Mark sucked in his breath and waited.
“We, the jury, find for the plaintiff on count one, negligence causing wrongful death, in the amount of fifty-five million dollars, twenty million for the lost wages and economic contribution of Thomas Allen Andrews, and thirty-five million for the plaintiff’s loss of companionship and care.”
Mark felt dizzy with joy.
But the court clerk continued,“We the jury also find punitive damages to be awarded to the estate of Thomas Allen Andrews in the amount of thirty million dollars.”
The judge turned to the jurors. “Is that your true and correct verdict?”
Twelve voices replied, “Yes, Your Honor.”
* * *
“How is Kathryn?” Mark had gone back to the privacy of his office to telephone Hugh with the news.
“She’s in ICU. They let me and Paul go in for five minutes each. She’s in a coma, and they don’t know if she’ll wake up.”
“Eighty-five million dollars.”
“What?”
“That was the verdict. Thirty million in punitive damages. Patty and I talked to the jurors. They were pretty outraged about the cover-up, particularly about Hal Edwards’ role in ordering the FDA to sanitize the data about deaths from the drug.”
“I assume we’re looking at an appeal?”
“McLaren huffed back to his office to prepare his notice. I’ve told the Appellate Department to be prepared for their filing.”
Hugh didn’t feel any of the joy he usually felt at a major win.“It should be good news, but we may lose her. We shouldn’t have let her go home alone.”
“We all tried to get her to see the danger,” Mark said. “She wouldn’t listen.”
“It had to be Wycliffe.”
“McLaren insisted they had nothing to do with it. The trouble is, even if it was Wycliffe, we have no way to prove it.”
* * *
By four o’clock, Helen Ellis was with Kathryn, so Hugh decided to go home to shower and have a drink. He was surprised he’d lasted this long without his scotch.
The big house was quiet and empty. Buffy had been so outraged by his arrest that she had gone to stay with Elise, and Hugh was pretty sure she wasn’t coming back.
He showered and put on fresh clothes and sat on the balcony outside his bedroom to eat the meal Maria had brought him on a tray. He sipped scotch and watched the ocean and tried to find the words of a prayer in the depths of his discarded Catholic faith. He wished for the comfort of saying the rosary. At least it made you feel as if you weren’t powerless. Even though you were.
His cell phone rang, and he picked it up without looking at caller ID because he was anxious for news about Kathryn.
Hal Edwards said, “She’s a tough one to get rid of.”
Hugh’s blood ran cold. “What are you saying?”
“Look, old man. I thought you’d figure it out eventually. I’ve been trying to take her out since you filed that ill-advised suit against Wycliffe. Who knew she could drive like a NASCAR competitor and had the instincts of an international operative? My guys failed on the bridge early on and failed again in Paris.”
“Are you telling me you ordered the Secret Service to kill my client?”
“God, no! Don’t be naive. I would never risk anything in my official capacity. But I have access to former operatives who are more than willing to do special ops at a price.”
“You failed to mention shooting at her in the garden of my house that night.”
“Oh, that wasn’t me. At least directly.”
“What do you mean ‘directly’?”
“Your dear wife set that up. With the help of Edith.”
“What?”
“She was fed up with the affairs. You dumped the blonde in favor of the pretty widow.”
“That’s not true. Kathryn is a client. Besides, Buffy wouldn’t know how to buy a hit man.”
“But Edith does. Never underestimate the power of a wife with money of her own. FLOTUS makes me walk the straight and narrow when it comes to being faithful. Besides, it would have been to my advantage if their scheme had succeeded. It would have saved me the trouble of last night.”
“But you failed. The jury returned a verdict. A big verdict.”
“It would have been better if they hadn’t. But eighty-five million is way too much. It will never stand up on appeal. Plus all the witness shenanigans you guys pulled.”
“We’ll come after you.”
“Hah! Like hell you will. You have no shred of proof that I was responsible for anything. I keep my special ops neat and clean. You can’t prove my guys took out Vannier or O’Connor or Lancaster. Unfortunately, Reynolds gave them the slip.”
“That’s going to cost you politically.”
“No, it won’t. He’s a disgruntled employee who lied under oath. And you’re on your way to becoming a convicted felon.”
The line went dead.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Monday, April 13, 2015, Scripps Memorial Hospital, La Jolla, California
When Kathryn opened her eyes, light was streaming through half-closed blinds. Her head ached and seemed to be wrapped in some sort of bandage. Her left arm was heavy and immobile. It throbbed, and she remembered the agony of a broken bone from her gymnastics days.
In the darkened room, it took a moment for her eyes to focus on the male figure in the chair by the bed. Hugh, customarily sloppy in a knit collared shirt and casual tan pants. He had been writing something on a laptop. He looked up, and his face broke into a luminous smile.
“Finally, you’re awake.”
“How long has it been?”
“Four days. We weren’t sure you were going to wake up. Your mother is here. Patty and Mark and Paul and I have been taking turns giving her some rest. She’ll be back in a few minutes. She went down to the cafeteria with your stepfather for lunch.”
