boom. No clap of thunder or retort of a pistol. It was all so still and silent. Slowly she eased herself from behind the desk and stepped around the boxes in her office. She looked down the hall—both ways—twice—then chuckled.