“But I don’t believe that guns always keep people safe.”
“I don’t, either. But as things stand, this Glock is all I have.”
“I’m worried about you,” Mark said. “Remember when I warned you in Martini that this case could turn very nasty?”
“Of course. But that wasn’t a reason to give up then, and it’s not a reason to give up now.”
“Even if someone is killing off our witnesses? Even if someone is trying to kill you?”
“They won’t succeed.”
“Aren’t you a little over-confident?”
“No.”
* * *
Tuesday, March 24, 2015, Office of the Public Defender, 450 “B” Street, San Diego
After Mark left, Kathryn turned to the mail that had piled up on her desk, but she couldn’t concentrate. Apparently they were getting too close to the secret of how Myrabin, with all its deadly consequences, had come to be marketed. Killing Dr. Vannier and Harrison O’Connor could not make the lawsuit go away. Only killing her would end the case against Wycliffe. She looked down at the Glock in her purse.
A moment later, Beth Price appeared at her door. “Hey, boss. There’s someone here to see you. A Ray-Ray Washington.”
“Show him in, Beth.”
A few minutes later, Ray-Ray ambled into her office. He looked like a rapper in baggy tan pants that rode way below his waistline, exposing the tops of his black boxers. He paired his extra-extra large pants with an equally over-sized Seattle Mariners jersey and matching hat, worn with the brim backwards.
“Hey, Miz Andrews. Hope you don’ min’ me stoppin’ by.”
“Of course not, Ray-Ray. I’m glad to see you.” She eyed the brown, eight-by-ten envelope in his hand with caution. “Have a seat. Have you brought me something?”
Ray-Ray heaved his six-feet, two-hundred-and-fifty pound bulk into one of the chairs in front of her desk. He held out the brown envelope. “Yeah, Miz Andrews. I brung you those camera tapes Mr. Joe be want’n so bad for Tyrone. How come Mr. Joe hasn’t come back to see me?”
“He’s been busy on another case,” Kathryn said, wondering if diverting Joe to Tom’s case and leaving Tyrone’s to languish was ethical.
“Well, here,” Ray-Ray thrust the envelope at Kathryn, and she took it. “Mr. Joe say these can get Tyrone out of jail. I don’t want no innocent blood on my conscience.”
“So Tyrone did not rob Mr. Thorn?”
“Well, I can’t say personally because I was drunk that night, but he’s on these tapes as big as life all night long. What time did the brothers rob and shoot Thorn?”
“One a.m.”
Ray-Ray grinned. “Then these will help. He’s selling dope in the parking lot with Tamara at one a.m.”
“Are you sure? Are the time stamps on these tapes accurate?”
“I am sure, and yes they are. I’m a good businessman, Miz Andrews. I know how to protect my shit. Protecting your shit means a top-notch surveillance system. I should know. I pay the bill for it every month.”
“Listen, Ray-Ray, I’m probably going to need more from you.”
“As in you’ll need me to testify in court about these tapes.”
“I will. I won’t be able to use them without you to say they are authentic.”
“I figured that when I brung them down here. I’ll testify for Lil’Pit. He’s a good kid. He’s had more than his fair share of hard knocks.”
“So you promise not to disappear on me?”
“Hell, no, Miz Andrews. The club, it does me proud. I’m mak’n good money down there. I’m not about to up and leave my major asset. I’ll be around whenever you need me. And, hey, come down some night. Bring a friend. Bring a lot of friends. Have a few drinks on the house.”
Kathryn walked Ray-Ray to the lobby and waved as the elevator doors closed. He waved back as he disappeared from sight. She turned back to her office, smiling at the thought of inviting the Goldstein, Miller litigation team to the Rendevous for an evening. But the simple sincerity of his invitation and his pride in the business he’d built touched her. If Tom had been alive, he’d have insisted they take Ray-Ray upon on his offer. And no doubt, he’d have begged Paul and Steve to go, too. And Shannon. No, stop, she told herself, you don’t have time now to think about Shannon. You have to stay focused on what matters. And what mattered most at that moment, was viewing the surveillance tapes from the Rendevous.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Tuesday, March 24, 2015, Offices of Goldstein, Miller, Emerald Shapery Center
At five p.m., as Hugh was about to leave for the day, his secretary buzzed him.
