The Death of Distant Stars, A Legal Thriller

by Deborah Hawkins

  “How bad was it?” she asked, looking directly at Kathryn, probably because she guessed she would give the most honest answer.

  “Bad. The jury listened closely to Bruce and Dr. Martin, and I saw them making notes. But Rick’s opinion sounded like desperate speculation with not much to back it up. McLaren smeared him, and the jury bought it.”

  “We lost our bet on presenting Rick’s theory about the suppressed studies. We shouldn’t have tried it,” Hugh observed.

  “Well, I’ll do what I can with damage control tomorrow. Dr. Vannier will be here from Paris on Monday to testify. That will clean up any problems we’ve created with Rick.”

  Kathryn stood up. “I’ve got to go over to my office and check for messages. Joe Sanders was going to the Rendevous last night to see if he could get those surveillance tapes out of Ray-Ray.”

  “I take it those tapes will prove Tyrone’s alibi?” Hugh asked.

  “We think so. And if that’s true, the state is going to be in big trouble.”

  “Why?” Mark asked.

  “Because the cops took the first set of tapes, and they’ve been sitting on them. If Joe is right–”

  “They’re withholding Brady material, which is evidence that tends to prove the client is innocent. You’re on to something big,” Hugh said.

  Kathryn smiled at him and noticed that his eyes seemed to light up. “We think we are. And, of course, I’m very grateful for Goldstein, Miller’s help.”

  Hugh waved his hands expansively. “It wasn’t much. You and Joe are doing all the hard work. We need to set up a bigger pro bono program to help kids like Tyrone. When Tom’s case is over, I’ll propose it to the partners.”

  Except I won’t be here when Tom’s case is over, he thought. Or I won’t be here for long. Buffy will see to that. He watched Patty get up to walk Kathryn to the elevator. They looked like two girlfriends. Kathryn would fit in well here. Maybe Mark could persuade her. Damn! He didn’t want to be stuck in an embassy under Buffy’s constant supervision while Kathryn walked the halls of Goldstein, Miller. He had to find some way to buy Buffy off. And then an even more important realization hit him. Buffy was in San Francisco and wouldn’t be back until Monday. He was free to ask Kathryn to dinner that night.

  * * *

  Wednesday, March 18, 2015, Office of the Public Defender, 450 B Street

  Joe’s phone message was waiting in the middle of her desk. “Didn’t want to text. Worried about security on your cell and mine. Talked to Ray-Ray. He admitted he has a set of tapes from that night. But he’s reluctant to turn them over because they incriminate Tamara on the drug sales. He was her pimp, and he’s in love with her. Told him she’s already in jail for dealing, and those tapes are Tyrone’s only shot at walking. Going back tonight to talk to him. Update tomorrow. Hope your husband’s case went well today.”

  Kathryn smiled. Having a guy like Joe working with her made all the difference. If she took a job with Goldstein, Miller when all this was over, she’d have access to Joe and people like him all the time. It was more than worth considering.

  Suddenly her cell began to ring, and she recognized Hugh’s number. Her stomach tightened. What else had gone wrong besides Rick’s clumsy testimony about post-approval Myrabin deaths?

  “Hello, Kathryn?”

  “Yes, Hugh.”

  “Did Joe have anything that helps Tyrone?”

  “He’s still working on it.”

  “So not yet?”

  “That’s right. But it looks promising. Again, I’m very grateful for the help.”

  “I wondered if you’d come over for dinner tonight. Buffy’s in San Francisco, and I thought it would give us a chance to talk about where we go with the case after today.”

  “What time would you like me to come?”

  “I’m leaving the office now.”

  “Then, say, twenty minutes?”

  * * *

  Wednesday, March 18, 2015, Crown Manor, Coronado, six p.m.

  Jose made it across the bridge in record time. Hugh changed into tan slacks and a cozy navy sweater and slipped the box of emeralds into his pocket, stifling the fantasy that he could give them to her that night. He went down to the kitchen to see what Maria had left for dinner. The refrigerator held a serviceable enchilada casserole and a green salad. He smiled. She fed him the way she fed her grandchildren.

