The Mentor

by Rebecca Forster

  “We can get around it.”

  “Only if the defense is brain dead, and Joe Knapp doesn’t fit the bill. Don’t knee jerk, Abram. That’s what got us into trouble in the first place. Chill for a little bit. I’ve got other things happening and hopefully I’ll hand you someone soon, okay?”

  Abram pushed his chair back. “What choice do I have? You have made me an accessory after the fact, so to speak. I could have defended my assignments, you know.”

  “Bullshit. I know what you did, you know what I did, and a federal district judge is dead. Our intentions may have been the best, but who’s going to agree with them? They’d say we’re the reason the militia is blowing up buildings. It’s the two of us, buddy, and that’s it.”

  “All right. What exactly is it you want me to do?”

  “When I bring you a suspect, I want him prosecuted fast. If I can’t find anything that looks airtight, I want you to back me when this case is closed for lack of evidence. We’ll make it disappear and put Caufeld’s death down to random street violence. No questions asked.”

  “Yes, yes. All right, but we’ve got to analyze every step, Mark. I mean every step. There are more people to consider than us, Mark. I don’t think it will be as easy to make this disappear as you think. I consider Lauren to be at the top of the list of those who won’t let it die. I do believe she hears Caufeld’s voice from heaven.”

  Abram pushed his chair back, yet he still sat as did Mark. Mark stared at the table.

  “Don’t I know it, Abram. I wish I hadn’t been so pissed at Caufeld. I swear I could have killed the man for being so stupid when he decided to sit on that issue. I could have just killed him for that.”

  Slowly Abram raised his head. There was a thought coming to him with equal leisure. He’d heard Mark say that before. Mark had said the same thing in front of Edie and Lauren and him, right there in Abram’s office. But now it was the two of them. Mano a mano. Abram licked his lips.

  “And did you, Mark?” he asked quietly.

  Mark returned his gaze. “Abram. Really.”

  There was nothing more to say, nothing more Abram wanted to hear. He got out of his chair. The sound of tennis balls, the indecipherable yelps and hollering from the club courts, made him shiver. On a dark night, somewhere else, there had been a pop, perhaps words, perhaps a cry of pain and a man was left dead on the street. Someone did it. Someone who had a reason.

  “Call me when you have something, Mark.”

  “I will, Abram. I feel better for just talking about it.”

  Abram walked away and Mark Jackson picked up his racket. He had a wicked touch. He could demolish any opponent with a well-placed shot. It was because he reacted well. Fast. Definitive. Without thinking. His reactions couldn’t be matched by anyone on the court. In real life they had created a problem, but he could handle it.

  Mark took a modified swing and watched the muscles stand out in his forearm. Yeah, he could do it. Not a lob into Abram’s court, but something that would end the game fast. He would do it.

  “Edie, I’ve got a problem and it’s very sensitive.”

  Abram practiced his pitch all the way back from the tennis club. Now that he had actually said it, there was no doubt it was the wrong approach.

  Edie flopped herself in the chair opposite his desk. “Go ahead, ruin my day.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Eyes on Abram, she lit one and shook out the match. He hated the smoke but if he was going to burst her bubble after the great day Edie had in court, she could ease the pain with a cigarette. She pulled the potted plant on the side of his desk toward her. “Now I’m ready. But I’m going to warn you, I’m really tired and I want to go home before Lauren catches me and tries to tell me that she’s been doing some research on her own on the Caufeld thing.”

  “Well then, this may solve that problem, Edie.”

  “I’m all ears.” She took a drag and, indeed, looked more attentive.

  “Mark Jackson personally pulled the guard off Caufeld. Caufeld’s dead. Jackson swears if he’s questioned about any of it, he’s going to bring this office into it and talk about playing politics with our case assignments, etc.”

  “So, he wants us to cover up his mistake. No big deal.”

  “It might be.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “He would prefer to make the Caufeld matter go away. No arrest, lack of evidence.”

  “Lauren will make a stink. Why not Henry?”

