The Death of Distant Stars, A Legal Thriller

by Deborah Hawkins

  She huddled in the safety of the perfume shop’s alcove for what seemed an eternity. Finally, praying the bike would not return, she ventured into the street cautiously. And there he was, across the street, snapping photos, the man in the floppy hat from the beach. So whoever had sent the motorbike would know the mission had failed. Without looking back, she hurried to the hotel. She went to the rooftop bar and ordered a Bordeaux. She sat down at one of the little tables with the view of the Eiffel Tower and the rooftops of Paris and tried to convince herself that the bike’s rider had just been drunk. Sure, just like the Suburban driver on the bridge, her inner voice mocked her.

  * * *

  Wednesday Night, September 17, 2014, Hotel de Bertrand, Fifth Arrondissement, Paris

  A little after ten, Mark made his way to the rooftop bar for a drink and a last look at Paris. Their plane would take off at six the next morning.

  To his surprise, he found Kathryn alone at one of the small tables, wrapped in a fluffy black sweater to ward off the chilly autumn night, and nursing a red wine. She was staring out at the yellow streetlights as they warmed the creamy off-white Lutetian limestone buildings into glowing, golden jewels. She was lost in thought, but Mark noticed her hands were shaking.

  “May I join you?”

  He had startled her, but she recovered quickly. “Please do.”

  He sat down in the other chair at the small table with his own glass of wine and studied her tired, dawn face. Her hands were still shaking. “Are you cold?”

  “No.” She frowned as if she didn’t like being asked.

  “Then why are your hands shaking?”

  “They’re–” She looked down and realized denial would be useless. “I was feeling restless after dinner, so I took a walk. A motorbike went by too fast and too close, and it frightened me.”

  He looked concerned. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. Just a little shaken up.” This was the moment to tell him about being followed on the bridge and about the man in the floppy hat. But she didn’t want to admit there was any connection. After all, she did not know for sure that the incident on the bridge had not been road rage, unconnected to tonight.

  “Is this your first time in Paris?”

  “No. Tom and I spent our fifth wedding anniversary here. We stayed in a cheap little hotel in the Seventh Arrondissement and took the metro everywhere. No limos. No five-star restaurants. We loved it.”

  Mark smiled. “Hugh likes to do everything first class. He grew up poor and wants to enjoy his money.”

  Her lips quivered with the tiniest of return smiles. “Makes sense. And I must say, thank you for the lovely suite you booked for me. I’ve never slept in a Louis Quinze bed under a brocade canopy.”

  “I’m glad you liked it.” He wanted to say more. He wanted to say, I was hoping you’d see what life is like on this side of the fence and join us. I was hoping I’d get to see you every day and talk to you at work. I know it can’t be more, but that would make me happy. But he thought of Paul Curtis and remembered that he was her lawyer and so said nothing.

  She sipped her wine slowly and stared down at the miniature world of tiny cars and tiny people awash in the yellow glow of the street lights. He noticed her hands were steadier now. She said, “I’m glad you and Hugh let me come. Somehow it helped to hear Dr. Vannier explain it all today.”

  Mark nodded. “I understand. He’ll make a terrific witness for us.”

  “Hugh is taking him on as an expert to testify, isn’t he?”

  “Absolutely. It would be malpractice not to. Why do you ask?”

  “I overheard Hugh and Rick having a few words before we went in to dinner at Le Meurice. It sounded as if Rick didn’t want Dr. Vannier because his fee would reduce Rick’s.”

  “I don’t know what you overheard, but I promise you Hugh is going to rely on Dr. Vannier’s testimony. Dr. Vannier is the heart of our case. We have nothing without him. That was obvious from the interview today.

  “If Hugh hasn’t mentioned it, he and Rick go way back. Sometimes they disagree, but it means nothing. Hugh is always very generous with Rick because they are old friends.” Being Hugh’s friend is essential to getting paid, Mark thought, remembering the fate of Bill Hays and his firm.

