The Death of Distant Stars, A Legal Thriller

by Deborah Hawkins

  “Yes, Steve asked me to marry him in December 2011, the night of the Andrews’ annual Christmas party.”

  “And did you agree to marry him?”

  “No. That was when I realized that I wasn’t in love with Steve. I loved Tom.”

  “And did you tell Tom that?”

  “I did.”

  “How did you tell him about your feelings?”

  “I wrote him a letter on New Year’s Day of 2012.”

  McLaren held up a piece of paper. “Your Honor, I’d like this marked as Defendant’s Exhibit G.”

  Judge Weiner simply nodded.

  McLaren handed Shannon the paper. “Do you recognize this, Ms. Freeman?”

  “Yes. It’s the letter I wrote to Tom on January 1, 2012.”

  “Would you read it for the jury?”

  As Kathryn listened to those now-familiar words, “I can’t go on pretending I do not love you. I’ve realized I can’t say yes to Steve,” she felt the man who had pretended to be Dan Ayers watching her. He must have come back for the letters after he talked to Shannon.

  “And what was Tom Andrews’ reaction to this letter?”

  “At first he was upset. He insisted he was in love with Kathryn and would never leave her. He said we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

  “How long did not seeing each other last?”

  “About two weeks.”

  “Did you ask to see him at the end of two weeks or did he contact you?”

  “He contacted me. He said he missed me too much.”

  “And is this the letter you sent him after he contacted you in mid-January?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you read it for the jury?”

  The words, “we belong together,” pierced Kathryn’s heart. She struggled to keep back tears.

  “What did you do after Tom Andrews resumed his relationship with you?”

  “I moved out of Steve’s house and got my own apartment, so Tom and I could spend time together.”

  “And how much time did you spend together after you got your own apartment?”

  “As much time as we could. Tom was defending a high-profile client who was on trial for murder throughout February. He would tell Kathryn he was going to the office to work at night when, in fact, he was coming to see me.”

  “So at least three nights a week?”

  “More like four or five.”

  “And I assume the two of you had sex?”

  “Yes, we did. Tom felt very guilty about that.”

  “Why?”

  “Kathryn was still trying to get pregnant, but on the nights when she knew she was ovulating, Tom would spend that time with me.”

  “And did Tom Andrews agree to leave his wife and move in with you?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “When was that?”

  “In early March when the murder trial ended. He couldn’t use that as an excuse to be with me anymore, so he agreed we should tell Steve and Kathryn that he was coming to live with me.”

  “And did you tell them?”

  “No. Paul Curtis intervened.”

  “How did Paul know that Tom intended to move in with you?”

  “Tom was wracked with guilt over Kathryn. He needed someone to talk to, and he couldn’t talk to Steve, so he told Paul what had happened.”

  “And did Mr. Curtis give him some advice that he followed?”

  “Yes, after talking to Paul, Tom decided to give his marriage six more months.”

  “And how did you feel about that?”

  “I was devastated.”

  “So you wrote to him several times, begging him not to heed Mr. Curtis’ advice?”

  “I did.”

  “And are these the letters that you wrote?”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “And did you continue to see each other?”

  “Yes, although it was harder. Kathryn thought we were surfing together in the mornings when we were actually at my place.”

  “Having sex?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your last letter to Tom Andrews was dated when?”

  “April 30.”

  “How long was that before he got sick?”

  “Three weeks.”

  “Why did you write the letter?”

  “Tom had decided we should tell Kathryn and Steve. He wasn’t going to wait to move in with me. But then he talked to Paul again and got cold feet. I was trying to get him to see the sooner we told the truth, the better for everyone involved.”

  “When was the last time you saw Tom Andrews before his first hospitalization on May 21?”

  “The day before, Sunday. He told Kathryn he was going to the office for a few hours, but he was with me.”

  “And did you continue to see him after that first hospitalization?”

