The Death of Distant Stars, A Legal Thriller

by Deborah Hawkins

  “Good morning, Tyrone.”

  “How ‘ya doin’, Miz Andrews?”

  “A little wet,” Kathryn smiled as she took off her overcoat and folded it over a spare chair.

  “That investigator man find anything to help my case?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “How can it be both?” He frowned.

  “Well, yes, because he discovered Tamara’s last name is Lopez, and he found the apartment where you spent the night with her. It’s at Friar’s Court Apartments, about ten blocks from The Rendevous.”

  “Was she there?”

  “I’m afraid that’s the ‘no’ part. She’s been gone since the end of October.”

  “Just as soon as she found out you were looking for her.”

  “More likely she moved because the police were looking for her. But, either way, she’s not available to help us.”

  Tyrone’s fourteen-year-old eyes, once bright with hope, went blank. “Never mind, Miz Andrews. I tole you from the first, I got no chance.”

  “We’re not giving up, Tyrone.”

  “I’m facing life, ain’t I?”

  “Maybe. That’s a complicated question right now for someone under eighteen. The United States Supreme Court has said a life sentence can’t be automatic for juveniles. They have to consider you and the circumstances.”

  Tyrone shook his head, “Won’t do me no good. The circumstances is I’m a Crip. Courts think all Crips are bad.”

  “The court has to give you a fair trial and a fair sentencing decision based upon you as an individual. That means the court can’t write you off as just a Crip.”

  But he shook his head once more. “Won’t do no good, Miz Andrews. I’m never gonna get out of here.”

  * * *

  Monday, January 13, 2015, The Four Seasons, Georgetown, Washington D.C.

  Hugh gazed across the table at Logan Avery in the golden glow of the Four Seasons’ renowned restaurant, Bourbon Steak. Predictably, she’d been quick to accept his dinner invitation, and she’d worn a body-hugging black sheath that revealed lots of cleavage. Her brown eyes gazed at him seductively as she toyed with the olive in her martini glass. She obviously expected an after-dinner invitation to join him in his suite.

  “How did it go today on the Hill?” she purred.

  “Senator Worth from New York was a jerk, but I expected that. Big corporations are the major funding sources for all his campaigns. He was leading the charge to make it harder to sue on behalf of small shareholders and people who’ve been injured by the death of a loved one like Kathryn Andrews.”

  “So exactly what would this proposed bill do?” Logan finished her martini and signaled the waiter for another without registering any emotion when he mentioned Kathryn to his great relief.

  “It would allow defendant corporations to move for summary judgment before they produce discovery to a plaintiff. Exactly what Wycliffe tried in the Andrews’ case. If this bill passes, the big guys could get a small plaintiff’s case thrown out before it has even had a decent chance to get started.”

  Logan made a face. “Wouldn’t be good for us.”

  “Not good at all,” Hugh agreed.

  The waiter appeared, and Hugh ordered a hundred-dollar rib eye while Logan went for seared tuna with foie gras, pommes dauphinoise, and truffles.

  “Do you think it will pass?” Logan took a long sip of the new martini and leaned over slightly to allow Hugh to see more of what her low-cut gown revealed.

  “It’s a substantial risk. Brian Hampton, our lobbyist, says the pharmaceutical and tech giants are pouring money into the pockets of all the members of Congress who will take it from them.”

  “The bill is aimed at you personally, isn’t it?” Logan began to play with the olive again with her long, red lacquered nails.

  Hugh nodded. “Quite a compliment, in a way.”

  “They’re terrified of you.”

  He grinned. “They are. And I love it.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I’m having breakfast with Hal in the morning.”

  “Hal as in the president?”

  “Yes. I’m going to promise him a ten-million dollar contribution for his re-election campaign if he’ll veto it.”

  “But that’s illegal!”

  “Not if I get the right people to front the money and divide it into legal donations.”

  Logan laughed. “I should have known you’d find a way around the law.”

