The Death of Distant Stars, A Legal Thriller

by Deborah Hawkins

  “Like your father,” Kathryn said.

  “Like my father.”

  “So why are you in trouble now?”

  “A few years back, the feds started asking questions about fees and plaintiffs’ firms. Rick and I, like many others, swore under oath in affidavits that we had not engaged in unethical fee sharing.”

  “But you had?”

  “Yes, we had. But fee splitting is now the least of our problems. They’ve got us for lying under oath.”

  “Moral turpitude.”

  Hugh sighed. “Right. The fancy words for dishonesty which are the nail in any lawyer’s coffin.”

  “So you don’t have a defense?”

  “No, I don’t. Rick called me on Tuesday night and told me he’d been arrested. He’s turned informer in exchange for a two-year sentence. They know everything.”

  “According to Patty, Logan was the one who broke the case.”

  Hugh gave her a sheepish smile. “The most powerful lawyer in America brought down by the woman he dumped. My brother warned me that a woman would be my undoing. Buffy called me an idiot tonight. Maybe I am.”

  To his surprise, Kathryn looked sympathetic. “No, you’re not. You’re human. To one degree or another, my clients are all in trouble because they’re human.”

  “Your opinion matters to me.” He felt as if he’d just bared his soul.

  “It’s not my job to judge. The jury judges guilt or innocence. The judge judges culpability when he or she hands down the sentence. I don’t judge. I tell my client’s story, that’s all.”

  “This whole thing killed us in front of the jury. Mark’s moving for a mistrial tomorrow, isn’t he?”

  “I asked him not to. I’m going to get on the stand in the morning and tell the rest of my story and Tom’s, and the chips are going to have to fall where they may. I can’t go through another trial.”

  “I wish you’d reconsider. We had a good shot at winning until this happened.” He poured more scotch into his glass from his flask. “Prejudicing your case in front of the jury is Logan’s form of payback. Travis Elliott Davidson III is her new boyfriend. I’ve talked to Hal Edwards. I’m a major campaign donor. He’s working on making all this go away. When he does, we can start over with a fresh jury.”

  “But even the president can’t force the attorney general to withdraw the indictment.”

  “I’m not talking about force. Suggestion. Getting Liz Preston to see that he’d like her to stay on as the Attorney General in his second term if she does him a favor.”

  “But you’re on dangerous ground until that happens. If it happens.”

  Hugh sighed and tossed back the last of his scotch. “I know. What do you think I should do?”

  “Hire a really good attorney.”

  “How about you? Will you represent me?”

  “I can’t. I’m a client, and you make too much money to be represented by the Public Defender.”

  “Then who?”

  “Sarah Knight. She’s in the D.C. office of Warrick, Thompson.”

  “The one who got Alexa Reed off on the double murder of her husband and that sleazy psychologist?”

  “Yes. She’s one of the best. I met her through Paul. Do you want me to ask him to contact her for you?”

  Hugh sighed as he poured himself more scotch. “I’d be very grateful if you would.”

  “You’re going through that way too fast,” Kathryn observed.

  He gave her a half smile. “I know. My doctor never lets me forget. But if Hal can’t get Liz and the DOJ to withdraw that indictment, I’ll have to plead. I can’t go to trial.”

  “Because you’re guilty.”

  He nodded. “And I’ll lose my license. I started out seeking revenge for my dad, but after a while I got greedy. Or I should say, Rick and I got greedy. I’ve run after money at all costs. And I can’t even show that I’m much of a philanthropist.”

  “You’ve helped Tyrone. You’ve saved his life. Joe came up with surveillance video that the cops wrongfully withheld. The video shows Tyrone is innocent. If you hadn’t paid Joe, I would have never found the truth for Tyrone.”

  Hugh brightened a little. “Really?”

  “Really. He’s on the surveillance tape dealing drugs at the time of the murder. He’ll plead to one count of possession for sale in return for two years probation. Mark’s going to find him a job at the firm as a messenger. You’ve done a lot of good, Hugh. I wouldn’t be in court right now, telling Tom’s story, if it weren’t for you.”