“A call for you from Senator Akers.”
He sat down at his desk and considered whether or not to take it. An hour ago, Buffy had called to say she wanted to go to dinner at Juniper & Ivy and had made a reservation for six. Hugh had promised to be home by five-thirty.
But he decided to risk being late. He picked up the phone and said, “Hello, Fred.”
“Hi, Hugh. I’m calling to give you an update on the Worth Act.”
“Did it pass?”
“I’m afraid so. I voted against it, of course.”
“Thanks, Fred.”
“Glad to help you out. Don’t worry, Hal’s on the veto.”
“That’s good news. I’ve been distracted by this trial.”
“Yeah, I can understand. I hear Rick didn’t do so well for you.”
“He tried, but we lost our star witness to a bunch of Paris thugs.”
“You’re actually thinking he was murdered?”
“Didn’t want to say it, but yes.”
“I’d like to hope you’ve got Wycliffe on the ropes, but the reports say Rick killed your case.”
“We’ve got Kathryn left. There won’t be a dry eye in the house when she’s done.”
“Good luck, then. Listen, I want you to come to D.C. when this is over so I can hook you up with the people you’ll need for your campaign. Surely you realize how much you’re needed in the Senate to vote down any more Worth Acts.”
Hugh sighed. “I see your point, Fred. But Buffy has lost interest in being a senator’s wife. Now she’s demanding I become Ambassador to France.”
“Hey, there are worse gigs,” Fred said and hung up.
* * *
Dinner with Buffy was tense. He drank far too much scotch to dull the pain of listening to her plans to redecorate the residence of the American Ambassador in Paris. As she rambled on, he sucked down Glenlivet and wished that Kathryn were sitting across from him, planning their future in Paris. He fingered the emeralds in his pocket and allowed his mind to wander through his fantasy of being in Paris with Kathryn. Buffy was too self-absorbed to notice.
After they got home and went to their separate rooms like prize fighters going to their separate corners of the ring, Hugh sat outside on his private balcony and watched the night waves roll on shore. He thought of Tom Andrews and wondered if his spirit were out there against the horizon, surfing in the dark.
“I love your wife,” he said to the spirit in the darkness. “You loved her, and God help me, I do, too. But I’m not even a tenth of the man you were, and she deserves so much more than the burned out old lech that I’ve become.”
As he sipped the last of the smooth whisky that warmed his soul, he thought he heard a man’s voice speaking. It said, “No one is perfect. No matter what Kathryn has told you, I wasn’t either. Trust your instincts. She hasn’t told you everything.”
* * *
Hugh went to bed at one a.m. He tossed and turned until three before he drifted off. But not for long. His cell phone rang at five. Groggily, he reached out and punched “accept.”
“Hugh, it’s Rick!”
The edge of desperation in his voice pushed away the sleep cobwebs. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything. I’ve been arrested. The feds are on to us.”
“Shhh. Be quiet. Where are you?”
“I’m back home. I
bailed out.”
“Bailed out?”
“The feds came and arrested me at ten last night. They know about our fee sharing arrangement.”
“But the statute of limitations has run–”
“Not on the Andrews case.”
“But how did they know about that?”
“Logan.”
“What?”
“Logan told her boyfriend, Travis.”
“So? Logan’s statement can be impeached. She’s the scorned woman.”
“But I’m not.”
Hugh’s gut tightened. “Oh, God, Rick. Not you.”
“I had no choice. They offered me a two-year deal if I told them everything. Otherwise, I’d go to prison for the rest of my life. I’m sorry, Hugh.”