  Shannon shook her head. “He didn’t feel well the entire week of May 21, so he couldn’t find an excuse to see me. Then May 28 was the day he became critically ill. I managed to sneak into his room once, but only once, when he was in intensive care.”

  “What happened when you did see him in the hospital?”

  “He was in a coma. I sat by his bed and talked to him, but he didn’t respond. Kathryn found me there, and told the nurses I wasn’t family, so they wouldn’t let me come back.”

  “Did Mrs. Andrews know that Tom intended to leave her for you?”

  “She suspected. She didn’t like the amount of time Tom spent with me.”

  “And did she tell you that?”

  “Not in so many words, but Tom said–”

  “Objection.” Mark stood up. “Hearsay.”

  “Sustained,” Judge Weiner said. “How much more do you have, Mr. McLaren?”

  “Just one more, Your Honor.”

  “Very well, proceed.”

  “Ms. Freeman, did you observe Tom Andrews drinking heavily in the months leading up to his hospitalization in May?”

  “Yes. He was very upset about ending his marriage and worried about the murder trial in February.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Freeman. No further questions.”

  “Mr. Kelly, you may begin your cross-examination after lunch.”

  Except I have none, Mark thought desperately, as they all rose for the judge’s exit from the courtroom.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Thursday, April 2, 2015, Edward J. Schwartz Federal Courthouse, U.S. District Court, Southern District of California, San Diego

  Judge Weiner glanced at Mark as she left the bench, and he saw a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. She understood he’d been caught in a trial lawyer’s worst nightmare, a surprise witness whose testimony he was completely unprepared for. At least he had the lunch break to try to pull some sort of cross-examination together.

  He looked at Kathryn, who had managed to get to her feet, although he could see she was shaking. She was looking at the back of the courtroom where a man in a suit was standing. He seemed to be smirking at her. Mark hoped the man wasn’t going to turn out to be another surprise witness for Wycliffe. He took her arm to steady her, but his grip was tight enough to let her know just how angry he was. He should have listened to Hugh: she’d been hiding a secret that was going to kill their case.

  Firmly, and without a word, he kept his hand on her arm and guided her out of the courtroom, down the corridor, and out the front door. Hugh and Patty followed. In silence they walked back to the firm, went up the elevator, and took their places around the table in the big conference room. Stewart had ordered sandwiches. Kathryn shook her head when he passed the tray to her. Mark took one but was too angry to think about eating and left it on his paper plate still unwrapped. At that moment, he felt Patty looking at him. She shook her head slightly, a warning that he needed to calm down. She and Hugh took sandwiches and opened bottles of water; and to his relief, because he was still too angry to speak, Hugh took charge.

  He began far more gently than Mark would have done. “Why didn’t you tell us about Shannon an
d your husband?”

  “Because I was never sure it was true. I always told myself I was just imagining Tom’s interest in her. Whenever we talked about it, he told me he was trying to get her together with Steve. I found those letters in Tom’s desk last September and confronted Paul with them. That was the first time I knew Shannon had moved out of Steve’s house in January and that Tom was spending time alone with her in her own place. Paul insisted the letters were just Shannon in desperate mode. He was sure Tom never intended to leave me. He said Tom was upset about the Pepe Jackson trial and about our inability to have a child, but he didn’t think Tom intended to end our marriage.”

  “Who knew about Tom and Shannon besides you and Paul?”

  “We were the only ones. Steve didn’t know that Shannon was interested in Tom. Paul didn’t think Wycliffe would find Shannon; and if they did, they would only know she was Steve’s girlfriend. He said I shouldn’t tell you because he and I were the only ones who knew.”

  “How did they find out, then?” Mark asked.

  Kathryn looked down at the highly polished table and said nothing for a long time. Then she looked at all of them and said, “I’m embarrassed to tell you, but here’s what happened. I was so angry with Paul for keeping the truth from me about Tom and Shannon that I went out one night in September, determined to pick up someone in a bar.”