  He opened a bottle of merlot to go with the casserole and set the table with two place settings. The front door that Larry Lawrence’s fourth wife had installed began to chime its intricate melody. He raced to open it.

  She was wearing the same light gray suit she’d worn at trial with the simple white blouse. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders. Her eyes had turned that enchanting shade of emerald sea glass that he had learned meant she was very tired.

  “Come in, come in.” He allowed himself the air kisses that everyone in this insincere state indulged in. He wished they could be real. She was unfazed by the slight contact, and he reminded himself he was an unattractive, middle-aged male with an aggressive ego that he must learn to keep in check.

  She followed him to the kitchen where he poured a glass of wine and handed it to her.

  “So glad you could come.”

  “Thanks for asking me. The house is too quiet when I go home. Where is Buffy?”

  “San Francisco. An auction for a charity whose name I forget. And a ball.” She’d been really unhappy that Hugh wouldn’t leave the trial to escort her to the gala.

  “Sounds boring.”

  He grinned. “I thought so, too.”

  He opened the refrigerator and brought out the salads. “Let’s start with these.” He’d already put the casserole in the oven.

  They settled opposite each other at the small kitchen table. Hugh wished he could turn the lights down and light some candles, but that would be too obvious.

  “You said Joe is still working on getting alibi evidence for Tyrone?”

  “Yes. Ray-Ray has the tapes we need, but he’s reluctant to turn them over because his former girlfriend is on them, selling dope. Along with Tyrone, I might add.”

  “And Joe’s explained to him those tapes can save Tyrone from life without parole?”

  “Of course. And he’s thinking it over. The girlfriend is already in prison in Texas on drug charges. Joe’s talking to Ray-Ray tonight about how helping us out won’t do much to Tamara, and it will literally save Tyrone’s life.”

  Hugh munched lettuce thoughtfully. “You do a tremendous amount of good over there in the PD’s office.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like it most days. I’m doing Tyrone’s case for Tom.”

  Hugh looked down at his plate and then back at Kathryn. “I admire your husband, more and more. He was an extraordinary man.”

  He saw tears in those exquisite green eyes. “He was.” But she recovered quickly. “Mark says you are thinking of leaving the firm.”

  “Not exactly. Buffy wants a change. Hal Edwards’ wife is very close to Buffy. She suggested Hal give me some sort of ambassadorship during his second term.”

  “Where?”

  “England or France. Something easy.”

  “Would you like that?”

  Only if you are there with me. “I don’t know. I’d rather be on the Supreme Court, but Hal isn’t anticipating any vacancies.”

  “Sounds as if the election is a done deal.”

  Hugh chuckled. “Not quite. But my ten million is solidly behind Hal.” He got up to remove the empty salad plates and serve the casserole.

  When he sat down again, she said, “It must be nice to have that kind of money to influence politics.”

  “It is,” he agreed. “But I do everything in the name of my father. He was the little guy big business ran over. I exist to make them miserable for that.”

  Kathryn nodded. “That’s the way I feel about Tom. I want them to be miserable for what they did.”

  Hugh sighed. “Unfortunately, t
hey weren’t miserable today. But that will change because we have Dr. Vannier on Monday.”

  They ate in companionable silence for a bit until Hugh’s cell phone went off.

  He looked down at the number and frowned. “Sorry, I have to take this. It’s from Dr. Vannier’s assistant. He is supposed to be flying out of Paris tonight.

  “Hello? I see. Are you sure? Absolutely?” Hugh looked over at Kathryn with grave eyes. “I see. I see. We’ll contact her tonight.”

  After he hung up, he was silent for a few moments.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Dr. Vannier is dead.”

  “Dead?” She stared at him with blank eyes. “How? When?”

