CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tuesday, July 15, 2014, Conference Room, Emerald Shapery Center, San Diego
“Dr. Maurice Giles Vannier. He’s a world-famous biochemist,” Stewart Lipscomb announced to the Andrews litigation team, assembled once more in the large conference room. Hugh had his customary place at the head of the table. Rick Peyton was seated to his right. Mark and Patty were on his left. Stewart was next to Dr. Peyton so they could share the stack of documents in front of them. Kathryn had the chair next to Stewart.
Dr. Peyton spoke up, “Dr. Vannier was head of the team at Suchet that did the initial work on Myrabin. He left Suchet in 1993, just as Wycliffe claims. I’ve gone over all of his work that has been turned over and there’s still a lot of missing information. We need to talk to him right away.”
“Do you know how to find him?” Hugh asked.
“Of course,” Stewart spoke up. “He’s the chairman of the Department of Biology at the École Normale Supérieure in Paris.”
“Patty, see how quickly you can get an appointment with him for Mark, Rick, and me. And book flights and a hotel.”
Kathryn saw Patty grimace slightly, and their eyes met across the conference table. Hugh apparently had forgotten Patty was a full equity partner, and no longer his mistress at his beck and call.
Kathryn felt another pair of eyes on hers and looked up to see Mark Kelly giving her a slight smile. He’d seen her spot Hugh’s faux pas. He glanced over at Patty and then at Hugh and said, “I’ll have my secretary take care of the flight and hotel arrangements since I’m the one going. I’ll telephone Dr. Vannier’s office to make an appointment to see him. Patty has enough to do right now. She’s defending the depositions of the staff who treated Tom Andrews at the hospital.”
“Okay, fine.” Hugh shrugged as if to minimize his social ineptness. Patty gave Mark a grateful look.
“I want to go, too,” Kathryn said quietly. She knew taking a client on an investigative trip was unheard of, but she didn’t care. She desperately wanted to know if Dr. Vannier could explain how Myrabin had killed Tom.
* * *
Wednesday, July 23, 2014, Mark Kelly’s Office, Emerald Shapery Center, San Diego
At six p.m., Hugh wandered into Mark’s office just as he was about to leave.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Can’t it wait? Rachel is sitting in the bar this minute at WhisknLadle in La Jolla, waiting for me. We have a dinner reservation in a half hour.”
“Tell her you’ll be thirty minutes late. Let’s go downstairs for a quick drink.”
As expected, Rachel was livid. If he didn’t show by seven, she was leaving. Mark wondered if “leaving” meant the bar at WhisknLadle or him. He hurried downstairs to meet Hugh in the Westin Hotel’s Lobby Bar. As he’d expected, Hugh was already seated at an out-of the-way, marble-topped table, in one of the neutral, stone-gray chairs, a scotch in front of him.
“You caught hell from her,” Hugh observed as he summoned the waiter. “Bring my friend a double scotch.”
The waiter turned to go, but Mark held up his hand. “Wait, wait. A beer for me. I’ve got to drive to La Jolla to meet Rachel.” He turned to Hugh, hoping to get the conversation over quickly. “What did you want to tell me?”
“A couple of things. One, I know Hays, Price went under today. They sent us an official notice of dissolution.”
“I saw their announcement.” Mark worked to keep his face impassive although he was seething. Hundreds of people were out of work because of Hugh’s baseless paranoia.
“I thought you might come to me about it.”
“It’s too late. They’ve closed their doors and sent their employees home. If you sent them every penny Goldstein, Miller owes them tonight, they’d still be out on the street. Besides, you made it clear I couldn’t change your mind.”
“And you didn’t. I just wanted to be sure we understood each other on this.”
“If that’s all, I don’t want to make Rachel wait any longer.”
“That’s not all.” Hugh waived at the waiter, who quickly brought him another drink.
“Hey, go slow on those, even if Jose is driving,” Mark counseled.
But Hugh shook his head. “No, I need this. You don’t know how I need this. I’ve got to take Buffy to dinner after we’re through here. And she’s on the warpath.”
“Warpath? Why? Logan is a continent away.”