  They were quiet again, like the city below them. Mark thought about how comfortable it was to sit with her in the stillness. Finally he observed, “I think we are going to be looking at more than compensatory damages for the loss of your husband.”

  “You mean punitive damages?”

  “We’re certainly going to ask the jury for them. Dr. Vannier was very clear. He warned them Myrabin wasn’t safe, and they ignored his warning.”

  She looked sad and tired. After a bit she said, “I wonder where the FDA fits into all this. Why did they ignore Dr. Vannier’s warning?”

  “We’re going to Washington in a week or two to talk to them.”

  “I want to come.”

  He smiled. “You realize that’s unorthodox.”

  “I don’t care. I want to hear everything. I want to understand how this happened.” There were tears in her eyes. She looked away toward the city as soon as she realized he had seen them.

  “Wrongful death suits are hard on the survivors.” He wanted to put his hand on her arm to comfort her but knew he shouldn’t.

  “Paul warned me.” She gave him a little smile as she wiped her eyes. “I just didn’t think it would be this hard.”

  “It keeps you stuck in the past.”

  “I’m beginning to realize that. But even without the wrongful death case for Tom, I am stuck in the past. I’m living in the house where he and I lived together. I am doing the job he and I did together. My friends are the friends we had together. If I’m ever going to move on, I’m going to have to make changes. But I’m afraid to make them.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I change my life, I’ll also have to admit Tom is really gone. If I keep everything the way it was when he was alive, I can keep change from coming. And if I keep change from coming, I don’t have to admit that my life as I knew it with Tom is gone forever.”

  “Except it is.”

  “Yes.” Her eyes, now wet with tears once more, met his. “Except it is.”

  “What about coming to work for us when all of this is over?”

  “Hugh mentioned it. Paul did, too. I have to admit I’m tired of the low-paying slog Tom and I opted for. The job made more sense when he was here. He thought what we were doing as public defenders was important. But I don’t any more. No one listens to us because the clients are guilty. Period. I’m just not sure what I’d do at Goldstein, Miller.”

  “White collar crime. Or civil litigation. You’ve tried more cases than I have. You should think about us. Or Warwick, Thompson. Alan would probably love to have you as much as Hugh would.” And Alan wouldn’t try to start an affair with you, Mark thought. He doubted Hugh’s new-found commitment to Buffy would last long, especially if Kathryn was no longer a client.

  “I’ll think about it. I don’t know what I want to do if I leave the public defender’s office. But for right now I have to stay focused on suing Wycliffe. I have to make them face up to what they did to Tom. And to us.”

  “Of course.” Mark nodded, and then took a personal risk he hadn’t intended to take. “Even if you lost your husband, at least you had something with him most of us never find.”

  “But you and your fiancée–”

  “All over.” He smiled ruefully. “She lost patience with my lack of interest in a large, expensive wedding, and followed my ex-wife’s footsteps out of my life.”

  “You sound relieved.”

  “I am. It wasn’t right. And she did me the favor of leaving and making a clean break.”

  “So you miss her?”

  “Not at all. I sometimes wish I did. I wish I’d loved her the way you loved Tom. Then I could miss her. But I didn’t, and I don’t. I have my work and more money than I’ll e
ver spend. But it’s not enough. I wish I had a woman in my life who I could love the way you loved Tom.” The wine was talking. He was taking fearful risks. He made himself stop.

  “Love Tom,” she corrected him. “The way I still love Tom.”

  Paul Curtis was right. Tom stood between her and anyone new.

  * * *

  Thursday, September 18, 2014, Crown Manor, Coronado, California

  The limo deposited Hugh at Crown Manor at ten p.m. He had insisted on seeing Kathryn home after the flight from Paris. She haunted him. Even just two days of traveling with her had left him feeling desperate to see her again.

