The Death of Distant Stars, A Legal Thriller

by Deborah Hawkins

  Tom finished his bite of toast, put his plate in the sink, and poured them both more coffee. He seemed oddly quiet, and that made Kathryn uneasy. “I don’t think she wants to leave Steve.”

  Steve or you, Kathryn thought.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Tuesday, June 3, 2014, Hugh Mahoney’s Office, Emerald Shapery Center, San Diego

  Hugh was keenly aware all afternoon that Mark and Patty were prepping Kathryn Andrews for her deposition in the small conference room. If he was honest, he’d admit he’d flown back from D.C. a day early to try for a chance to see her. But junior partners like Patty and Mark prepped clients for deposition. If he went into the conference room where the most senior partner in the firm was not needed, he might give away the deadly secret he hadn’t been able to hide from Buffy. But he longed to see Kathryn even at a distance. He felt the way he had in junior high when he’d held his breath during every passing period hoping to catch the merest glimpse of Lisa Jenkins, the prettiest girl in the seventh grade, as he and three hundred other students jammed themselves through the narrow halls.

  He imagined her now, sitting under the relentless lens of the video camera at the end of the glossy mahogany conference table, facing Patty’s cold efficiency and Mark’s southern charisma. Mark Kelly was a fool if he did not pursue Kathryn’s honey-blonde, hazel-eyed charm. If Hugh had been twenty-years younger and free of Buffy–but he made himself stop before he could complete the thought. He was who he was. Powerful, rich, but fifty-five and the owner of a paunch, unruly gray hair, and coke-bottle glasses. He was an object of desire only for predatory women like Logan. And nothing more.

  His phone rang, and he picked it up. His secretary said, “Senator Akers on the line.”

  And what did the junior senator from California want with him at four-thirty on a Tuesday afternoon?

  “Hi, Fred.” Hugh went on the offensive before his caller could speak. “Are you in D.C. or San Francisco?”

  “Just arrived in San Fran,” Fred Akers said. “There’s a fund raiser tonight for Governor Bishop. I’m surprised you’re not here. With Buffy.”

  Hugh winced at the emphasis he placed on the last two words but did not rise to the bait about his appearance with Logan at Hal Edwards’ private fund raiser. “Sent my contribution and my regrets. Is that why you called? To make sure I’d put my money in the reelection fund?”

  “No, but I’m glad to hear you’re supporting Les. He’s done a good job for the state and deserves another term. I called because I want you to run for my seat when Hal appoints me Attorney General. I was hoping you’d be here tonight so I could introduce you to some people who could help you with fund raising and putting together a campaign team.”

  “So that’s the cabinet post Hal has in mind.”

  “How did you know the president had promised me a cabinet appointment?”

  “Buffy. She’s pressuring me to leave the firm. She and Edith cooked up the idea that I should run for your seat.”

  “Well, it’s a great idea. I’ll endorse you, and so will Hall.”

  “Why are you so anxious for me to run?”

  “Because I want to leave this seat in the hands of someone loyal to me and the president.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “It would help you mend fences with Buffy.”

  “Why do you say that?” Hugh knew he’d spoken more sharply than he’d intended.

  “She talks to Olivia as well as to Edith.”

  “So the wives’ club is massing against me.”

  “To be blunt, that little tart you brought to Hal’s private fund raiser didn’t do anything to enhance your image.”

  “I know. Logan is a junior associate at the firm, but she likes to dress like a hooker.”

  “Olivia said Buffy and Edith have concocted a plan to embarrass you if you don’t run.”

  “I know. Edith’s going to book my wife on all the talk shows to give all the lurid details about my affairs. Some innocent people I love will be smeared on national television if I don’t run for your seat.”

  “Look, don’t worry. You’ll like the Senate.”

  “I like law practice more.”

  “You can’t say that until you’ve been a senator. Besides, there are plenty of babes on the Hill who find senators nothing but sexy. If Buffy forces you to become Senator Mahoney, you can have plenty of fun on the side.”

