Albert. He smiled as he approached.
Caroline recognized that smile. It was a smile of victory.
The jury was still in deliberations, but it didn’t matter. A guilty verdict was a given. When Caroline had left the witness stand, she’d known that Albert would finish skewering Simon. With help from Simon’s sister, Mary Reed, prosecutors had obtained a list of the original residents of Oasis. Law enforcement had tracked each one down, checking to determine whether any had suffered identity theft. Many had. Cross-checking those names with the names of the CNAs at nursing homes across the Southwest had taken time, but they’d gotten the job done—and then matched those names with the untimely deaths of scads of nursing home residents. The scheme was dark and horrifying, and despite law enforcement’s efforts, the deplorable details had leaked to the press.
“You’re going to start getting calls to become the US attorney, you know,” Caroline said, glancing toward the gaggle of reporters waiting to talk to the young prosecutor.
Albert sat down beside Caroline and shrugged. “I’m focusing on one thing at a time. After these convictions, perhaps I’ll see about asking for a new chair in my office.”
Caroline smiled. She wouldn’t have expected anything more bombastic than that.
“Once this is all over, you’ll get the watch back,” Albert said.
“I know,” Caroline said. Her grandmother’s will leaving everything to Oasis was a nullity. The entity hadn’t been a charity at all; it had been a scam. Though she might take a few months to go through the formalities of tearing up the will, Caroline knew it would happen.
And then the watch would be hers. At last. The old piece of machinery and leather was far more than Exhibit A in a criminal prosecution. It was her grandmother’s legacy of kindness. Her own legacy of tenacity. She still needed to find her place in a world without some of her familiar moorings, but she was finally on her way toward doing that.
“Did you see Amy in there?” Albert asked.
Caroline nodded. She’d caught her assistant’s eye when she’d left the witness stand. They’d have much to discuss. Far more than the meager contact Caroline had been allowed during the months she’d agreed to stay in protective custody while waiting to testify. She hoped Amy was recovering. She hoped she’d find love again. Though there were no augurs for the future, Caroline decided that the sparkle she’d seen returning to Amy’s face after Caroline had finished giving her damning testimony of Simon was a start.
“What are you going to do when this is all over?” Albert asked.
Caroline remained silent. It was a good question. She knew that, like Albert, she’d be courted once the jury delivered its inevitable guilty verdict. Her role in the Oasis prosecution would be publicized by a media always looking for an interesting story. She’d get calls for interviews. She’d almost certainly get job offers, too.
But almost as quickly as the prospect of shuttering her practice to take a job at a big firm occurred to her, she dismissed it. Working with individual clients on cases that mattered to their lives was meaningful. If the news coverage brought more work to her small firm, that was great. But she had no desire to cash in for a big firm job.
“I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing,” Caroline said.
She owed a debt to the lawyers on her floor who’d helped to manage her cases during the last two months. She looked forward to repaying those favors and ramping up her practice to such a degree that she’d be giving them her overflow work, not the other way around.
Albert nodded as if she’d given the answer he’d been expecting.
“How’s that kid you were working with?” he asked.
“Mateo Hidalgo? He’s doing really well. He’s still living with his foster parents—the Castillos. They sent me a message just the other day to let me know he’s learning how to ice-skate.” Caroline smiled. The picture of the little boy was still on her phone. That he’d be okay made her feel like maybe the rest of her life could be okay, too.
Albert glanced toward the reporters waiting on the courthouse steps.
“Guess I’d better get over there,” Albert said.
“Don’t let me keep you.” Caroline knew the unflappable prosecutor would handle the press with cool competence.
But instead of leaving, Albert held her eyes.
“Would you want to get some coffee with me sometime when this is over?”
“You’re just asking because I don’t smell like a skunk anymore,” Caroline said.
“No, I’m asking because I want to know you.”
Caroline started to refuse but stopped herself. She’d been an island for a very long time. She’d distrusted everyone, even those who deserved a chance to earn her trust. If she couldn’t trust Albert after all they’d been through together, she was hopeless.
“Sure.” She smiled.
“My treat this time,” Albert said.
“No way,” Caroline said.
Albert smiled and held his hands up in surrender. Then the smile faded from his face.
“You did a good thing, you know.”
Now it was Caroline’s turn to shrug. “I did what I had to do.”
“See, we aren’t so different, you and I,” Albert said with a backward smirk before walking down the steps to talk to the waiting press.
Rising from the steps, Caroline scanned the park in front of the courthouse.
Below a grove of trees, she found what she sought: Uncle Hitch sat on a bench.
When he’d testified the day before to authenticate the watch and describe its history, he’d worn the same suit he had worn to Grandma Kate’s funeral. But today he was wearing his usual work boots and oversize flannel.
Caroline made her way to the bench and sat down beside her uncle.
She noted the newspaper neatly folded on top of a messenger bag on Hitch’s other side. The headlines were familiar.
Murderous Angel-of-Death Cult
Police and Other Officials Under Investigation for Corruption
Simon Reed to Face Life Sentence
Caroline didn’t have to read the articles. She’d lived them.
“Sorry Jake isn’t here,” Hitch apologized.
“It’s okay,” Caroline said, even though she’d hoped to see him. During her time in protective custody, she’d had little contact with the world. Although the media attention from the city council hearing had given her some protection, Albert had thought it safer for her to avoid any possible danger from Simon’s minions. Caroline had agreed.
“Jake really wanted to come today,” Hitch said. “But he had an appointment at the VA with his new counselor.”
Caroline raised an eyebrow.
“He’s got a room at a transitional housing facility. It’s a small apartment, but it’s safe and quiet,” Hitch said. “He wants to become a counselor himself. You know, to help people who come back from deployment.”