  Hugh gulped the last of the scotch and let it fortify his courage before he reached into his pocket and brought out the box and put it on the coffee table between her Glock and her iPhone. “This is for you.”

  Kathryn looked down at the little blue box and frowned. “For me? Why?”

  “Just open it. Please.” I wish I were young at this moment, Hugh thought. I wish I were Mark Kelly, and I could say, “marry me.”

  She picked it up carefully and opened the box. Her eyes grew wide when she saw the emeralds. She picked one up and held it up to the light before she put it back in the box and pushed it gently back toward Hugh. “They are quite lovely, but I couldn’t possibly accept anything this valuable.”

  “Please.” He knew he was pleading with her. He wasn’t the most powerful plaintiff’s attorney in America anymore. He was an old man, begging to be loved, even at a distance.

  “No, Hugh. Really. Thank you. But no.” At least she smiled when she said it, he thought.

  Hugh picked up the box and held it in his big hands. “I didn’t do this because I thought you were like Logan. Or even Patty.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. But I have the utmost respect for Patty.”

  Hugh nodded. “We are friends. I thought Logan and I would be friends, but I was wrong.”

  “Patty loved you. Logan was only ambitious.”

  Hugh smiled at her. “Were I as wise as you, I would not be on bail right now.”

  “Real love forgives a lot.”

  As she spoke, Hugh wondered if that was her secret. Had she forgiven Tom for something nearly unforgivable? He wondered what it was. But he dared not ask. Instead he said, “If we are talking about real love, I want to be honest with you.”

  “All right. Be honest.”

  He would never forget the moment of looking into her beautiful face, free of makeup, open and compassionate. He said, “The truth is, I love you. I’d give all my millions to have you love me. I know that’s impossible. I know what I am. I’m arrogant, overreaching, and vindictive. I’ve done good for Tyrone, but I’ve also done bad things in the name of vengeance. I drove a small law firm out of business last year because I imagined that their senior partner, my colleague, threatened my control of a case. He didn’t do that. And Mark told me he didn’t. But I punished him anyway.

  “I have never been in the same league as your husband. I’ve never been unfailingly honest and just and compassionate like Tom. I’ve never deserved anyone like you. Look, I’m not asking for much. I just want you to take these emeralds and let me be happy that I could give you something that says how much I love you. Please.”

  His heart beat faster when she picked up the little blue box and opened it once more. There were tears in her eyes. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, I’ll take them because it will make you happy.”

  “And promise me you’ll wear them. Don’t just put them in a drawer somewhere. Wear them. Because you are a beautiful woman, and you deserve beautiful things to wear.”

  She gazed at the box in silence, while tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Hugh stood up. “I should go. You’ve had a long day. And tomorrow will be another.”

  Still holding the little box, she walked him to the front door. She stopped and looked up at him. “I’ll call Paul tonight before I go to bed and tell him you need Sarah.”

  “Thanks.”

  They stood looking at each other in silence for a few seconds. Then Hugh asked,

>   “Would you mind if I hugged you?”

  She smiled and opened her arms.

  He went out into the night and got into the car where Jose waited. He looked back at the little blue house with the light shining on the red door and the white roses, and his heart broke as he realized how much she had lost when her husband died. She could never be his, but she could wear his emeralds And the thought of that would forever bring joy to his old-man’s heart, eternally longing for her love.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Thursday, March 26, 2015, Edward J. Schwartz Federal Courthouse, U.S. District Court, Southern District of California, San Diego

  Judge Weiner took the bench promptly at nine and looked over at Mark expectantly. “Does the plaintiff have any motions for the court to hear before the bailiff brings in the jury?”

  She thinks we’re going to ask for a mistrial, Hugh thought; and since she’s anticipating it, she’s prepared to grant it. He wished Kathryn hadn’t been so dead set against a new trial.

  “No motions, Your Honor, but we do have a request for an instruction to be read to the jury when it comes in this morning.”