  Hugh shrugged. “I’m a lawyer. My job is to get results for my client. In this case, I am the client. If Congress passes this legislation, it will hurt the work we do.”

  “To the little guy!” Logan held up her martini.

  Hugh smiled and condescendingly clinked his scotch so the cheesy moment would pass quickly. For all the polish Logan had acquired at the University of Virginia, sometimes her small-town, Kentucky backwater upbringing still showed.

  Their entrees arrived, and they devoted themselves to their expensive meal. But predictably Logan took several bites of her sixty-two dollar fish creation and put down her fork. For as long as Hugh had been involved with her, he had been painfully aware of her eating disorder.

  She was now nursing her glass of Château Cheval Blanc, ignoring her plate. “How are things going with Kathryn Andrews’ case?”

  “Very well. We have a March 2 trial date.”

  “So it’s going to trial? You can’t settle it?”

  “Wycliffe remains wedded to its offer of two million. They won’t go any higher. Her case is worth a lot more than that.”

  Logan tossed her long blonde hair and threw back her head, eyeing Hugh challengingly. “What if it isn’t? What if she and the sainted-public-defender-husband weren’t so happily married?”

  “Mark talked to the horses’ mouth on that one. Paul Curtis swears they were the happiest couple on earth.”

  “Really?” Logan’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “Do you know something Paul Curtis doesn’t? He grew up with Tom and introduced him to Kathryn, and he claims to know all their secrets.”

  “I don’t know Paul, although I wish I did. He’s to-die-for gorgeous. I’ve seen him hanging out at P & J’s Brewery on Friday nights. But I could never manage to get an intro.”

  “I’m sure if you’d walked up to him, he’d have been very glad to introduce himself.”

  Logan smiled, awash in what she interpreted as Hugh’s admiration. “My mistake then. He is rich and gorgeous. The ex-wife was a fool to throw that one back.”

  Hugh waved at the waiter for more scotch. He realized if he got too far into his cups, he might make the mistake of asking Logan upstairs for the night.

  “So you have your sights set on Paul Curtis now?” He grinned although he felt a sharp stab of jealousy despite the fact sleeping with her would entangle him in an affair he didn’t want to resume.

  “No. Didn’t I tell you? I’ve met someone!” She gave him a triumphant smile that said I’ve won the last and final round.

  “Congratulations. Who is he?” Hugh’s jealousy meter began to register in the discomfort zone.

  Logan beamed. “Travis Eliot Davidson, III. Assistant U.S. Attorney, Brown University, Fulbright Scholar, and Harvard Law.”

  Hugh smiled in defeat. After all, Hugh Mahoney was only a top graduate of a good state law school, although his claim to fame was being the most hated and feared plaintiff’s attorney in the United States. And now Big Business was shelling out millions to the members of Congress to shut him down.

  “I’m glad you’re happy.”

  “What about you?” Logan gave him her disingenuous smile. “How are you doing with Kathryn Andrews?”

  “Kathryn is a client. I don’t have dating relationships with my clients.”

  “Well, let’s just say you haven’t yet.”

  “Logan!”

  But she knew she had pushed him too far, and it was time to change the subject. “So you think you’ve go
t a pretty solid case against Wycliffe?”

  “There have been some interesting developments.”

  “Such as?”

  “We’ve discovered a cover-up of two Myrabin deaths during the clinical trials that should have halted the approval process.”

  Logan’s eyes grew big. “They’ll want to settle, then, to avoid all the negative press.”

  “Maybe. But as I told you, they haven’t yet made an offer I could recommend to Kathryn.”

  “Are you going to try the case?”

  “I’m second chair. Mark’s taking the lead. Juries like him much better than they like me.”

  Logan suddenly leaned back and shifted from seductress to lawyer. “You know you’ve got evidence of a criminal conspiracy to cover-up the number of deaths.”

  Hugh nodded. “I’ve thought of that. The trouble is, we don’t know who the U.S. Attorney should indict because we don’t know who ordered the cover-up. We’re working on finding out.”