“That’s perfect,” Caroline said, enjoying the sensation of the sun-warmed bench against her back. “How’s everyone else doing?”
“Pretty well,” Hitch said. “Lani and Federica are rooming together in the same facility. They got a restraining order against Daryl.”
“I’m sure having Jake up the hall is a disincentive to Daryl coming around, too,” Caroline noted with a chuckle. She’d relied on his physical presence for her own piece of mind. She knew he’d protect Lani and Federica, too. He was a devoted friend.
“Speaking of Jake, he made something for you.” Hitch fished around in his bag until he found what he sought: a newsprint-wrapped gift.
“What is it?” asked Caroline.
“Dunno.” Hitch shrugged. “He’d already wrapped it when he gave it to me.”
Dipping her fingernails beneath the clear tape, Caroline gently lifted the newsprint off the carved figure of a dove. In elegant swoops and slices, Jake had rendered the bird in repose, its head dipped down in sorrow. Or sleep. At the base of the statuette, an inscription read: “The scars
are the places where the light comes in.”
Unexpected tears welled in Caroline’s eyes.
She’d been cracked open, for sure. First by the betrayals at her big-firm job. And then later by the fallout. The street had been an inconceivable refuge, and one that she’d dreaded in the darkest recesses of her soul. She’d sunk as low as she’d ever feared. And she’d survived. Even more than that, she’d won.
Her chest swelled with an optimism she hadn’t felt in years, if ever.
Pulling her emotions to herself, she inhaled her composure and turned back to her uncle.
“What’s next for you?” she asked.
“I’m living at that shelter over near Ohio Street. They’ve got a group over there.”
“You could come stay with me,” Caroline said.
After a long pause, Hitch exhaled.
“That wouldn’t be good for either of us, kiddo,” he said.
Where once Caroline might’ve argued, now she sat silent, listening to the birds chirping in the sycamore trees arching overhead. Somewhere in the wilds of Los Angeles, her uncle had found at least a portion of what he’d lost. She hoped he’d find the rest someday.
As if answering her unspoken question, Hitch cleared his throat and said, “I’ve been dry for two weeks as of today. Longest I’ve been dry in years,” he added.
Caroline knew it was true. She could tell from the smell of his skin that he hadn’t had anything to drink. The lucidity in his brown eyes, too, bespoke sobriety. But he was just at the beginning. And he’d fallen so many times before . . .
“Take this,” she said, lifting the Saint Christopher medallion from around her neck and putting it in her uncle’s hand.
Hitch looked down at the medallion, then back up at Caroline.
His eyes held a question.
“It was Grandma’s,” Caroline said. “It’s to protect you as you go.”
Caroline watched her uncle’s eyes tear up as he slipped the silver chain around his neck.
“I’ve got to get going,” he said, rising and turning before she could say anything about his evident emotion. “I guess I’ll see you at the soup kitchen at the Ohio Street shelter?”
“You definitely will.” Caroline smiled. “Whether you want to see me or not.”
Hitch paused, uncertainty etched in his weathered features.
Without hesitation, Caroline closed the gap and hugged him tight.
Then she watched her uncle walk away until she couldn’t see him anymore.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and always, thank you to my family for being the center of my life. Nicole, Eli, Alex, and Ava (and Huxley) are my daily love. I am grateful every day for them.
A special thank-you to my uncle, Hal Heisler. Aside from being my favorite curmudgeon with a heart of gold, Hal is a gifted writer and a brilliant editor. This book is better for all the times he said, “I’m sorry, darlin’. It just doesn’t work.”
I also need to give special thanks to my dad. Yes, he gets the dedication, too, but he also deserves a separate shout-out for being a wonderful storyteller who enjoys walking and brainstorming. I love doing both with him.
Here are my other thank-yous, in no particular order:
Thank you to Karen Blackfield for Floyd, and thank you to Los Angeles Times columnist Steve Lopez for telling the story that inspired Floyd.
Thank you to Ricki Tobisman, Charlene Tobisman-Davis, Barry Tobisman-Davis, and Sue Gordon for reading and copyediting the manuscript again and again. And again.
Thank you to Robin Simons for generously serving as a sounding board on numerous drafts. Her storytelling instincts are a true gift.
Thank you to hacking consultants Zane Lackey, Jake Tullis, and Joel Bremson for patiently teaching me everything Caroline needed to know.
Thank you to the dynamic and incomparable Stephanie Delman, whose dedication and hard work make her not only an excellent agent, but also a joy to share this journey with.
Thank you to editors Jessica Tribble and Charlotte Herscher for their blunt input and great ideas. And thank you to copyeditor Sara Brady for her keen eyes. The whole Thomas & Mercer team is a model of professionalism and grace.
Thank you to freelance editor Sarah Cypher for always making me think.
Thank you to Stefanianna Moore, dear friend and amazing graphic designer. Your input helped make the cover(s) awesome.
Thank you to my excellent and insightful test readers. In addition to the people listed above, they are: Susan Levison, Stephanie Levine, Allison Delman, Michael Delman, Seymour Applebaum, Christine Sherry, Courtney Wolff (and the book club), Jennifer Michael, Natalie Friedman, and Michael J. Rosen.
And, finally, thank you to my parents for raising me in a house full of books, ideas, and great conversation. I loved that, and I love you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2015 Robin Hultgren
C.E. Tobisman lives in Los Angeles with her wife, three children, and adorable dog, Huxley. She’s an appellate attorney and proud dork. For more about the author and her work, visit www.cetobisman.com or follow her on Twitter @cetobisman_.
Proof (Caroline Auden Book 2) Page 32