  Surprise registered on the judge’s face. Mistrial had been the only thing on her mind. “I assume you’ve drafted the instruction you want me to read?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Mark handed copies to the bailiff to give to the judge and opposing counsel.

  Judge Weiner read it over, nodding in agreement as she read. When she looked up she focused on Bob McLaren. “Anything you want to say, Mr. McLaren?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “No objections?” The judge raised her eyebrows.

  “None, Your Honor.”

  “Then if the bailiff would please bring in the jury.”

  All sixteen pairs of eyes focused on Hugh, the minute the jurors entered the courtroom. They hadn’t been expecting him.

  When the jurors were seated, Judge Weiner began. “All of you witnessed an unfortunate event yesterday that, quite frankly, should never have taken place in anyone’s courtroom. I’m going to read you a jury instruction now about how you are to treat what went on yesterday.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the plaintiff in any civil case is entitled to a fair trial. Mrs. Andrews, the plaintiff in this case, is entitled to a trial untainted by bias or prejudice from matters outside the evidence. The scene that the U.S. Marshals and the United States Attorney created in this courtroom yesterday is not a part of the evidence in Mrs. Andrews’ case, and you are to ignore the events of yesterday in deciding this case. Mrs. Andrews’ attorney, Mr. Hugh Sean Mahoney, is a member in good standing of the California State Bar, and Mrs. Andrews is entitled to have his assistance at trial as one of her federal constitutional due process rights.” The judge finished reading and leaned slightly toward the jurors in the box. “Is there anyone who will be influenced by what happened here yesterday? I see no hands,” Judge Weiner intoned for the record. “Mr. Kelly, please call your next witness.”

  “Kathryn Britton Andrews.”

  And so, throughout the morning and into mid-afternoon after the lunch break, Kathryn told the rest of Tom’s story. His swollen, bloated limbs; the dementia relieved only by slipping into a coma; his last breath spent telling her that he loved her. There was not, as Hugh had predicted, a dry eye in the house.

  Bob McLaren moved quickly on cross-examination to dispel the jury’s sympathy.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Andrews.”

  “Good afternoon.” His oily, insinuating tone made her stomach knot.

  “Now, if I understand correctly, you and your husband chose not to have children.”

  “We tried to have a child, but we were never successful.”

  “Your husband’s medical records indicate you tried in vitro fertilization.”

  “Yes, we did. It was unsuccessful.”

  “And was your inability to conceive a source of conflict between you and your husband?”

  Mark saw the startled look in Kathryn’s eyes before she quickly suppressed it. McLaren smiled. He knew he’d hit a nerve. But what nerve, Mark wondered. She had never told anyone at Goldstein, Miller that being childless had been a strain on her marriage.

  “No, of course not. Tom and I were that much closer because we had no children.”

  “I see.” Sarcastic skepticism dripped from every vowel. “So tell me, Mrs. Andrews, how did you and Tom celebrate your holidays, as a childless couple?”

  “We traveled, usually to places where Tom could surf.”

  “And did you also give holiday parties?”

  The wary look in Kathryn’s eye warned Mark that McLaren was close to something else she did not want known. Damn! Why hadn’t she trusted him and Patty enough to tell them everything? He sensed disaster on the way.

  “Yes, we did.”

  “And wasn’t your Christmas party always a large affair?”

  “Well, the guests filled up the house, if that’s what you mean. But our house was very small.”

  “I see.” More dripping sarcastic skepticism. “And I assume that Paul Curtis and Steve Cooper, your husband’s childhood friends, were at these parties?”

  “Yes, although sometimes Paul was not in town.”

  “I see,” McLaren intoned once more.

  Mark smiled as he noticed the jury was growing restless and looking uncomfortable in the face of McLaren’s rambling questions and open rudeness. Opposing counsel’s bad manners were winning points for Kathryn. Maybe disaster was not imminent after all.

  “And I assume Paul Curtis and Steve Cooper brought their significant others to these holiday parties?”

  “Yes, although Steve was often single and came to the parties alone.”

  “But didn’t Steve have a very serious relationship with someone in December 2011?”