“I took the Andrews case for you, Rick, because you were in dire financial straights. ‘Sorry’ doesn’t exactly cut it.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit!” Rick shot back. “You took this case because you were tired of Logan and had the hots for Kathryn Andrews. Don’t blame me because you can’t keep your pants zipped. They’re coming for you tomorrow.” And he hung up.
Hugh sat very still in the early morning dark pierced only by the weak beam from his bedside light and remembered Patrick’s prophetic words, “Be careful, little brother. Your eye for attractive women will be your downfall one of these days.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Wednesday, March 25, 2015, Crown Manor, Coronado
Hugh slept little after Rick’s call. He had been wide awake for an hour when his cell phone rang at six.
“Miss me?” Logan purred.
“Why’d you do it?” He hated himself for asking that question. Why never mattered. Only powerless people asked why.
“I told you I’d show you I’m a good lawyer.”
“You haven’t shown anyone you’re a good lawyer. You’ve just demonstrated to the world you’re a disloyal snitch.”
She laughed the deep throaty laugh that he had once found so irresistible but which now turned his stomach. “No, I’ve just demonstrated to the world that I’ve turned the most feared plaintiff’s lawyer in history into a scared cry-baby. Whining doesn’t become you.”
“You’re terminated from Goldstein, Miller as of this instant.” Powerless, he thought. Every word out of his mouth made him sound completely powerless. And he was.
“Ha!” She snorted. “Did you really think I’d be stupid enough to give you the chance to fire me? I resigned yesterday when Travis told me he was ready to arrest Rick. And you.”
“You’d better dust off your shingle then and get ready to hang it up in some seedy, executive office suite with all the other losers who couldn’t make it in the Big Leagues. You’ll never pull down more than fifty thousand a year until the day you die.”
Her laughter was like fingernails on a blackboard. If they’d been in the same room, he’d have strangled her. “Listen to you, threatening me with money. I don’t have to worry about that because Travis is a trust fund baby with more money than he’ll spend in his lifetime. Besides, everyone will want to hire the attorney who brought down Hugh Mahoney. You, on the other hand, are going to have your ticket punched, removed, torn up, and burned by the State Bar.”
Loss of his license, his ultimate nightmare. His stomach tightened. “You may have won this round, Logan; but you’re going down in the end. You’ll be begging me to take you back at Goldstein, Miller when all this is over.” Only years of facing down major corporations across the battlefields of deposition conference tables gave him the chutzpah to bluff her. He punched the “end call” button to drown out her peals of derisive laughter.
To his horror, he realized he was shaking. He decided to go for a walk on the beach to steady his nerves. He watched the surfers in their wet suits waiting for waves and thought of Tom Andrews. As he began to calm down and think more clearly, he realized he wasn’t as powerless as he thought. Hal Edwards wouldn’t let Logan’s wet-behind-the-ears boyfriend arrest one of his major campaign donors. After all, Hal had jumped at Hugh’s ten-million dollar offer in return for vetoing the Worth Act.
When he got back to Crown Manor, he dialed Hal’s private cell. Edith answered. “Hugh, so good to hear from you. Did you know Justice Bloomberg is going to be stepping down from the Court, after all? You’re number one on Hal’s list.”
“That’s a relief. I didn’t want to be an Ambassador.”
“I know. Buffy will be disappointed. She wanted to live in Paris, but I can talk her around. After all, with the two of you in D.C., you’ll be invited to all of our parties during Hal’s second term.”
The thought of parties at the White House was infinitely preferable to life at a federal country club prison. “That’s great news, Edith. Listen, I need to talk to Hal.”
“I’ll certainly tell him. Unfortunately he’s lunching with Justice Bloomberg right now at the Court, and he didn’t take his phone with him because they don’t want any interruptions. They are talking about the short-list of nominees. And, as I said, you are number one. All this is confidential, of course. There won’t be an announcement until Hal feels certain that he’s sure he’s lined up enough Senators to confirm your appointment. It will take about six weeks.”
“Sure, Edith. I understand. But, look, I need to talk to Hal urgently. The Department of Justice is out of its mind. They arrested Rick last night.”