“It relates to the second thing I wanted to bring up with you. Buffy wants–no, insists–that I run for Fred Akers’ seat as the junior senator from California.”
“Where’s Fred going?”
“To a cabinet post after the election, assuming of course, Hal is re-elected.”
Mark sipped his beer and tried not to appear as stunned as he felt. “Whose idea was it for you to run?”
“Edith put the bug in Buffy’s ear.”
“Edith as in First Lady Edith?”
Hugh nodded grimly. “Right.”
“Do you want to run?”
He shook his head. “I’d rather be drawn and quartered.”
“Then why even ask me for my opinion?”
“Because Buffy is turning all the years of my affairs around on me. If I don’t run, she’s going to broadcast my indiscretions around the world.”
“How?”
“By leaving me. And giving lots of TV interviews. Edith’s press people are poised to line them up.”
“What will she say?”
“You don’t have to ask. You already know. She will say I’m a randy old lech who slept with Patty and Logan and a lot of other females who are now our partners.”
“Patty will sue her for libel and slander.”
“Truth, unfortunately, is a complete defense. And you know my story with Patty.”
“So you have to run for office to avoid ruining yourself and Patty and the others?”
“Something like that. Buffy wants to be a senator’s wife.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I’ll want you to take over my role at Goldstein, Miller.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I want you to be the firm’s guiding force.”
“You mean, I’ll be your puppet. You’ll tell me who to ruin, and I’ll do your bidding.” He couldn’t help letting that much bitterness through.
“No, I don’t mean that at all. I know you’ll always follow your conscience, Mark, even when it creates friction between us. If you’d been in charge, Hays, Price would not have gone under.”
“Then why did you let them?”
“Because Bill deserved it.”
Mark bit his lip and decided not to comment further on Hugh’s paranoia. He felt his phone buzz, and saw a text from Rachel: “Not here in ten minutes. I’m done.”
He texted back,“Still with Hugh. Be there as fast as I can.”
Hugh frowned. “What’s going on? What are you doing?”
“Rachel has given me ten minutes to make it to WhisknLadle in La Jolla. I’ve got to go.”
“No, no, there’s one more thing.”
Mark sighed. “Could you make it quick, then? I don’t want a big row with the fiancée tonight.”
“I want you to try again to find out what Kathryn isn’t telling us about her marriage.”
“Look, Hugh. The Paris trip isn’t on until September 16. Dr. Vannier and his wife are in Greece on their summer holiday. He said he’d be happy to meet us, but not until the university term starts. Are you thinking I can somehow take Kathryn aside in Paris and get her to tell me a secret that you don’t even know for certain exists?”
“She’s hiding something,” Hugh insisted.
Mark’s phone buzzed and he saw a warning from Rachel, “I’m leaving!” He stood up. “I’ve got to go. Rachel has lost patience. Tell you what I’ll do. I have a passing acquaintance with Paul Curtis. If she’s hiding something, he’ll know. I’ll get him to meet me for a beer and see what he says. But
I want you to promise me something.”
“What?” Hugh signaled for a third scotch with a frown on his face.
“That you’ll accept whatever Paul tells me. If he says there’s no secret, you’ll stop bugging me.”
“Okay, okay!”
* * *
Twenty-five minutes later, Mark pulled up at the valet stand at WhisknLadle and ran into the restaurant. He pushed past everyone waiting for a table and rushed to the mahogany reception desk, startling the tall blonde goddess in black who ordained who should be seated and who should not.
“I’m sorry, sir. You’ll have to wait your turn.”
“I know. I apologize. It’s an emergency.”
The goddess raised one eyebrow but otherwise remained impassive. “What kind of emergency?”
“My fiancée has been waiting here for me for over an hour. I need to find her.”
The goddess pulled her full, red lips into a pout and picked up a small coin-sized envelope lying on top of the reception desk. She handed it to Mark and said, “I’m very sorry, sir. She left a message.”
He opened the envelope and stared down at the thirty-thousand-dollar diamond solitaire that he’d traveled all the way to Los Angeles to purchase from Harry Winston. He felt the blonde goddess’s eyes on him as he studied the ring. He looked up into her sympathetic, dark brown eyes.