  Mark saw her deer-in-the-headlights expression once more before she managed to wipe her face clean of emotion. “Not a ‘very serious relationship,’ no.”

  “You mean he wasn’t seeing someone at Christmas 2011? Someone that he wanted to marry?”

  Suddenly Mark knew from her expression that Kathryn was in trouble. He stood up and intoned, “Objection, Your Honor. Steve Cooper’s social life is irrelevant.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Judge Weiner said. “I thought I made that clear, Mr. McLaren, when you were cross-examining Mr. Curtis.”

  Bob McLaren gave the judge an insincere smile. “I apologize for being a bit slow, Your Honor.

  “Now, Mrs. Andrews, did your husband drink at these parties?”

  “Well, everyone did.”

  “So you would agreed that your husband consumed alcohol with his friends at holiday parties?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wine, beer, cocktails?”

  “Tom preferred beer. But he drank wine with me when we went out to dinner. He didn’t like mixed drinks.”

  “And what about surfing? Did your husband often drink beer with his fellow surfers?”

  “I don’t know what you mean by ‘often.’”

  “Well, how many days a week did your husband surf?”

  “As many as he could.”

  “And on those days, did he come back with his companions and have a beer or two?”

  “Not on weekdays. He had to go straight to the office in the mornings.”

  “So on weekends?”

  “Sometimes.” Where were these questions coming from? Kathryn struggled to keep panic at bay and to stay focused on clean, sharp answers that would give nothing away. But she looked over at Mark at the plaintiff’s table and realized he knew she was in trouble.

  “Did your husband surf every weekend?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “Did he surf alone?”

  “Steve or Paul usually went, too.” And, God forbid, Shannon.

  “And did your husband drink beer with them on the weekends after surfing?”

  “Sometimes.” He knows you’re lying. Tom and Steve and Paul always had
a beer, sometimes two, after surfing. But Paul would never have given away this secret. Only Shannon knew because she was usually with them.

  “So just to sum up, Mrs. Andrews. You and your husband were very happily married. Being childless brought you closer together, and failure to conceive was not a strain on your marriage. And you liked to entertain your friends at holiday parties where your husband drank beer and wine, and he also drank beer on a weekly basis with friends after surfing. Did I fairly summarize the facts, Mrs. Andrews?”

  “Yes, Mr. McLaren.” She worked to keep her composure while panic chipped at her soul.

  “Thank you. No further questions.” And Bob McLaren sat down.

  Judge Weiner turned to Mark. “Any follow up, Mr. Kelly?”

  “Briefly, Your Honor.”

  Mark resumed the podium and gave her a friendly, reassuring smile that the jury could not see. “Now, Mrs. Andrews, just to be clear. Your husband enjoyed an alcoholic beverage with friends from time to time?”

  “Yes.”

  “And when he consumed beer or wine with friends, did he exhibit symptoms of intoxication?”

  “Objection, Your Honor.” Bob McLaren leapt to his feet. “Calls for an opinion the witness is not qualified to give.”

  Judge Weiner looked at McLaren with an amused glimmer in her eyes. “Oh, I believe any wife is qualified to give an opinion on when her husband is drunk, Mr. McLaren. Overruled.”

  “No. Tom was a very moderate drinker.”

  Mark smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Andrews.”

  Bob McLaren was on his feet immediately. “I have some additional questions.”

  “Very well,” Judge Weiner said.

  “Did your husband consume alcohol on a daily basis, Mrs. Andrews?”

  “No.” But in those days after the 2011 Christmas party, he did. As the Pepe Jackson case approached, he drank daily. But I’m the only person who knows. Except Shannon.

  “What about when he was upset? Did he tend to drink more then?”

  “No.” It’s lie I can get away with, she told herself.

  “Thank you. No more questions.” Bob McLaren gave her his oily smile and sat down.

  Kathryn realized her knees were shaking as she climbed down from the witness stand. It took all her strength to cross the courtroom confidently and resume her place between Mark and Hugh. Both of them smiled, so maybe she had done a better job than she thought she had.