  “This afternoon. He was packing for the flight to America. Someone broke into his apartment. The police are calling it robbery.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Fly to Stanford and beg Aimée Girard to take his place.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Saturday, March 21, 2015, Gilbert Hall, Department of Biology, Stanford University

  As the chartered jet took off for San Jose, Hugh sat back in his seat with his early morning scotch and blamed himself for the disaster Rick had created. He had insisted on testifying to justify the hefty fee he needed to stave off financial ruin. But now Hugh realized he should have just paid Rick under the table and gone with Dr. Vannier. If Vannier had been on the witness stand on Wednesday afternoon, he’d have been safely out of his house when the thieves had come looking for his Picasso. Or would he? Deep inside, Hugh thought “The Girl with the Red Book” had not been the real target.

  Hugh fingered the emeralds in his pocket and studied Kathryn. She and Mark had the two seats facing his with the small table in the middle. They were both dressed casually in jeans. She was absorbed in reading her emails. Mark was drinking coffee and looking out the window. He’d questioned Hugh’s decision to bring Kathryn on the trip, but Hugh had felt the presence of Tom’s widow might overcome any hesitation Aimée Girard might have about helping them. And, besides, he knew his own time to be with her was limited. Although Buffy had agreed to give up on making him run for Fred Akers’ seat, she was already redecorating the American Ambassador’s residence in Paris.

  * * *

  The Mercedes limo purred through the light drizzle as it headed out of the San Jose International Airport toward Stanford. Kathryn leaned back and watched the landscape grayed with rain slide past the big car. Dr. Girard had agreed to meet with them, but no more. She had refused to promise to testify.

  She met them at her office on the third floor of Gilbert Hall, the home of the Department of Biology. She was barely five feet tall, thin, and stylish as Frenchwomen usually are. She wore dark slacks and a light gray sweater with a red silk scarf tied gracefully at the neck. Kathryn guessed she was about the same age as Dr. Vannier, but her complexion was still smooth; and even without make up, she looked elegant. Her chin-length light brown hair was expertly cut to lie perfectly against her jawline. She had large, deep-set, dark eyes. Even at middle age she was still a beautiful woman.

  Dr. Girard led them down the hall to a small conference room. After they went in and seated themselves around the small table, Dr. Girard locked the door.

  “What we say here must remain here,” she cautioned as she sat down at the head of the table. She looked over at Kathryn. “I am sorry about the loss of your husband, Mrs. Andrews.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And we regret the loss of Dr. Vannier,” Mark began, but Dr. Girard cut him off.

  “Maurice was murdered.”

  “That seems very possible,” Hugh agreed.

  “No!” Even though her accent softened her voice, she spoke with commanding authority. “Not possible. Not probable. Absolutely for certain, he was murdered.”

  “Why are you so sure?” Mark asked.

  “Because as soon as Wycliffe bought the rights to the drug, they began to circulate that story about Maurice being fired for sexual harassment. They thought that claiming the two of us had been lovers would make us stay quiet about our work at Suchet.”

  “But it didn’t?”

  “Of course not! Our spouses and colleagues knew it wasn’t true. Wycliffe picked the wrong people to lie about.”

  “Dr. Vannier was going to testify about your research on Myrabin,” Mark said. “He was going to testify that it was not safe and could not be made safe. Could you take his place for us?”

  “I could. I’m not sure if I will.”

  “Because you are afraid something will happen to you?”

  “Of course. Maurice told me about his meeting with you last fall, and he told me he planned to expose Wycliffe’s hypocrisy. I warned him not to.”

  “So each of you have been subject to specific threats from Wycliffe?”

  “Not in so many words. Instead of killing us, they’ve tried to discredit us through Charles Lawson, who, as you know, says our work is not on par with that of American scientists. Of course, he knows that’s a lie. I often see him at conferences, and he takes great pains to avoid me. But when I heard about Maurice’s murder, I realized they were going farther than just defaming us as scientists. I have no doubt about who arranged for those two thugs to go after the painting.”

  “So you are afraid to help us?” Mark asked.

  “Of course I am.”

