The Death of Distant Stars, A Legal Thriller

by Deborah Hawkins

  “What else?”

  “The police took the original tape from Ray-Ray’s place the day after the Thorn murder, and they’ve never turned it over to me.”

  “You mean you’ve caught them withholding evidence that could get your client acquitted? They’ve violated Brady v. Maryland?”

  “Yes. Sam McIntyre, the Assistant D.A on the case, is pretty upset.”

  “So what does this mean for Tyrone?”

  “Sam’s going to get the felony-murder charges dismissed, and he’s going to offer Tyrone a chance to plead guilty to one count of possession for sale with a recommendation for two years probation. I went to see Tyrone tonight to tell him the news. He’s pretty excited, of course.” Kathryn remembered Tyrone’s tears of joy when she told him he was going to get his life back. He’d hugged her while he cried; and as she’d felt his thin body against hers, she had remembered that he was just a lost kid without a family who’d tried to get by the best way he could. She’d felt Tom in the room, shedding his own joyous tears, as she held Tyrone.

  “But what will happen to him when he gets out? Didn’t you say he’s homeless?” Mark asked.

  “Yes. That’s the problem. He lied about his age to get a job making a little money bussing tables at Applebees’ in Chula Vista. He was selling drugs that night at the Rendevous because he didn’t have enough to live on.”

  Mark considered the problem thoughtfully. Then he said, “What if he could work here?”

  “He’s a fourteen-year-old kid with barely any education. What could he do at Goldstein, Miller?”

  “Be a messenger. The ones we have don’t stay long. And Martha McDonald, the head of the mail room, came up the hard way. I’ll talk to her about Tyrone and see if we can’t find somebody to take him under his or her wing.”

  “He’ll be a ward of the juvenile court. The judge will have to approve whoever he lives with.”

  “I think we can find someone better than Ray-Ray Washington, with all due respect to him as a businessman.”

  Kathryn smiled and told him about Ray-Ray’s pride in his establishment. “He invited me down with all my friends for drinks on the house. Tom would have taken him up on that.” Suddenly, her eyes misted over. “Tom would be over the moon right now. I didn’t want Tyrone’s case, but I did it for Tom. I feel as if he’s smiling at me.” Her voice broke.

  Mark reached across the table and put his hand on hers. “It’s okay. And it’s okay to tear up tomorrow on the stand. Don’t worry if you do.”

  “I don’t want the jury to think I’m faking anything.”

  “They won’t. Believe me, they won’t. When you talk about your husband, it’s so obvious that you loved him very much.”

  Her lovely almond-shaped hazel eyes met his, and she gave him a teary smile. “I don’t even have the words to say how much.”

  “Yes, you do. You don’t realize how your voice changes when you talk about him. And then, there are the pictures of the two of you together. I probably shouldn’t say this. It’s not strictly professional. But we’ve all become friends and colleagues in the months we’ve worked on this. And I think every one of us in the firm who has had any contact with Tom’s case wishes we had someone in our lives who loved us as much as you and Tom loved each other. The jury’s going to see that, too. There’s no way they could miss it.”

  She smiled at him. “Thanks. And thanks for finding a way to help Tyrone.”

  Tom would like Mark Kelly, she thought.

  * * *

  Wednesday, March 25, 2015, Edward J. Schwartz Federal Courthouse, U.S. District Court, Southern District of California, San Diego

  It was almost lunchtime when Mark asked the question she’d anticipated since early that morning. “Now, Mrs. Andrews, do you recall the day your husband first became ill after he started talking Myrabin?”

  “Yes.”

  Suddenly the back doors of the courtroom swung open and ten men in suits burst in. From the witness stand, Kathryn’s practiced eye saw the bulge of shoulder holsters under their coats. Her stomach knotted.

  “Don’t come any farther!” Judge Weiner barked, partially rising from the bench. “Bailiff!” She gestured for her armed bailiff to block the aisle. He put his hand over his gun, still in its holster, as if he could single-handedly protect Her Honor and the courtroom from ten armed men.

  “Who are you?” the judge demanded. “And how dare you come barging into my courtroom?”