  “I’d like to give up that pastime.”

  “Suit yourself. But I can give you some introductions to women who’ll make your little Logan tart look homely. Give it some thought, Hugh. And come to the next fund raiser, so I can get you started with the right campaign people.”

  * * *

  Hugh sat watching his silent phone for a few minutes, waiting for his blood pressure to go down. His doctor had been all over him about stress at his last visit. I’m a trial lawyer, he had shot back. I eat stress for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But now, as he felt the blood rushing through his temples, he wondered if he was as immortal as he believed. And he hated knowing Buffy had outsmarted him again.

  Suddenly his desire to see Kathryn overrode all his common sense. He got up and wandered down the hall to the small conference room, trying to think of an acceptable excuse for why he had come.

  But he didn’t need an excuse. He slipped in unnoticed. Kathryn was sitting at the end of the small conference table in tears. Patty was standing by the video camera, which she had just turned off; and Mark was sitting beside Kathryn, offering her the box of tissue. Even in tears, she looked elegant in a simple beige dress and navy jacket. The part of him that couldn’t stop thinking about her wanted to tell Mark to move over, so he could hand her the tissue. But his ever-vigilant lawyer side was glad they’d made her cry. Now she’d be much harder to shake in the actual deposition.

  Suddenly everyone noticed he was there.

  “We’re taking a break,” Patty said.

  Hugh nodded. “Of course. This is bound to be emotional stuff.”

  Kathryn looked up at him with her lovely, hazel, teary eyes and gave him a faint smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d become emotional.”

  “No need to apologize. Better to be emotional here than on the day of the real thing. That’s why we do these preparations.”

  He wondered if Patty and Mark had gotten the secret of her marriage out of her. He looked over at Mark, who seemed to guess his thoughts. Mark shook his head “no” ever so slightly.

  Hugh looked back at Kathryn, overjoyed that he had the perfect excuse to say what he was about to say. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. I’ll take you to dinner tonight, and we can finish talking about your deposition over some good food and better wine.”

  * * *

  Logan had been furious when he’d cancelled their plans that evening. He’d made a reservation at the Marine Room, so he could tell her she was being transferred to the Washington, D.C. office. He had made sure not to see her often since Buffy’s ultimatum. He liked the Marine Room for breakups. The romantic surroundings gave the dumpee hope that the split was only temporary and discouraged scenes. Hugh hated scenes. But now his heart was soaring at the thought of an evening with Kathryn under low lights with the ocean just steps away.

  “You promised!” Logan pouted when he called to tell her of the change in plans.

  “Kathryn Andrews had a rough day in depo prep. And I’ve got some things I need to talk to her about. She’s upset and nervous. It will go better if the firm buys her a nice dinner, and we talk over a bottle of wine.”

  “You like her,” Logan accused.

  “She’s one of the nicer clients,” Hugh agreed.

  “No, you like her,” Logan insisted.

  “Don’t be insulting. She’s a client, Logan. You know very well we don’t get personally involved with our clients. Tell you what, I’ll be done with dinner by ten. I’ll stop by your place on the way home.” He hung up and wondered why the richest, toughest plaintiff’s attorney in America was af
raid of a junior associate in his firm. Probably because he had dirt on Logan, but she had far more on him.

  * * *

  Now as he sat across from Kathryn in the soft light of the Marine Room with the ocean rolling onshore just beyond the glass, he no longer had any desire to go by Logan’s afterward. And he fervently wished he looked like Mark Kelly and wasn’t Kathryn’s lawyer.

  “Sorry for today. I know it was difficult.” He’d ordered a French Bordeaux to impress her. He hoped she was impressed.

  “It was.” She took a long drink of the wine, but did not reward him with a compliment. He could tell her mind was elsewhere. “I’ve had cases where clients confessed to crimes they didn’t commit, and I’ve wondered how anyone could be pushed to say things that aren’t true. And today I experienced what they must have in the interrogation room.”