  But Hugh abided by the rules. He wasn’t some cheap divorce hack who rolled every attractive would-be ex-wife who came his way. Still, even if he couldn’t see her socially, he could dream. He’d had that one precious day of being with her for breakfast, of watching her sleep on the long transatlantic flights, of seeing her delight and relief when Maurice Vannier had said her hunch about the cause of her husband’s death was correct. He’d walked through charming, crooked Paris streets with her the afternoon after their interview with Dr. Vannier, and he’d bought her a glass of wine in a small French bistro. Her laugh, her smile were forever etched on his old man’s heart, which still longed for young love.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Friday night, September 19, 2014, Il Fornaio, Coronado, California

  Paul Curtis had had first-date nerves all afternoon. He’d downed a scotch to take the edge off before Kathryn arrived in her Mini at seven-thirty. He’d been relieved that she had finally agreed to see him. It had been months since she’d run out of his house after he’d been forced to confess to that night with Shannon, and he’d missed her terribly. He’d been haunted by the fear he would not see her again.

  They’d decided to walk from his house to Il Fornaio at the Ferry Landing. Now, at eight o’clock, they had a corner table overlooking the lights of the city and the winding arc of the bridge. She was breathtaking in the soft light. Her black dress highlighted her hazel eyes. Her light golden brown hair fell in luxurious waves around her shoulders. But she was thinner than she’d been in May.

  They had ordered a bottle of Chianti and were enjoying the first glass as they waited for their salads.

  “You look very beautiful tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How was Paris?” He felt a twinge of jealousy knowing she’d been traveling with Mark Kelly.

  “Beautiful. Exciting. Sad.”

  “Sad?”

  “It made me miss being there with Tom. This trip was so different. Flying first class, limos, five-star hotels, only the best restaurants.”

  Their salads arrived, and Paul took a bite before he observed, “Hugh spares no expense.”

  “As Mark said, Hugh grew up poor and wants to enjoy what he’s earned.”

  “Can’t blame him for that. I feel the same way. I’ve always been grateful for the salary Alan Warrick pays me–and very willing to enjoy it. Have you given any more thought to leaving the public defender’s office?”

  “Some. I’m pretty burned out at this point.”

  “Do you want me to talk to Alan?”

  “Not yet. I’m not sure what I want to do when I leave.”

  “If what you suspect about Wycliffe is true, you’ll probably wind up with so much money you won’t have to practice law any more.”

  “But it’s about Tom, not the money.”

  “I know. I didn’t mean it that way. But you deserve some financial breathing room, Kathryn. You said it’s hard without Tom’s income.”

  “That’s true.”

  The empty salad plates made way for the main course, pasta filled with free-range chicken, sun-dried tomatoes, ricotta, pecorino, smoked mozzarella and organic spinach, finished with béchamel, marinara and mushrooms. For a few minutes, Paul watched her enjoy the food.

  “How is it?”

  “Fantastic.”

  “But not as good as Paris.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” He decided to interpret her statement as a metaphor that meant being with him was at least equal to traveling with Mark. The thought made him happy.

  “Did you find out anything that helps your case? Anything that you can tell me, I mean.”

  “I don’t think it’s meant to be a secret. The names of our experts will have to be turned over in discovery.” She told him about meeting Dr. Vannier and his willingness to be an expert witness.

  “Wow. That’s huge. You’ve found the smoking gun.”

  She smiled at him in the candlelight. “We did. No wonder Wycliffe tried to keep Dr. Vannier’s name a secret.”

  The waiter whisked away their empty dinner plates and waved dessert menus at them.

  But Paul put up his hands. “We don’t need them. Coffee and tiramisu and two forks.” He didn’t ask her if she wanted dessert because she might say no, and he wasn’t ready for the evening to end.

  But she seemed happy with his decision to prolong their meal. They shared the tiramisu in comfortable silence until she put down her fork and smiled. “You have to finish. That was delicious.”