“Rick Peyton? But what could Rick possibly have done? He’s a respected M.D. Buffy adores him.”
“My point exactly, Edith. Look, a former employee of the firm has gone rogue and seduced a newbie Assistant U.S. Attorney. She persuaded him to arrest Rick.”
“A former female employee, I take it.”
“Okay, Edith. I know how Buffy feels about the affairs. This was the last one, I swear. The two of you put the fear of God into me.”
“Glad to hear it. Sorry, I’ve go to go. I’m already late to meet a troop of Girl Scouts from St. Louis who are here to tour the White House. I can’t send Hal a text because obviously he doesn’t have his phone. But I’ll call the head of his Secret Service detail and tell him Hal needs to call you ASAP.”
“Thanks, Edith.”
“Don’t worry about Rick.”
After she hung up, Hugh showered and went through the motions of getting dressed while his mind whirled through Edith’s news. An appointment to the Supreme Court was the best offer he’d heard in a long time. But now the threat of arrest looming over his head took on greater significance because it could deprive him of the chance to become Justice Mahoney.
He selected his navy power suit and maroon tie. He was not going to let a little twerp like Logan interfere with his career. No one could threaten him. He was always in control. He called the shots and named the tune everyone else had to dance to. He had created Logan Avery. Now, from his seat on the United States Supreme Court, he would enjoy destroying her. His vengeance would be swift and sure, and she would rue the day she was born.
He stepped back from the mirror and smiled. He looked ready to take on the world. And he was. Hal would put a stop to Logan and her schemes. There was nothing to worry about.
The last thing he did every morning was slip the emeralds into his pocket. But he paused as he reached for the box. He was confident that Hal would tell the DOJ to lay off. But Hal could be slow to take care of things, even in urgent matters. If Hal’s rescue was delayed for any reason and if he was arrested today, Hugh did not want to be found with four carets of emerald earrings in his pocket. He locked them in the top drawer of his bureau and went down stairs to meet Jose, who would drive him to the courthouse.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Wednesday, March 25, 2015, Edward J. Schwartz Federal Courthouse, U.S. District Court, Southern District of California, San Diego
At nine, in the green wool dress that made her eyes that fascinating shade of emerald, Kathryn swore to tell the truth and took her place on the witness stand. Mark, at the podium in front of her,
gave her a reassuring smile as he asked the first question. He thought she looked beautiful. Hugh, sitting at the plaintiff’s table with Joe Saunders, thought she did, too. He thought of the emerald earrings and wished for the right time and the right moment to give them to her.
“Would you state your name for the record, please?”
“Kathryn Britton Andrews.”
“And your husband’s name?”
“Thomas Allen Andrews.”
“And when were you married, Mrs. Andrews?”
“June 10, 1997.”
And they went on as they’d rehearsed the night before in the Goldstein, Miller conference room. It was the story of her marriage that she’d told during her deposition and the story of that fateful day in May when she’d made her first desperate midnight drive to the hospital, praying all the while that the person she loved most in the world would not be taken from her.
Mark had been waiting for her in the big conference room when she walked over from her office at six o’clock on Tuesday with her Glock tucked safely in her purse. They had planned for her to be there at five-thirty.
“Sorry to be so late. Something important came up today.” She took off the jacket to her dark gray suit and hung it on a chair.
“Anything to do with that case Joe Saunders is working on for you?” Mark was in shirtsleeves, his tie loosened. He looked relaxed and happy. “I ordered turkey and roast beef. Help yourself.”
“Yes, it does have something to do with Tyrone’s case.” She told him about Ray-Ray and the surveillance tapes between bites of turkey sandwich washed down with bottled water.
“Wow! So your client was on the tapes?”
“Yes, at one a.m., the exact time of the Thorn murder, Tyrone was in the parking lot at the Rendevous, dealing dope.”
“Dealing dope beats life-without-parole for murder.”
“Any day. And there’s more.”
The Death of Distant Stars, A Legal Thriller Page 27