  “Well, when you do, let me know, and I’ll pass the name along to Travis. A case like that would make his career as a prosecutor.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Wednesday, January 14, 2015, The White House, Washington, D.C.

  “It’s always good to see you,” the President of the United States said next morning as they sat in Chippendale chairs over bacon, eggs, fruit and toast in the Oval Office Private Dining Room under the portrait of Lincoln and his generals. Hugh had visited Hal Edwards here more times than he could count. “What brings you to town?”

  “Testifying against the Worth Litigation Reform Act.” Hugh wondered how Hal kept his California tan in the depths of East Coast winter.

  “Ah, of course.” The president nodded his expensively coifed head of dark hair. “Edith sends her regards by the way. How’s Buffy?”

  “Determined to make me run for Fred Akers’ Senate seat when you give him a cabinet appointment in your next term. She and Edith have it all figured out.”

  “You sound bitter.”

  “I’m a lawyer, not a politician.”

  “Are you still seeing that hot blonde associate, what’s-her-name?”

  “Logan Avery. She’s been transferred to our D.C. office. No, that’s over on both sides. Amiably.”

  “So who’s the new woman in your life?”

  “There isn’t one.” Hugh thought of Kathryn longingly as he spoke. “Buffy was upset about me taking Logan to your private fundraiser. As penance, I have to give up mistresses and make her a senator’s wife.”

  “But wasn’t there an incident with a public defender, late at night at your place? Some of her clients were taking potshots at the two of you. Or so the paper said.”

  “I didn’t know that made the papers.”

  “Just the little, local Coronado one. My staff goes over all that stuff for news about my major campaign donors, trying to make sure I don’t do anything stupid and step on their toes. There was a picture of her. She’s gorgeous.”

  “And she’s also a client. It was a business meeting.” Hugh realized how unlikely that sounded. But Hal moved on to other subjects to his great relief.

  “Some people would say you as the plaintiff have the unfair advantage in that kind of litigation. You can bring a suit without any hard evidence of fraud or wrongdoing and then poke around in their corporate documents until you find any little rash statement by an employee or an executive to exaggerate into a million-dollar verdict.”

  Hugh shrugged. “People say all kinds of things. I don’t care what people say. I care about protecting the little guy against those corporate bastards who have bought out Worth and his cronies to give them an unfair advantage in future litigation.”

  “So you’ve come to buy me out. You want me to veto the Worth Act if it passes?”

  “I’ve got ten million dollars broken into entirely legal campaign contributions from my partners to re-elect the People’s President whose agenda is to keep the courts open to the average citizen. I wouldn’t call that a buyout, but you can if you want to.”

  Hal sipped coffee from a flowery china cup and considered the offer. “I like that as a campaign slogan, ‘the People’s President.’”

  “It’s all yours. Supported by a veto of the Worth Act.”

  “Okay, Hugh. It’s a deal. But tell me, doesn’t Buffy’s suggestion to take down your shingle sound even a little bit attractive? You’ve had lot of years being a corporate terror.”

  He grinned. “No, I love it too much.”

  “But what about Buffy?”

  “You know about her scheme with Edith to blackmail me to run for Fred’s seat?”

  Hal nodded. “I take it you don’t want to be a senator.”

  “I’m not a politician, Hal.”

  “What else do you think you might like to do?”

  “I’d like to be on the Supreme Court.”

  “You’d be my first choice, but the current justices are young and in good health. I don’t expect any vacancies in the next four years. Since Congress doesn’t appeal to you, how about something pleasant, but not stressful, like the ambassadorship to England? Or France?”

  Hugh sipped his own coffee and created a momentary fantasy of himself married to Kathryn and living in the American Ambassador’s residence in Paris. But that, of course, was an impossible pipe dream. Still, being Madame Ambassador would make Buffy happy and keep him out of Congress.