Graham. He was her stepfather, she guessed. No one ever called him that. He was always just “Graham.” She felt as if she’d awakened in an entirely different world. Could she be dead after all? “What time is it?”
“Around one-thirty.”
“I’m thirsty.”
“That’s good news.” He pressed the call button for the nurse, who appeared almost immediately.
“Awake at last!” The salt and pepper haired nurse in creased green scrubs smiled as she hurried to check Kathryn’s vitals.
“I’m thirsty. I want to get up.”
“I’ll bring you some water, but no getting up. Not yet. You might fall.”
The nurse whisked out the door with the pink plastic pitcher from the bedside table.
“I need to get up. I want to go home.”
“You’re not going to be able to go anywhere for a while. They had to do surgery.”
“Surgery?” She tired to reach up with the hand locked into the IV.
“Yes, to relieve the pressure from the swelling in your brain. You hit your head pretty hard when you were blown out of the house. Do you remember any of it?”
She thought for a minute, trying to pull her memories out of the fog. “I was asleep. And then I woke up and smelled smoke. Someone had nailed the bedroom windows shut. And then Tom was there with Steve. They had their wetsuits on. Tom broke the glass with my gun. There was an explosion, and it blew me through the open windows onto the back lawn. Tom and Steve were still in the house, looking down at me. Then there was another explosion, and that’s all I remember.”
Hugh looked very grave.
“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“Because we couldn’t figure out how you could have gone through that window when it exploded without being horribly cut up.”
“It didn’t explode. Tom broke the glass.”
He remained silent, thinking over what she had said.
“You don’t believe me, do you? You don’t think Tom and Steve were there.”
“No, that’s just it. I do believe you. They were th
ere to save your life. And they did.”
“And now I want to go home.”
“The cottage isn’t there to go home to,” Hugh said gently.
“Couldn’t they save any of it?” Tears stung her eyes.
“I’m afraid not. It wasn’t just one explosion. It was a series of devices planted throughout the house. The first one triggered the second which triggered the third and the third triggered the fourth.”
“They must have set them when I was out with Amanda that night.”
“That’s right.”
“It was Wycliffe, wasn’t it?”
“Indirectly.”
“What does that mean?”
“I was going to wait to tell you all this; but if you feel up to it, I’ll explain.”
“Go on.”
“A group of ex-CIA operatives, now mercenaries for hire, set the bombs in your house. Their first attempt to kill you was on the bridge that night. When that failed, they tried again in Pairs. They were more successful with Dr. Vannier and Mary Lancaster and Harrison O’Connor. They came after Frank Reynolds, too; but he managed to escape and make his way here. Hal Edwards is the one who hired and directed them.”
“The President?”
Hugh nodded. “His personal fortune is tied up in Wycliffe’s stock, and he intended to be on their board of directors after he left office. He knew that if the jury returned a verdict for you, Wycliffe’s stock would go down, and he’d lose millions. And a plaintiff’s verdict would be followed by thousands of other lawsuits and would lead the FDA to recall Myrabin, which, as you know, is one of Wycliffe’s biggest profit centers. If Hal had managed to kill you last Wednesday night, he thought Wycliffe would get away scot-free because the jury had not yet reached a verdict. With you dead, Judge Weiner would have had to send the jurors home with no verdict, and the case would have been over.”
“But how do you know it was Edwards?”
“Because he called me last Thursday afternoon and bragged about what he’d done. And the trouble is, he’s not going to be held accountable because I haven’t any proof outside of his own admission, which he would deny, that he tried to kill you.”
“Are you sure the house is all gone? Weren’t any bits and pieces of our things blown clear by the explosions?”
“Afraid not. All that’s left are the photo albums you brought down to the firm so that Mark could select pictures to use in his opening and closing arguments. You still have those. And these.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out another small blue Tiffany’s box, opened it, and placed it in her hand. The familiar green fire of the emerald earrings twinkled serenely as if the fire had never happened.
“They’re beautiful. But how did they survive?”
“They didn’t. I had new ones made. It meant a lot to me that you were willing to accept them the first time. I didn’t want you to be without them.” His eyes were full of tears.
The door swung open slowly, and her mother and Graham entered.
Hugh left the box in her hand, and got up. “I’m going to leave, so you can have some time alone with your family. Mark has news from the trial for you, but I promised I’d let him tell you. He’ll want to come by later.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Monday, April 13, 2015, Scripps Memorial Hospital, La Jolla
When Kathryn woke again, the weak light streaming into the darkened room suggested twilight. She’d drifted off after telling her mother and Graham that she was just fine. She was still overwhelmingly sleepy, but she was determined to stay awake.
Mark was sitting in the chair that Hugh had occupied earlier. He was dressed in jeans and a seen-better-days black t-shirt. He looked up from his laptop and a big smile broke over his face.
“I was afraid Hugh had been wrong when he said you were better.”
“I’m fine.”
“Well, as fine as someone could be who survived being blown out of a burning house.”
“Tom and Steve were there.”
“Hugh told me.”
“I thought they were going to take me with them.”
“Did you want to go?”