  The waiter had just poured the last of the bottle of wine into their glasses. Paul noticed she chose the wine over her coffee, her eyes fixed on the twinkling lights of the city beyond. She had that dreamy expression that he’d seen so often when she’d looked at Tom, and he wished she was wearing it now because she was with him. He had decided not to tell her about Hugh’s suspicion she was hiding something. After all, she wasn’t. He felt that familiar wave of jealousy that swept over him whenever he thought of how happy Tom had been with her. Paul had loved Tom and could never have wished for his marriage to fail, yet he’d wanted Kathryn so desperately for himself.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  She sipped her wine and kept looking at the bay and said nothing.

  Her silence made him uneasy. Things weren’t yet right between them. He decided to face whatever it was head on. “You’re still angry about the night you saw Shannon’s car in the drive?”

  “I don’t want to talk about Shannon.” Her eyes came back to his, no longer dreamy but hard and determined.

  “But I told you. I didn’t mean to have Shannon stay over. There’s nothing between the two of us except friendship.” He reached out and took her hand, but she pulled it away. He was hurt.

  “Did you know Steve asked Shannon to marry him the night of our last Christmas party?”

  “No. She told me Steve didn’t want to get married.”

  “She lied. She told him she wasn’t sure, and when Steve left the house, she came running to Tom at three in the morning. The last year of Tom’s life, she fought with Steve almost constantly, and she was always crying on Tom’s shoulder.”

  “I admit she’s not the most grown up person in the world. And Tom had a soft heart. But Tom never had eyes for anyone but you from that first day. Believe me, I know.”

  Her eyes met his, and he could tell she was startled by the depths of his emotion. He took her hand again, and this time she didn’t pull it away.

  “So you don’t think Tom and Shannon–?”

  “Oh, God, have you been tormenting yourself with that? No and no and no. Don’t ever think about it again. Ever. You were Tom’s only love.” And mine, he added to himself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Saturday, September 20, 2014, 1845 Ocean Place, Pacific Beach

  It felt strange to be coming home at noon unshowered, in last night’s clothes and makeup. Kathryn parked in her drive and contemplated her little house. Everything was there just as Tom had left it on that desperate day she’d driven him to the hospital. If he came down the walk this minute, he’d see nothing had changed.

  But, of course, it had. She’d spent the night at Paul’s, and now she was dragging herself home in the middle of the day like some college kid after a hookup. At least Paul wasn’t a stranger.

  She went inside, peeled off her clothes, and step
ped into a steamy shower. She felt the hot water wash away the layer of sweat that still clung to her. She tipped her head back and washed her hair, too. She’d let Paul persuade her to walk back to his house for a nightcap. But she’d already had too much to drink with supper, and she was nearly asleep minutes after she finished her first glass as they sat side by side on Paul’s deck, watching the lights of the city in the cool dark.

  He’d tucked her into bed in his guest room, and she’d awakened to the smell of bacon and eggs. They had lingered over breakfast, and Paul had asked her to come back tonight for dinner, and she had agreed.

  She felt lighter and happier than she had felt for a long time because Paul had cleared away her doubts about Shannon and Tom. She spent some time thinking about what to wear to Paul’s. Suddenly it seemed important. Suddenly it seemed possible that her future lay in his direction.

  Still full of anticipation for the evening ahead, she went into the bedroom and contemplated Tom’s big desk. She had resisted going through it and discarding his things. But the news that Tom hadn’t been in love with Shannon and that Paul cared for her made her feel as if her life was moving forward again. She summoned the courage to sit down and open the drawers. It was mostly full of odds and ends. But in the bottom drawer she found a small blue box decorated with sea shells. When she opened it, she found an inscription on the lid, “To my darling Tom. I made this for you with shells we found together. With all my love. Shannon.”

  Her hands began to shake as she picked up the cards and letters inside. A quick glance through them revealed they were mostly birthday and Christmas cards Shannon had sent Tom. But some were letters. The first one was dated January 1, 2012.

  My darling Tom,

  It’s a new year, and I can no longer go on pretending I do not love you. I’ve realized that’s the reason I can’t say yes to Steve. I’m writing instead of emailing to make sure no one in your office reads this.