  “I’d seriously consider the job, Hal, if you made me the offer.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Monday, February 2, 2015, Office of the Public Defender, 450 B Street, San Diego

  “You know it’s the best deal he’s going to get,” Sam McIntyre said at five o’clock that afternoon.

  Kathryn had started to go home without taking his call. He was one of the more reasonable deputy district attorneys and therefore more willing to offer her clients a decent deal, but the thought of having to bargain away Tyrone’s innocence made her stomach churn.

  “Twenty-five-years-to-life is a long sentence.”

  “He’d be eligible for parole by age forty.”

  “He’s only fourteen, Sam. By that time, he’d have spent his entire adult life in prison where he’d get a lousy academic education and maybe a smatter of vocational training in something like welding. He’d wind up on the streets, homeless.”

  “So you think he should go to trial, get convicted, and spend the rest of his life in prison where at least he’d get three meals a day and medical care.”

  “He’s innocent, Sam.”

  “Sure, they all are.”

  “No, they’re not. You know me better than that. I don’t make claims I believe aren’t true.”

  “Sorry. I apologize. You’ve always been very straight with me. And I honestly can’t remember when I’ve heard you say your client is flat-out innocent.”

  “Then maybe you’ll listen this time. This kid didn’t do it.”

  “Let me hear some evidence, then.”

  “That’s the problem, Sam. He’s got an alibi, but the witness disappeared. She’s legit, but she’s also a scared prostitute-on-the-run.”

  “Well, without that witness, there’s no alibi.”

  “But he’s not one of the robbers on the surveillance video. I know because he spent the night with the woman. All the details of his story check out. We just can’t find the witness.”

  “There’s no guarantee the jury will believe her.”

  “And there’s no guarantee they won’t. I don’t like telling an innocent client to plead.”

  “Well, I can’t drop this case on your word he’s got an alibi.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting that. But what about letting him plead to manslaughter, low term of three years?”

  “You’re kidding. A man is dead.”

  “But Tyrone didn’t kill him.”

  “Well, I can talk to my boss, but I’m pretty sure he won’t buy it. And if he did buy it, he’d want the high term, eleven years.”
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  “But he’s a kid with no priors.”

  “Maybe I could sell the mid-term of six years. Look, I hear you, Kathryn. But you know the offers come from Upstairs. And right now, Upstairs will be running for re-election next fall, and Upstairs can’t appear soft on crime. This case involved a tourist and generated a fair amount of media coverage.”

  “So Tyrone has to be a martyr to your boss’s political ambitions?”

  “Our entire office is martyr to his political ambitions. Our work has very little to do with justice. You know that.”

  “Try to get three years, if you can. I could recommend that to Tyrone.”

  “Okay. I’ll get back to you. But don’t hold your breath.”

  Kathryn put the phone down and considered going home. It had been a long day, and she was tired. She very much doubted the higher-ups in Sam’s office would offer Tyrone a decent deal.

  She sat back in her chair and stared at the bleak concrete city landscape outside her window. She missed Tom so much it hurt. They were exactly one month from the start date of the trial, and they didn’t know who had ordered the cover-up of the clinical trial deaths or how many people had died after Myrabin had been approved.

  On impulse, she picked up the phone and dialed Joe Sanders, the private investigator Goldstein, Miller had hired to help in Tyrone’s case. He was a middle-aged ex-cop in a forever rumpled dark brown gray suit. But he was a good, unbiased investigator who had no problem working for the defense. “Hey, Kathryn. You read my mind. I was going to call you today.”

  Her heart sped up, hoping for good news. “Have you found something that helps Tyrone?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Tell me the no part first.”

  “I found Tamara Lopez. She’s in state prison in Texas for drug possession and sales. Fifteen years. She’s not going to be out anytime soon.”

  “I could get a court order to bring her here to testify.”

  “Wouldn’t do any good. She’s afraid of being killed in prison for snitching. No way she’s going to testify.”

  “Did you at least talk to her?”