  “We are U.S. Marshals, and we are here with an arrest warrant for Hugh Sean Mahoney on charges of conspiracy and obstruction of justice. I’m Chief Deputy Anderson Baker,” the leader of the group said.

  “And you had to burst into my courtroom in the middle of a trial to serve this warrant, Chief Deputy Baker?” the normally unflappable judge’s voice rose. She was angry and upset.

  “We apologize, Your Honor. Exigent circumstances.” Two of the deputy marshals had proceeded past Judge Weiner’s bailiff and had handcuffs out for Hugh. Hugh thanked his lucky stars for the impulse he’d obeyed to leave the emerald earrings at home.

  “Your Honor,” Mark intoned, “they can’t take a member of the defense team in the middle of the plaintiff’s testimony.”

  “I agree,” Judge Weiner said. “Stand away from Mr. Mahoney,” she told the marshals who had surrounded Hugh.

  The doors of the courtroom stirred again, and a thirty-something, brown-eyed, dark-haired, six-foot god in a navy Brooks Brother’s suit walked in as if he owned the place. “I’m sorry, Judge Weiner, but the Department of Justice can take Mr. Mahoney. I’m Travis Eliot Davidson, III. Assistant U.S. Attorney. I’m here on special assignment from the Washington, D.C. office.” He waived a thick sheaf of paper at the judge. “The grand jury has indicted Mr. Mahoney on twenty-two counts of conspiracy and obstruction of justice, and the Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court, the Honorable Marion Bassett, has ordered us to take Mr. Mahoney into custody immediately.”

  Damn Hal for not getting on this right away. Maybe ten million was too much for his campaign. Maybe he should try to find something to like in whoever ran against him and teach Hal a lesson. Hugh tried not to flinch as the marshals applied the handcuffs. As the cold steel clicked around his wrist, he remembered Logan’s litany of her boyfriend’s credentials, Brown University, Fulbright Scholar, Harvard Law. And a Ph.D. in cocky, he added bitterly to himself. Damn Hal!

  “Your Honor!” Now Mark, who always retained his Southern, gentlemanly calm, was angry. “This is a blatant violation of my client’s due process rights and right to counsel of her choice.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Justice Weiner said. “But for now, my hands are tied by an order from the Chief Justice of the United States. We’ll recess for the day and begin again tomorrow.”

  Kathryn came down from the witness stand and stood next to Mark as Hugh was led out of the courtroom. Mark’s jaw twitched angrily. As soon as the courtroom doors closed behind them, he turned to her and said, “Let’s go back to the firm and think about our options.”

  As they left together, Kathryn noticed Bob McLaren and Emma Talbert at the defense table, smiling at each other.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Tuesday, March 25, 2015, Offices of Goldstein, Miller, Emerald Shapery Center

  They holed up like refugees in the large conference room, Patty, Stewart, Mark, and Kathryn. Stewart, as the junior member of the team, ordered sandwiches for lunch that only he ate. Mark, as senior member of the team, summoned William Hackney, the head of the firm’s white collar crime section, to deal with Hugh’s arrest and to arrange for bail.

  After William left, Patty said, “This has got to be related to Rick. The feds arrested him on Tuesday night. Did you know?”

  Mark shook his head. “No one told me.”

  “They promised him a two-year sentence if he’d agree to testify against Hugh about their fee-splitting arrangement. Logan ratted them out to the feds.”

  “What fee-splitt
ing arrangement?” Kathryn asked.

  “Hugh doesn’t want anyone to know about this outside the firm,” Patty said. “But for years he has shared a percentage of the attorneys’ fees with Rick in the cases Rick worked on.”

  “But that’s a violation of the ethics rules. An attorney can’t share attorneys’ fees with a non-lawyer.”

  “Right,” Mark sighed. “But Hugh had this arrangement with Rick for years because Rick spotted cases like yours for him. He had a similar arrangement with a stockbroker named Eric Steiner for securities cases.”

  “So attorneys’ fees as finders’ fees?” Kathryn asked.

  Patty nodded. “It’s a common practice in civil litigation. Or was, until a few years ago when the feds came sniffing around all the big plaintiffs’ firms. Hugh would have been safe because the statute had run on all the cases he and Rick and Eric had worked on, but then Rick begged him to take your case as the last one. Rick was in financial trouble. Again.”