Her face grew thoughtful because she didn’t have a quick answer. “I–I thought I did, but now I’m thinking maybe not. It felt as if I wasn’t finished here.”
“I would agree with that. The jury returned an eighty-five million dollar verdict. Twenty million for Tom, thirty-five million for you, and thirty-million in punitive damages.”
“When?”
Mark smiled. “That’s an interesting story. The morning after the explosion, Hugh was here at the hospital waiting for your mother to arrive, and Patty and I went to court. Bob McLaren immediately moved for a mistrial, claiming any verdict from the jury would be tainted by sympathy for you.”
“So how did you avoid that?”
“I didn’t have to. The jury foreman spoke up and said they had reached their verdict the day before at 4:15. And sure enough, when the judge looked at the verdict forms, they were signed and dated April 8, 4:15 p.m. McLaren was apoplectic.”
Kathryn was silent for a few moments. Then she said, “I can’t even imagine eighty-five million dollars.”
“Well, it’s likely to be reduced somewhat in the end. Wycliffe has already filed its notice of appeal. They’ll rattle their appellate swords for a while and then try to settle for something less. Maybe fifty-five million.”
“That’s still more money than I can grasp.”
Mark grinned, “How does thirty million sound, then? The firm gets one-third.”
“Still a lot of money.”
“It won’t come for a while. You know that. Appeals take time. We’ve got our appellate team on it. By the time you get a check, you’ll have had time to get used to it.”
The light had grown dimmer through the slats in the blinds.
“What time is it?”
“Seven o’clock. The sun’s about down. You slept through supper. Are you hungry?”
She thought for a moment. She had the feeling again that she’d been blown through the window into an entirely different place. She had forgotten what hunger felt like. “Yes, I guess I am.”
“Then I’ll go tell them to bring you something. Paul’s outside. Are you too tired to see him?”
She tried to remember what she felt for Paul. Love? Friendship? More? Less? She wasn’t the same person she’d been before the blast, but she couldn’t say exactly why.
“No, I’m fine. Tell him to come in. But before you do, would you hang on to that little blue box on the bedside table? They’re from Hugh.”
“I know. He told me the story. You made him very happy by taking them. I’ll keep them safe for you.”
“Thanks.”
She watched Mark cross the room and open the door, but just as he was about to leave, she called out, “Wait!”
He turned, a concerned look on his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m not sure. No, nothing. I just wanted to ask–will you come back soon?”
That grin again, and his eyes lit up. “Of course. Is tomorrow soon enough?”
“Tomorrow is terrific.”
* * *
Paul hurried in, gave her a kiss on the cheek, took her hand, and pulled the chair closer to the bed. “It’s getting dark in here, want the light on?”
Kathryn nodded.
“They’re bringing you something to eat.”
“Good.”
He reached out and stroked the part of her forehead visible under the bandage. “Mark told you the news, right? Eighty-five million?”
She nodded.
“That’s more than enough for a new life.”
“It won’t be that much in the end.”
“Close to, I bet. You’re going to be well taken care of. Tom would be pleased.”
She nodded. “He was there, Paul. He and Steve were there that night.” She told him about the minutes before the explosion.
Paul listened quietly. “I’m not
surprised. I have times when I feel them near me. But I’m glad it wasn’t time for you to go with them.”
“But I’ve woken up to an entirely new life. I just don’t know exactly what it’s going to be yet.”
“Still want to take that vacation when you’re out of here? Did you decide, Tahiti or the South of France?”
“Neither, I’m afraid.”
His face fell. “Then somewhere else?”
“No.”
“What are you saying?”
“Paul, I love you. I will always love you. But you’re part of the past. You’re part of my life with Tom. That’s over. Whenever I see you, I see Tom, and I think about how much I miss him. And as long as I keep thinking about the hole in my heart, it can’t heal. You were right. I wanted to sue Wycliffe, so I could keep wallowing in my grief. But looking for that kind of vengeance destroyed everything I had left from Tom. Our house is gone. His clothes, his books, the bed we shared. All in ashes. It took losing everything that way to make me understand I can’t keep hanging on. And if I try to start a relationship with you, I’m still hanging on.”
His mouth twisted as if in pain. “You blame me for that night with Shannon. And for not telling you that she had moved out of Steve’s place.”
“No, I don’t. I understand why you did what you did, and it doesn’t matter. But we both need to get beyond that old life in order to make a new one. And we can’t do that together.”
The door swung open and the nurse appeared with a tray. Her mother was right behind her.
Paul got up at once and offered Helen the chair. He leaned over and kissed Kathryn’s cheek. “I have to go.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Tuesday, April 14, 2015, Crown Manor, Coronado, California
At eight-thirty, Hugh grew restless in his house, empty except for Maria and Jose, whom he had sent to bed. Frank Reynolds had been summoned to Stanford where Aimée Girard had offered him a job in her laboratory. Hugh went out into the dark and lit one of the butane heaters on his magnificent patio. He settled into one of Buffy’s chaise lounges and listened to the soft purr of the waves rolling onshore across the street. A sea gull’s cry throbbed through the night.
The Death of Distant Stars, A Legal Thriller Page 34