“I’m off at nine,” she said. “I could set you up with free drinks in the bar until then, if you’d like to wait.”
“No thanks.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Friday, July 25, 2014, 1845 Ocean Place, Pacific Beach
Kathryn got home from work at five-thirty. She was angry and frustrated. She didn’t want to wait until September to go to Paris to interview Dr. Vannier. She wanted to know now, right this minute, just exactly how Myrabin had killed Tom.
She threw her briefcase onto the hall bench and stormed into her bedroom to change into yoga pants and a sloppy, gray sweatshirt with the hem out. She pinned her hair into a messy bun on top of her head and poured herself a very large glass of merlot. She took her cell phone and her wine into the backyard and settled into one of the two Adirondack chairs that she and Tom had painted bright yellow, one late September afternoon in 2011. It had turned out to be their last autumn together.
She made herself sip the wine slowly as she contemplated Paul’s text.
“Are you ever going to forgive me? Shannon was a mistake. I’m sorry. I only want you in my life. You know Tom would want us together.”
She closed her eyes and sipped her wine in the softening summer dusk. And she remembered what she did not want to remember.
* * *
Saturday, December 10, 2011, 1845 Ocean Place, Pacific Beach
The Christmas tree was up. Platters of hors d’oeuvres covered the dining room table. Scallops wrapped in prosciutto, mini quiches, seared steak lettuce cups, bacon deviled eggs, crab beignets, potato croquettes, zucchini and goat cheese tarts, and chipotle chicken on soft tacos. And they had hired one of Shannon’s colleagues to tend bar. It was, Kathryn thought, the most ambitious party of their marriage, and she tried to feel festive as she circulated among their guests. Since October she had struggled to accept Tom’s decision that they would never have a child. But instead of growing closer to her after she’d come to terms with his bleak decree, Tom had continued to answer Shannon’s midnight calls and texts in the name of giving her advice about her relationship with Steve. At least he hadn’t made himself late to work again on Shannon’s account.
Kathryn tried to put all of that out of her mind and focus on enjoying the party. The surf crowd was hanging out with Steve and his environmental friends in the dining room. Shannon held sway by the food in a skintight red sheath she had probably ordered from the Victoria’s Secret catalogue. For a while, Tom stood with Kathryn by the Christmas tree as they listened to their colleagues from the public defender’s office talk about their hopeless cases. But after she went to replenish the food, he joined the surfers. When Kathryn came back with fresh trays of hors d’oeuvres, she found him standing between Shannon and Steve. Shannon had draped an arm around each of them.
Kathryn arranged the food quickly and headed for the opposite side of the room where Paul and Carolyn were talking to some friends from Warrick, Thompson. The group was huddled in a circle in front of the fireplace. With her back to the dining room, she tried to lose herself in Big Firm gossip about people she had never met, until Carolyn nudged her.
“You might want to watch what’s going on by the food. Shannon is making a play for your husband.” As she spoke, Carolyn slid her arm through Paul’s.
He looked over at her, startled. “What’s going on?”
“I’m making sure Shannon doesn’t put any moves on you.” Carolyn tossed her auburn mane in the direction of the dining room and took a sip of wine.
Kathryn saw Paul’s eyes shift to the group around the table. He studied the situation and then shrugged, “It’s just Christmas, and they’ve had too much to drink.”
Tom looked up at that moment as if he had felt their eyes on him. He disengaged himself from Steve and Shannon and the surfer crowd and came to join Kathryn, who breathed a sigh of relief.
The party spun on until the wee hours as it always did. Shannon and Steve were the last to leave at one-thirty. Kathryn and Tom put the leftovers in the fridge and fell into bed, leaving the rest of the cleanup for morning.
At three, Tom’s phone began to ring. Kathryn pushed away the cobwebs of heavy sleep to find him sitting up in bed answering it. “Okay. I’ll be there in a second.”
“Where are you going? It’s three in the morning.”