  “So Hugh agreed to one last unethical split, and now Rick has bailed on him,” Kathryn observed.

  Mark nodded. “I’m afraid that’s the size of it.”

  “But fee-splitting isn’t obstruction of justice,” Kathryn insisted.

  “No, it’s not. But Hugh and Rick swore under oath during the investigation into the plaintiffs’ firms that had engaged in the practice that they, in fact, hadn’t. Those declarations under penalty of perjury have come back to haunt them,” Mark explained.

  Kathryn looked disappointed by the news.

  “I’m afraid Logan wasn’t satisfied with the townhouse in Georgetown and the guarantee of partnership in the D.C. office,” Patty observed. “She wanted to make it personal. And she has.”

  “I’ll ask for a mistrial in the morning,” Mark said. “The jury not only saw the arrest, they heard the charges, conspiracy and obstruction of justice. Our entire case has been prejudiced because of that.”

  Kathryn frowned. “No, I don’t want you to ask for a mistrial.”

  “But Kathryn,” Patty said, “the jury has been tainted. There is no jury instruction the judge could give that would undo what they saw and heard today.”

  “I can’t face going through a trial a second time.” Mark saw the strain around her eyes. “It was all I could do to answer those deposition questions; and then today I told half of the same story again. As I sit here right now, I’m wondering how I can get up there tomorrow and talk about Tom’s days in the hospital, and how he looked at me the minute before he died. I believe I’ve got the strength to finish tomorrow. But that’s all. I can’t go through this again. I can’t.”

  Mark looked at Patty, who said, “Okay. So getting Judge Weiner to grant a mistrial will mean Wycliffe wins?”

  Kathryn nodded.

  “Then we won’t ask,” Mark said. “Let’s go home and get a good night’s rest. And start over in the morning.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Wednesday, March 25, 2015, 1845 Ocean Place, Pacific Beach

  At seven-thirty, Kathryn sat on the sofa in her living room with a tray of microwave mac and cheese in her hands and a glass of red wine. Her Glock and her iPhone were next to each other on the coffee table. She looked over at Tom’s medals in their case and smiled.

  “I miss you. If you were here, I’d be eating real food.”

  Could dead people laugh? Tom would laugh at that. Maybe it was time to learn to be a decent cook, she thought. Maybe it was time to let go of Tom and think about someone else. Someone like Mark Kelly.

  Her phone rang. Although it was Paul and she’d been avoiding him, she answered.

  “Hey, are you okay? Hugh’s arrest is all over the news.”

  “I’m okay. It was, to say the least, dramatic.”

  “So the judge will declare a mistrial for sure.”

  “I told Mark not to ask for one. I can’t go through this again, Paul.”

  “But Kathryn–”

  “Don’t! I’ve heard all the pros and cons of mistrial from Patty and Mark this afternoon. I’m going to get on the stand tomorrow and tell the rest of Tom’s story, and then I’m done. I could not possibly go through this again. Too many people are dead. Tom. Dr. Vannier. Harrison O’Connor. Mary Lancaster.”

  “You’re not safe!” Paul said.

  “I’ve heard that before, too. I’m not leaving home. I feel Tom here. I want to be with Tom.”

  “But you’ve got to survive to testify tomorrow.”

  “I’ve got my gun.”

  “Kathryn–”

  “I’m fine, Paul. Good night!”

  * * *

  Wednesday, March 25, 2015, Crown Manor, Coronado, California

  “You fool!” Buffy greeted Hugh when he walked in the door at eight-thirty that evening. William Hackney had arranged for bail and had sent Jose in the Mercedes to bring him home. All Hugh could think about was a massive dose of scotch.

  “Not now.” He shook his head wearily as he headed for the stairs and his bedroom on the second floor.

  But Buffy planted herself in his path. “You utter idiot! You’ve finally ruined everything because of a woman! You’ll never be ambassador to anywhere now!”

  I’m more worried about losing my shot at the Supreme Court, he thought as he stepped around Buffy and headed upstairs. Damn it, Hal needed to get on this right now!