  Hugh nodded wisely. “And you were being tailed by a private investigator who played you.”

  Kathryn nodded, overcome with humiliation.

  “Hey,” Hugh said, “Don’t let it get you down. You couldn’t have known.”

  “No, I should have known. There was something about the whole thing that was too slick and cheesy.”

  Mark sighed. “There’s no way we can get sanctions against Wycliffe for this.”

  “It wasn’t Wycliffe,” Hugh said.

  “What?” Patty frowned at him.

  “I said, ‘It wasn’t Wycliffe.’”

  “But of course it was Wycliffe,” Mark insisted.

  “No, it wasn’t,” Hugh repeated. “He wasn’t sitting with McLaren and Emma Talbert today at the defense table. If he’d been their investigator, he’d have been with them.”

  “Then who was it?” Mark demanded.

  Hugh sighed. “I’m going to bet it was Buffy.”

  “Buffy?” Mark couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice.

  “She met Kathryn the night she came to dinner at Crown Manor and got the wrong impression about my interest in her.” Except she didn’t get the wrong impression. I’m so in love with her that I was tempted get up and tear Shannon Freeman’s heart out on cross-examination.

  “Aren’t you reading too much into the situation?” Patty began reasonably.

  “No, I don’t think so. I know that Buffy’s been paying someone to follow me. Hal Edwards’ wife Edith put the idea in her head. She probably paid Ayers, or whatever his name is, to follow Kathryn, hoping to find some dirt. Look, we have to put my wife’s idiotic jealousy aside for the time being. We’ve got to mount some sort of cross-examination of this very damaging witness in less than forty-five minutes. Let’s get focused on getting the job done.”

  “We need Paul Curtis,” Mark said. “Kathryn, do you know if he’s in town?”

  “No, but I have his cell.”

  “Let’s get him on speaker phone, then, and figure out how to shake this woman’s story.” Mark looked over at Kathryn, his eyes now warm and sympathetic. “I, for one, don’t believe a word of it.”

  * * *

  Thursday, April 2, 2015, 1845 Ocean Place, Pacific Beach

  When Paul phoned at eight that night, Kathryn decided to answer.

  “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m sitting here looking at his medals and wondering if I should take his surfboard and smash the case!”

  “Don’t!”

  “But I want to!”

  “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Too much! Shannon Freeman told the whole world in open court today that my husband didn’t love me!”

  “It’s a lie, Kathryn; and you know it.”

  “I don’t know what I know anymore. Tom’s gone, and Shannon won’t go away!”

  “Shannon will go away. How did Mark’s cross-exam go after we talked to him on that conference call at lunch?”

  “Middling-to-fair. He couldn’t shake her claim that Tom was about to leave me when he got sick.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be first on rebuttal on Monday. I’ll tell the jurors the truth.”

  “But they have three days to think about what Shannon said. We’re dark tomorrow because Judge Weiner has a mandatory judge’s training conference.”

  “Don’t worry,” he repeated. “Mark and I can undo Shannon on Monday. She’s a big liar, Kath. She always has been.”

  “She wasn’t lying about sleeping with Tom.”

  “It was just sex, Kath.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Damn, it! Because I slept with her, too. And it was just sex!”

  “So from the horse’s mouth?”

  “If you say so. Aren’t you ever going to forgive me for that one stupid, stupid decision?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now except how much this hurts. You tried to warn me.”

  “I did. But I had no idea they’d find Shannon.”

  “Because of my stupidity, they found her.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “I can’t help it. I wanted to vindicate Tom, but all I’ve done is show the world our marriage was all but over when he died.”

  “Kathryn, stop it! What was the last thing Tom said to you?”

  She was silent for a few moments, realizing he had cornered her in her maudlin wallow in self-pity. “That he loved me.”

  “Right. That he loved you, not Shannon.”

  “You’re sure he wasn’t going to leave me?”