“It’s Shannon.” He was already getting out of bed and picking up the pants he’d laid over a chair earlier. “She’s had a blazing fight with Steve. She’s out front, and she needs me.”
* * *
Friday, August 8, 2014 P & J’s Brewery and Tasting Room, San Diego
At six p.m., Mark walked the few blocks from his office at the Emerald Shapery Center to P & J’s on Columbia Street. He thought it would have made more sense to meet Paul Curtis at the Westin Lobby Bar in the Emerald Shapery Center itself since Warwick, Thompson was also at Emerald Shapery, but Paul had proposed P & J’s.
As Mark sipped his first IPA, a light citrusy brew, and listened to the escalating hum of happy hour, he smiled as he recalled Kathryn’s aversion to P & J’s. He sipped some more and crossed over into relaxed euphoria as he remembered that no angry Rachel would be waiting when he got home that night. She’d come with a truck and her aggrieved extended family the Saturday after she had decided to give the ring back, and they had spent the afternoon eliminating all signs of her from his house. Moreover, Harry Winston had agreed to accept the ring for sale-on-consignment with a sizable cut for the store if the staff found a buyer. Having Rachel and her ring out of his house and out of his life was a great relief.
Paul Curtis pushed open the heavy P&J’s door. Mark noticed that most of the female heads at the bar turned to watch him stride confidently through the milling Happy Hour throng in his perfectly cut gray suit that reeked of expensive hand sewing. Mark made a mental note to get the name of Paul’s tailor.
“Hey, buddy, glad you could make it. Let me buy you a beer.” Mark rose to greet Paul’s striking, blonde good looks, happily aware that the single female population was studying them both.
Paul shook his hand and loosened his maroon tie. “Sounds good, and thanks.” He settled into the seat opposite Mark in the booth and asked, “I hope this isn’t bad news about Kathryn’s case.”
“Oh, no. In fact, there’s good news. We managed to wrangle the name of the French scientist who worked on the development of Myrabin out of Wycliffe. He’s agreed to meet with us.”
“So you think you’ll get something helpful out of him?”
“Suchet accepted his recommendation to stop development of the drug. So, yes, we’re pretty optimistic that we’re going to get new
s that will help our case.”
The waitress appeared with Paul’s beer and lingered for a moment longer than necessary. Mark was happy that she found him and Paul attractive. There was hope for meeting someone new. And then he wished he wasn’t Kathryn’s lawyer.
“Who’s going to Paris?” Paul asked as he sipped his beer.
“Me, Hugh, and Rick Peyton. And Kathryn.”
Paul frowned. “Why is she going?”
“She asked, and Hugh said yes.” So Paul was interested in Kathryn, too. Mark was not surprised. In fact, he was jealous. They had a history that he could never have with her.
Paul frowned again. “There’s a rumor down our way that Hugh sent Logan Avery to Outer Mongolia in your D.C. office because he’s warming up for someone new.”
“Logan’s gone, that’s true. Hugh found a better associate for Kathryn’s case. Stewart Lipscomb was pre-med undergrad, and he sees a lot more in the Wycliffe documents than Logan did. But Kathryn’s a client. You know what that means.”
“I know, but does Hugh Mahoney know? He doesn’t live by the rules. As you are aware.”
Mark winced, thinking of Bill Hays and the demise of Hays, Price all because Hugh’s paranoia had made him go back on his word. He wondered how much of the truth he should share with someone in another firm. But he was about to ask Paul some very personal questions about Kathryn and Tom, so he opted for sweetening the pot by being the first to share gossip.
“The truth is Hugh’s wife has given him an ultimatum. He has to clean up his act and run for Fred Akers’ Senate seat, or Buffy is going to leave him and air his dirty laundry on all the talk shows. Hal Edward’s wife is Buffy’s close friend, and she thought up the perfect revenge.”
Paul sipped his beer thoughtfully for a moment, while Mark signaled the waitress for another. He tried to decide how to launch into the personal questions he was supposed to ask, but Paul created the opening he needed.
“I assume you wanted to talk to me about something in particular.”
The Death of Distant Stars, A Legal Thriller Page 13