  “Then Mark and Patty did a good job.”

  She nodded. “They did. But Tom and I were happily married. It angers me beyond words to have anyone insinuate otherwise.”

  “Then be prepared for Bob McLaren because he will give you no quarter in that department.”

  “I know. I understand what he wants to do. And I hate myself for thinking lawyers must show some respect for the truth on the civil side. Truth is nothing but fiction in criminal law.”

  “You’ve been an attorney long enough to see that we aren’t engaged in a search for the truth. It’s all about who has the most money, civil or criminal. You know that.”

  “I wish I didn’t.”

  The waitress appeared.

  “You’ll want the lobster,” Hugh said to Kathryn. “The firm is picking up the tab. And I’ll have the same.” He smiled at the waitress, who scurried off.

  Years of experience had taught him the direct approach was often the best. “What made you cry today?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing in particular. I was tired. They asked a lot of questions.”

  “What was the last one they asked before you started crying?”

  “They asked me what the stresses were in Tom’s life.”

  “And you said?”

  “Our jobs. I mean, you just said it yourself. Money is the key to acquittal. How do you think it feels to represent someone facing the death penalty with nothing but a part-time investigator and an overworked paralegal and lying cops on the other side?”

  “So your husband took his job seriously?”

  “Very.”

  “But aren’t most of your clients guilty?”

  “Most. But a few aren’t. And guilty or not, the Sixth Amendment requires us to do everything we can to raise a reasonable doubt about our client’s guilt. That’s hard to do when you have too many cases assigned to you. And Tom and I both had too many.”

  “So you think that kind of stress raised your husband’s blood pressure?”

  “It certainly contributed to it.”

  “Was there a specific incident in late 2011 that led to his diagnosis in 2012? Anything at work or at home?”

  “No.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes as she spoke, and Hugh knew she was lying.

  The entree arrived, and Hugh allowed himself to be absorbed by the exquisite blend of lobster and truffle sauce accompanied by roasted potatoes and broccoli puree. When the plates were cleared, he ordered decaf for them both.

  He stirred his coffee thoughtfully and then said, “Wycliffe’s fight to keep their clinical trials out of our hands means we are going to find a lot of helpful information in them. But I have to warn you, I think we are wading into deeper waters than I first thought when you came to me about your husband.”

  “Are you suggesting we give up on Tom’s case?”

  “Of course not. But I want to be sure you understand there may be risks beyond the ordinary ones.”

  She pictured the Suburban behind her on the bridge. But that had been only an act of road rage. It was over. It would not happen again. “My husband is dead. I have no children. I’m a public defender with a list of former clients as long as your arm who’d like to kill me. I’m already living with ‘risks beyond the ordinary ones.’”

  * * *

  Tuesday, June 3, 2014, Midnight, Logan Avery’s Downtown Condo

  Wearing nothing but his boxers, Hugh stood in front of Logan’s spellbinding view of San Diego’s night skyline, sipping a scotch he’d poured for himself and thinking about Kathryn. He hadn’t meant to come to Logan’s tonight, and now he was sorry he wasn’t home in his own bed.

  After watching Kathryn drive away from the Marine Room in her little car, he had suddenly felt lonely. He’d gone through the mechanics of sex with Logan and then waited for her to fall asleep. But he’d chickened out of telling her about the transfer. He sighed as he drank and watched the cold lights of the city. Was he the only lonely, rich old man who’d lost his soul? Were there any others awake as the last seconds of Tuesday night slid into the first minutes of Wednesday morning? Did they, too, have voluptuous mistresses asleep in another room, whom they had tired of ?

  What was Kathryn hiding? What if her marriage had been all but over when her husband died? At best, the damages award would be nominal even if Mark could convince a jury Myrabin was responsible for Tom’s death. The firm would take a financial bath.

  The businessman in him screamed don’t risk it, but the old warrior who loved to gamble and win said go for it. Besides, if he pulled out of the Wycliffe litigation, he’d lose contact with Kathryn. And although she would never consider him as anything but a loud, brash, smart-ass, he wanted to look into those big hazel eyes and hear her soft voice talk about the man she loved, even if it could never be him.