  “As sure as I’ve ever been of anything in my life. Don’t you think I wanted him to leave, so I’d finally have a chance?”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “Look, you need some sleep, and you aren’t safe there alone. Come stay in my guest room tonight. Please!”

  “No, thanks. I want to be alone with my Glock and these medals, wondering if Tom ever loved me.”

  “Stop it, Kath! You know he did.”

  “I’m not sure what I know anymore.”

  “Well, if you won’t come here tonight, I’m coming over there first thing tomorrow to take you to breakfast and to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m not okay. I’ll never be okay again.”

  * * *

  After Paul hung up, Kathryn turned out the lights, poured one more generous glass of wine, and crawled into bed. She sipped the wine in the dark and said to Tom, “We’re losing. Wycliffe is not squirming in front of the jury the way I planned. And not only are we losing, I see now that I lost you. I wanted a child so much that I drove you to Shannon. Paul warned me not to open this can of worms. But I wouldn’t listen. We’re losing, Tom. We’re losing big time.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Friday, April 3, 2015, Motel 6, Arlington, Virginia

  Dr. Frank Reynolds had been on the run for ten days. On March 22, his colleague Harrison O’Connor had been found dead in his Maryland townhouse. Two days later, his colleague Mary Lancaster was shot to death in a Bethesda motel room. The three of them had been single and close. And Frank did not buy for one minute the story that Mary was the victim of a botched robbery or that Harrison had hanged himself. The three of them had seen the hidden database. The three of them had known that there were more than six hundred post-approval deaths from Myrabin, and the numbers were increasing rapidly. Frank knew they were coming for him next, so he found his ancient college fake ID in the name of his former roommate, Larry Gwen, in the bottom of his desk drawer, packed his bag, and left his Fairfax townhouse, probably for good.

&n
bsp; He’d rented a car in Larry’s name and tried to figure out what came next. For ten days he’d evaded the black Suburbans that tailed him. He was, after all, a Ph.D. organic chemist, Yale undergrad, Stanford Ph.D. He should be smart enough to outwit the mid-level government operatives following him, he told himself.

  But now at eight p.m., he sat in a dark room that smelled of urine and stale smoke at the Motel 6 in Arlington next to the Iwo Jima Memorial and thought about what came next. He had a ticket to San Diego in his pocket for the red-eye out of Dulles at 11:30 p.m. He could see the goons in their SUV in the parking lot through the crack he had made in the blinds. He was afraid to turn on the lights. They had knocked earlier but decided he was out because the lights were off. He went to the bathroom and painfully scraped the stubble off his face in the dark. The TSA operatives would be unlikely to let him on the flight with ten days worth of ragged beard that made him look like a terrorist.

  When he finished shaving, he turned his attention to the bathroom window. Fortunately for him, it both opened and was big enough for him to crawl through. He pushed his bag out first. When it plopped onto the asphalt in the rear parking lot and produced no reaction, he climbed up on the chair he had pushed against the wall and followed his bag. He crept through the rear of the lot, his heart in his mouth, praying the SUV remained parked out front. He climbed into his rented black Kia Soul and began his desperate drive to Dulles with his ticket and Kathryn Andrews’ address and phone number in his pocket.

  * * *

  Monday, April 6, 2015 Edward J. Schwartz Federal Courthouse, U.S. District Court, Southern District of California, San Diego

  “Good morning,” Judge Weiner smiled as she took the bench on Monday morning.

  “Mr. McLaren, does the defense have any additional witnesses?”

  “No, Your Honor. The defense rests.”

  “Very well.” She turned to Mark, in the lead chair at the plaintiff’s table. “Mr. Kelly, does the plaintiff have any rebuttal evidence?”

  “We do, Your Honor. We would like to call Dr. Frank Reynolds.”

  “Objection, Your Honor!” Bob McLaren was on his feet immediately. Hugh smiled inside when he saw that Emma Talbert suddenly looked very worried.