  “He didn’t do it. Mark checked it out himself. We’d never win, and we need to win. Second option, if he can bring us a suspect with a good chance of a case, he wants us to push it through. Can I count on you?”

  “Can it wait until the Stewart trial wraps?” Edie seemed to have forgotten her cigarette. It burned down to the filter and the smell reminded her to put it out. She did so under the little potted palm.

  “I don’t know. I suppose it depends on when and who he’s got.”

  “I can manage. I can’t manage if Lauren’s going to second-seat this.” Edie licked her lips and tried not to smile.

  “No. I don’t want her anywhere near this,” Abram agreed. “We could all have quite a bit to answer to if this backfires.”

  “You wouldn’t be a federal district judge.”

  “You would never be Los Angeles’ U.S. Attorney.”

  “There’s more to consider even than that,” Edie mused. She stood up. “I think administrative leave would be in order for Lauren if we’re going to work effectively to prosecute Caufeld’s case. She is too close to this one.”

  “Fine. I’ll leave it to you.”

  “Yes, Abram. Leaving it to me is a good idea.”

  Edie was gone, only to pause and lean against the door she just closed. She lowered her lashes and composed herself so she wouldn’t walk down the hall grinning.

  19

  “She was the most beautiful girl you had ever seen. She made her clothes and went to school at night to study on the computer. My daughter was going to be somebody someday, and now she’s dead. I buried my beautiful daughter, and I couldn’t even kiss her goodbye. They said half her head was gone. Half her beautiful head...”

  The woman on the stand wept quietly, her cheek resting on the frame of a huge portrait of Cora Constanza Hernandez, the first victim of the Stewarts’ bomb, her mother the last witness in the prosecution’s case. The woman was a perfect blend of grief and dignity. A lady who cleaned houses to care for the six children after her husband ran off. This was a proud woman who spoke of how Cora Constanza’s salary helped her feed and clothe her little brothers and sisters. Mrs. Hernandez didn’t know about Cora Constanza’s use of recreational drugs and the gang affiliation of her daughter’s boyfriend, and that made everything perfect. She would leave the jury with this saintly image of the victim.

  “I’d like to request a recess, Your Honor, to give Mrs. Hernandez time to compose herself,” Edie said.

  Judge Martinelli looked at the witness, then at Edie. “Do you have more questions for this witness?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Weitman? Will you be asking Mrs. Hernandez anything?” Eric Weitman shook his head. He wanted Mrs. Hernandez gone. “Mr. Knapp?”

  Joe shook his head, too.

  “I’ll ask her something! I’ll ask her something! I want to know what proof she has that we did anything to her daughter. Her daughter worked for a blood-sucking institution that half the people in the United States want to destroy. I’ll ask her something. Hey, you. Mrs. What’s-Your-Name.”

  Mrs. Hernandez wailed in fear then cried harder as Henry Stewart hollered at her. The spectators oohed. This was exquisite drama cut short with swift retribution. Martinelli had seen two judges before her pulled down by this albatross, she didn’t want to be the third.

  “Remove the defendant,” Judge Martinelli ordered and the marshals did just that without concern for the bandages on Henry’s hands or the hideous scabbing on the side of
his face.

  Poor Henry was not good at blowing himself to kingdom come. The fizzle when he detonated the bomb strapped to his chest had put him in the hospital for four days and sent the agents to the bar to talk about the amazing thing they’d seen. The doctors released Henry just in time so Martinelli didn’t have to sever his trial and deal with George alone. Martinelli looked at George. She was cool, it was impossible to tell that he scared her to death. The only sign of her fear was that she was moving this trial along with the speed of light.

  “Let’s get this all over with. Do you have anything to say, Mr. Stewart?” George remained silent. “Fine.”

  Martinelli denied the recess and on they went, starting the defense case, minus Henry and minus Lauren Kingsley who quietly exited without looking back.