  Suddenly Logan was behind him, her arms around him, her hands in places he wished they weren’t. He could feel she hadn’t bothered to throw a robe over her nakedness.

  “Come back to bed and play some more.”

  He turned and pulled away. “Not now, Logan. I’ve got something on my mind.”

  “Something or someone as in Kathryn Andrews?” She wrinkled her nose at the name.

  “Kathryn’s got a secret she’s not telling us. That matters to me.”

  * * *

  Buffy checked her email one last time before turning out the lights and saw the pictures her investigator had taken of Hugh and Logan from a balcony across the street from Logan’s condo. Hugh didn’t look good naked. But then, he hadn’t realized he was being photographed.

  The more disturbing pictures were of him walking Kathryn Andrews to her car after dinner, somewhere. She couldn’t tell where. He was standing a little too close as he leaned on the driver’s side door, apparently after he closed it for her. And the look on his face as he stood in the parking lot watching her drive away said way too much about how he felt.

  Logan Avery wasn’t a threat to Buffy’s status as the wife of a rich and powerful man, but Kathryn Andrews was.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Early Morning Hours of Wednesday, June 4, 2014, 1845 Ocean Place, Pacific Beach

  After she got home, Kathryn could not sleep. She put on her pajamas and wandered the house in the dark. The clock on the stove said one a.m. when she pushed open the back door and went outside to sit in the cool mysterious dark under the stars.

  She wasn’t hungry or thirsty. She’d had more than enough expensive wine. She was exhausted and drained from the ordeal of deposition preparation and Hugh’s probing at dinner. But Shannon’s relationship with Tom, whatever it had been, was her closely guarded secret. Besides, she owed it to Tom’s memory to accept his reassurances that he had only been Shannon’s friend and nothing more.

  * * *

  October, 2011, Halloween Night, The Yellow Café Pacific Beach

  By September, Shannon had given up the modeling gigs. She took on more surfing students and worked more hours at the PB Saloon, so she could make the payments on the Corvette. She and Steve seemed to be in a state of perpetual conflict that required her to seek constant advice and attention from Tom.

  There were many m
ornings when, as Kathryn got dressed for work, she could hear the rise and fall of Shannon’s voice in the kitchen as she drank coffee with Tom after surfing and explained her side of her latest row with Steve. And on those mornings Kathryn’s stomach would tighten when she walked by Tom’s office and saw it was still empty at ten o’clock.

  To make matters worse, on the weekends, Tom began to bring Shannon back for breakfast. Kathryn did her best to sit through the meal with the two of them locked in a discussion about Steve and Shannon’s latest conflict, but she was up and out long before Tom walked Shannon out to her bicycle, one arm around her shoulders.

  Halloween had become an increasingly difficult holiday for Kathryn. Children coming to the door in their costumes were yet another reminder of the baby she wanted and could not have. By this point in her marriage, Kathryn had thought she would have at least two, and maybe three, children. Instead, the man she loved was at the beck and call of another woman.

  Kathryn summoned her courage to confront him on Halloween night. They left treats in a big bowl on their porch and walked up to The Yellow Café for dinner.

  They were halfway through the meal when Kathryn said, “I thought I’d better let you know Millie came looking for you at ten o’clock this morning. When she didn’t find you in your office, she asked me where you were. She said it’s the third time this week she’s been looking for you, and your office has been empty.”

  Tom flinched at the news that Mildred Fletcher, head of the San Diego County Public Defender’s Office and his boss, had noticed his absence. “What did you tell her?”

  “Well, I didn’t tell the truth: I didn’t tell her you were sitting in the kitchen playing therapist for Shannon. I told her you were interviewing a witness in the Pepe Jackson murder case.”

  “Thanks.” He looked genuinely relieved.

  “But I’m not going to lie for you again,” she added.