  “If you did decide to come back with us,” Hugh explained, “I’d have you stay with my wife and me. You’d testify first thing on Monday, and my driver would be waiting to take you to the airport as soon as you’ve finished. A private jet would be waiting to bring you home. You’d have armed protection the entire time from the firm’s private investigator.”

  She smiled. “Clever. So your theory is they won’t have a reason to come after me, once I’ve done whatever damage I can do?”

  Hugh nodded. “They’d be crazy to try anything after you’ve been a witness in a trial that’s being watched nationally and internationally.”

  “So it sounds as if the best way to protect myself is to tell my story. And Maurice’s.” She was silent for a few minutes before she said, “We were not lovers, but we were close friends. He would want me to testify. I’ll do it.”

  “And we’ll do everything we can to keep you safe.”

  * * *

  Saturday, March 21, 2015, Crown Manor, Coronado, California

  At midnight, Hugh stood on the balcony outside his bedroom and surveyed his world with satisfaction as he listened to the low, soft roar of the Pacific and sipped his last scotch of the day. Aimée Girard slept safely in one of the guest rooms on the third floor of the mansion. Joe Sanders occupied the room next door with his Glock. Buffy had given him no problems about having Aimée in the house, and actually seemed to like her.

  They’d have to get over the hump of witness substitution on Monday, but he knew Mark was up to the task. In fact, Hugh thought Mark’s good looks and soft-spoken manor subtly influenced Judge Weiner in his favor. Bob McLaren was too abrasive for the highly intelligent judge.

  His cell began to ring, and he saw the call was from Logan. He started not to answer it. Most likely she was having boyfriend problems and wanted to resume their affair.

  But his intuition told him to press the “accept” button. “Hello, Logan.”

  “Miss me?” she cooed.

  “It’s over, Logan. I told you.”

  “I know, I know. Just testing you. Things couldn’t be better with Travis. I’m calling about the Andrews case. I’ve got some interesting information for you.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as Harrison O’Connor wants to testify.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “Couldn’t be more positive. I talked to him myself, today. Apparently he’s been watching the Andrews trial, and he saw Rick’s debacle on CNN. He wants to help. He says he knows the number of post-approval deaths. It’s over six hundred. They’ve put the reports into a private database, so they’ll s
tay hidden from public scrutiny. He called the DC office to say he wanted to talk, and they routed him to me because I had worked on the case when I was in San Diego.”

  “So you are sure this is all authentic?’

  “Absolutely. And I met him for a drink after work tonight at the Four Seasons to seal the deal.”

  “So when is he coming to San Diego?”

  “In the morning. He leaves at 7:30 from Dulles. I bought him a ticket and handed it to him myself. I booked him a room at the Westgate. You’re supposed to call him tonight. Here’s his number.”

  A few minutes after Logan hung up, Hugh dialed Harrison O’Connor. The phone rang and rang, but no one answered. He tried three times and then called Logan back.

  “I’ve got no idea,” she said. “You’re dialing the number he gave me. We’ll just have to hope he’s on that plane tomorrow.”

  “What times does his flight get in?

  “One-thirty.”

  “E-mail me his flight number. I’ll have Jose pick him up.”

  * * *

  Hugh poured one more scotch and gloated over how glorious it was going to be to present both Dr. Girard and Harrison O’Connor to the jury. In fact, he couldn’t think of anything more exciting except handing Kathryn the emerald earrings.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Monday, March 23, 2015, Edward J. Schwartz Federal Courthouse, U.S. District Court, Southern District of California, San Diego, 9:00 a.m.

  Mark won the fight over allowing Aimée to testify. Bob McLaren argued that the plaintiff should not be allowed to present a “surprise” witness.

  Judge Weiner frowned at McLaren who was at the podium. “How is Dr. Girard a ‘surprise’? She is here to testify to everything her dead colleague was going to testify to. You know what the substance of Dr. Vannier’s testimony was going to be.”

  “But we’ve never deposed Dr. Girard.”

  “But Mr. Kelly has given you a summary of her testimony. Why should I grant a mistrial just so you can depose a witness the substance of whose testimony you already know?”