  Lauren was a specter. When she stepped into Judge Martinelli’s courtroom people looked right through her. Weeks ago, she had been sitting where Edie sat. Weeks ago, she had been in Abram’s office discussing strategy. Weeks ago, Lauren Kingsley had been hailed in the press as a bright young star, a hard-hitting prosecutor dealing with the Stewarts with an energy seldom seen on the government’s side of the courtroom. That clipping was now put in a drawer, instead of left with pride on the bedside stand.

  Now nobody cared if she came or went, because Lauren Kingsley didn’t really work for the U.S. Attorney’s Office anymore. She was on administrative leave pending an investigation into the incident in the parking garage, her continued harassment of the LAPD and FBI regarding the investigation of Wilson Caufeld’s death and insubordination. She talked too much, and nobody wanted to hear it anymore. Wilson Caufeld might be the only thing on her mind, but everyone else’s mind was full of other things that needed attention.

  Lauren hadn’t meant to stop in Martinelli’s courtroom, but she did. Once inside the doors, she knew she had been wrong. If not leading the prosecution, she should have at least been part of it. Perhaps she was punishing herself for her own stupidity by stepping into that courtroom. Perhaps she was curious to see what had become of her late-night caller, Henry. Perhaps she just wanted to assure herself that Wilson had been the superior judge despite Martinelli’s best intentions. When Edie rested her case, Lauren decided she had punished herself enough that day.

  She left as the new and improved Henry Stewart was escorted out of the courtroom. The last thing Lauren saw was the proud smile his parents shared. Henry had got religion and George was now his one, true God. Lauren pushed through the door, went down the hall and walked through Wilson’s courtroom to his chambers. It was getting easier all the time because so much of Wilson was gone. The place was beginning to look like any other office in any other building.

  “How you doing, Barbara?” Lauren smiled and got one in return.

  “Do you want these plates that Judge Petersen gave to Judge Caufeld every year? You know, the ones with the horses on them?”

  Carrying a few of the plates, Barbara followed Lauren into the judge’s inner sanctum. Lauren went around Wilson’s desk and looked at them as she turned on the computer. She crinkled her nose. Wilson could serve a dinner party for the royal family there were so many.

  “He never said, but I don’t think he really liked them. Is there anyone we’ve forgotten who might like something from chambers?”

  Barbara shrugged, tilting the plates as if that might make them more attractive. “Maybe the secretary in the clerk’s office who remembered his birthday every year.”

  “That’s a nice thought.” Lauren nodded and stashed her purse. “Go for it.”

  “I think I’ll just take one down. She’ll have to figure how to get them all out of here.” Barb hefted the plates, and then asked the question she asked every day. “How are you doing?”

  “Not bad.” Lauren logged on. What else could she say, after all? Allan is acting like a jerk, but maybe that’s my fault. Eli Warner is concocting conspiracies and dredging up old news to use in new ways. I’m so lonesome I could die. Great office chit-chat. She settled herself in the big chair and put a bit of perk into her voice. “I didn’t know the judge was so into this computer. He has more records on disk than anyone I know.”

  “Neat that a man his age jumped right into cyberspace, huh?” Barbara looked over her shoulder. “I’ll never forget when he got that scanner. Sat in here for hours on end scanning in his old records. The man was amazing. Well, I’m going to run these downstairs then take off, if that’s okay with you?”

  “Sure, I’ve got all the time in the world,” Lauren laughed ruefully, and Barbara pulled a face.

  “Their loss, my gain,” Barb quipped and just as suddenly sobered. Though Lauren seemed unruffled by everything that was happening, Barbara offered her a shoulder to cry on just in case. “You know, the judge would have been so upset by all this, to see you investigated and everything. If you ever need to talk about it, I hope you’ll let me know.”

  “You’ll be the first one I call, I promise.” Lauren gave her best stiff-upper-lip nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Barbara was gone and Lauren started to work again, discarding the diskette in the A drive. Car repair correspondence was of no interest unless she could use it to get her car out of the shop. The next disk contained personal letters. Judge Caufeld had kept up a correspondence with so many people. She scrolled past names she didn’t recognize, and lingered over those she did: the letter of recommendation Wilson had written on her behalf when she applied to the U.S. Attorney’s Office, the one recommending her to law school, letters lauding Allan to various businesses and individuals. She and Allan had been incredibly privileged, and both of them had lost sight of that. Lauren pocketed the disk. She’d show it to Allan. He would remember the good things. They would be friends again.