  He poured a scotch and dialed Hal’s cell. Eleven-thirty was not too late to call, but Hugh would have called even if it had been the wee hours of the morning. His stomach churned as he waited for the president to answer.

  Finally, to his relief, Hal’s smooth baritone said, “Hey, old man. Sorry I couldn’t get the cavalry there in time.”

  “Why the hell not?” Hugh gulped his scotch. “Don’t tell me the Attorney General isn’t taking your calls.”

  “No, Liz Preston got back to me right away. The problem is your ex’s boyfriend and his posse of marshals were already on their way, and the arrest warrant had been issued. Look, Hugh, if I’d known they were going after Rick even twenty-four hours before they took him, I could have stopped it cold. But it’s more complicated now. He’s been interrogated, and he’s implicated you.”

  “What are you saying? Can’t you stop this? Edith told me this morning I was your number one pick for Justice Bloomberg’s seat on the Court.”

  “And you are. I’ve got my personal lawyer on this. He’s trying to figure out what my options are. Don’t worry. I’ll get it fixed. I’ll get you on the Court. I just can’t do it as fast as either of us would like.”

  “So in the meantime, I’m out on bail, facing twenty-two counts of obstruction.”

  “I know it sounds bad. But I promise I’ll find a way to stop it.”

  “You’d better. You know as well as I do I’m guilty as hell. I couldn’t go to trial. I’d have to plea bargain and admit to at least one felony. I’d lose my license to practice law.”

  “Corporate America would run amuck without you. We can’t let that happen. Look, I know it’s hard. But stay calm, and give me some time.”

  “How long do you think it will take to make it go away? Do you think I’ll actually be arraigned? Should I get an attorney?”

  “That’s probably a good idea. Just to be safe. Don’t worry, Hugh. I can’t lose one of my major donors right before the election. I want you on the Court a lot more than in federal prison. Have a drink and try to get some sleep. I’m on it.”

  * * *

  After he hung up with Hal, Hugh poured himself another scotch and paced around his room. When the alcohol began to calm his nerves, he unlocked the drawer that held the emeralds and opened the box to gaze at the four carets of green magic suspended from another caret of diamond fire. Kathryn. Hal was right. He needed a criminal defense attorney. At least in the short run. He had to see Kathryn. He picked up his cell and dialed her number.

  “Hugh! Are you okay?” The concern in her voice warmed his heart.

  “I’m fine. I need to talk to you.”

/>   “I can be there in thirty minutes.”

  “No!” He realized he’d put too much force behind that word. He didn’t want Buffy to know he was seeing her. “I’ll come to you. Jose will drive me.” He slipped the box of emeralds into his pocket.

  * * *

  At ten p.m., Jose parked the Mercedes in front of 1845 Ocean Place. Hugh sat in the back seat for a moment and took in the ambience of the little blue cottage with the red door surrounded by white roses. Obviously the residents had planted those flowers with plenty of love for the little house and for each other.

  Kathryn had left the front porch light on. She answered as soon as he knocked. She was wearing gray sweat pants and a dark green hoodie and no makeup. Hugh’s heart skipped a beat. She was breathtaking.

  “Come in. I’m sorry I don’t have any scotch. Would you like a glass of wine?”

  Hugh produced his flask. “I came prepared.”

  Kathryn poured wine for herself and scotch for Hugh and invited him to sit on the sofa in the living room. She took the chair opposite. He looked over at Tom’s medals in their case.

  “Impressive,” he said.

  “Yes. He was an amazing man.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not.” He drank a long sip of scotch.

  “Patty explained a little bit of the story today when we met at the firm. Why don’t you tell me yourself what happened?”

  Hugh sighed. “Many years ago, I won a wrongful death case for Rick, as I told you. Antidepressant drugs killed his wife, and he recovered millions from the suit.

  “But Rick likes the high life. He went through those millions and came up with a scheme to make more. Because of his work, he heard many meritorious stories from patients who’d been harmed by drugs, and he persuaded me to take their cases and to cut him a much bigger portion of the fees than he was entitled to under the Rules of Professional Responsibility.

  “But every plaintiffs’ firm at that time was paying finders’ fees, in violation of the rules. I saw a chance to help Rick and to vindicate the people who’d been hurt by Big Medicine.”