  Next, bank records. She leaned down and popped it out. Still bent over, disk in hand, Lauren had second thoughts. Slowly she put it back in and looked once more. This wasn’t a record of personal transactions, nor a scanned disk full of monthly statements. There was one extensive file, untitled, with debit and credit information. She scrolled. The entries were unique in that they were almost exactly alike, month after month. Initials followed debit entries and the initials changed every year or so. Scrolling back up, Lauren checked the dates and notations again. The first credit entry was the latter part of 1985, a year that had captured Eli’s imagination not so long ago. The last year Allan worked for Wilson’s firm. A year that...

  “Hi.”

  Lauren looked up. Eli was there, right there in front of her. Eli who she had just been thinking about. Eli who was the one who had wanted her to talk to Allan about the year 1985.

  “Hi,” she said back.

  “Mind if I come in?”

  She shook her head, even though he was already in. He looked wonderful, like a friend.

  “Looks like you’re busy.”

  He was dressed in dark green khakis, a tweed jacket, a button-down shirt the color of sand. He had left the bucks at home and wore loafers. Eli hadn’t lost any sleep over her. Then again, she hadn’t lost any over him. She just didn’t sleep anymore so it wasn’t there to lose.

  “It dawned on me that nobody would think to clean up the office.” She reached down and popped the diskette out of the drive pocketing it just to have something to distract her from Eli’s smile. “Then I finally figured out there wasn’t anyone else to do it.”

  “Lassiter might want to help you,” Eli suggested. Lauren stiffened, and Eli was quick with an apology. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. Bad move.”

  “Yeah,” Lauren agreed. “I thought you were supposed to be the one who’s so sensitive.”

  “I guess chatting about how you got canned from the Stewart case is kind of a taboo subject, too, huh?”

  “You wouldn’t make any points,” Lauren warned, still not sure she was going to let him redeem himself. “So, what do you want?”

  “Mind if I sit?” He motioned to a chair then didn’t take it. “On second thought, m
ind if I take you to lunch? I’d rather apologize with food between us. We seem to do best that way.”

  “That’s kind of dangerous. If I don’t like the way you apologize for trying to bring Allan into this, I might start a food fight.”

  “Then we might as well not go to lunch,” Eli said, looking suddenly sad. “Because I’m not going to apologize for that. I just wanted to tell you I was sorry I didn’t listen to you the other night. I had an agenda, you were there, it seemed the thing to do. Maybe the way I feel about Lassiter is personal. I’m working on figuring it out, I swear.”

  “Does that mean you’re investigating or soul searching?”

  “I plead the fifth.” Eli grinned. “Do you want to go to lunch?”

  “Did you bring me any M&Ms?” He reached in his pocket and tossed a bag on her desk. “Okay.”

  “Okay.” He put his hand out. She took it and couldn’t imagine why she ever thought of letting it go.

  Lunch was nice, and longer than Lauren thought it would be, but that was only because Eli was a perfect gentleman. He didn’t make a move on her, didn’t allude to their night together, didn’t say anything suggestive, all the while letting her know he treasured the time they’d spent together. They talked about everything except the Stewarts, the office, the FBI, her mother, Wilson, or Allan. It amazed her to find that she could carry on a lucid conversation while skirting those particular topics. It was three o’clock when he walked her back to Wilson Caufeld’s chambers and Lauren was sorry to go.

  “So, have I done well enough to suggest we could start from scratch again?” Eli asked.

  “I think my calendar has a few openings. How about tonight?”

  “Wow, lift the yoke and you really let your hair down.” He opened the door and held it for her. She slipped past him feeling positively giddy.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet. I’ve got a couple more things to do here. Can you pick me up around six-thirty?”

  “I can do that. Mind if I use Barbara’s phone? If I don’t check in, they’ll report me missing in action.”