Doubt (Caroline Auden Book 1)

by C. E. Tobisman

  Instead, she felt the prickling sensation of someone watching her.

  She opened her eyes.

  A man wearing a blue-checkered flannel shirt and Wrangler jeans stood before her. His oval brass belt buckle was at eye level.

  When he didn’t move, Caroline looked up at his face.

  Jowls curved low on the man’s cheeks, hangdog and droopy. His closely set eyes were surrounded by crow’s-feet that had formed from years of squinting in distrust.

  His gaze flickered down to the folder at her feet.

  “You one of them SuperSoy lawyers?” he grunted, his lips held tightly.

  “Yes.” Caroline didn’t tell him that this statement had been true for only a little over twenty-four hours.

  “You represent the sick folks?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said again, glad that her voice sounded normal in her ears.

  “Good. I need to talk to you.”

  “Okay,” Caroline said, the word rising at the end in question.

  “I’m Jasper. That’s my brother over there. Tom.” Jasper jutted his chin toward another man in a flannel shirt, sitting on a bench across the hall. Taller and broader than Jasper, and with hair graying at the temples, the man was surrounded by a group of twentysomething men and women who seemed to be tending to him.

  “He’s on dialysis because of that damn SuperSoy stuff,” Jasper continued.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Caroline offered. She eyed Jasper’s brother, looking for indications of infirmity. She found it. Tom’s manner was slow and deliberate. Like someone who’d been surprised to see a teacup shatter at his feet and who now didn’t trust his weakened grip on simple objects.

  “Yeah, we’re all sorry to hear that,” Jasper said. His tone was hollow rather than mocking.

  “Who are those people with him?” Caroline asked. She watched a woman beside Tom smile at something the frail man had said. The woman didn’t look old enough to be Tom’s wife. Nor did she look young enough to be his daughter.

  “They’re his kids,” Jasper said. “He teaches ninth grade.”

  “Those aren’t ninth graders,” Caroline said, stating the obvious. Some of the “kids” had full beards.

  “They’re his old students. Tom coached volleyball. He’d stayed late to mentor those kids. They didn’t forget. When they heard he was sick, they signed up for alerts from that Listserv the Plaintiffs’ Steering Committee set up.”

  At Caroline’s blank look, Jasper said, “You know, the Listserv they set up for SuperSoy victims—the idea’s to get people to show up at hearings so we can show the judge the real stakes here. The real people hurt by that damn company. There’s also a Facebook page.”

  Caroline was impressed by the Committee’s coordinated efforts to use the victims to manipulate the judiciary’s sympathies. Judges were supposed to be impartial. But judges were also human. Forcing Judge Samuels to see the faces of the people affected by his adjudication couldn’t hurt the SuperSoy plaintiffs’ cause. Not one bit.

  “You see that guy bringing my brother water?” Jasper asked.

  Caroline noted the earnest-looking man in a sport jacket and blue jeans extending a paper cup toward Tom with two hands, waiting patiently for the older man to take it.

  “That’s Andre. Both of his parents are in jail,” Jasper said. “Tom gave that kid a place to stay during his senior year so he could graduate. Set him up in the guest room. Treated him like a member of the family. He’s a teacher now himself. He teaches fourth grade out in Arcadia.”

  “It’s nice they came to support your brother,” Caroline said.

  “They’d all tell you it’s the least they can do. He’s done so much for everyone . . . including me.” Jasper’s voice broke. “Seeing him with a tube in his arm because his own kidneys can’t do the job . . . It’s killing me to see that. You’ve got to do something to help.”

  At the obvious agony in the stranger’s eyes, a sense of desperate emotion welled in Caroline’s chest. An intensity of feeling that had nothing to do with herself or her own worries. Here was someone with real problems, not insecurities or chimerical fears.

  She focused her attention on erasing the bereft expression on Jasper’s weathered face.

  “He looks like he’s hanging in there,” Caroline offered.

  “The treatments help, but he needs a kidney. Tom’s on a list for one, but he’s got to stay healthy or they’ll take him off. Problem is, those meds are too damn expensive. I’ve raided my retirement. I’ve sold my bass boat on eBay. Unless we get a settlement from that biotech company, we can’t keep going. We’re running out of money.”

  Caroline looked at the gruff retiree with compassion.

  “We were going to travel together, my brother and I,” Jasper said, “you know, to make some good memories before . . . in case he doesn’t get a kidney in time . . .” He trailed off and looked away, his eyes filling with unshed tears.

  Shaking his head to gather himself, Jasper met Caroline’s eyes again and set his jaw.

  In his tight-lipped expression, Caroline saw the toughness of a man who had survived hard combat but who knew he might still lose the long war.

  “Our lawyer says if we win this motion, Med-Gen will settle,” Jasper said. “Tom ran marathons. Benched 270 pounds. Right after he switched over to that new protein powder, bam!—total renal failure. They know they’ll lose in front of a jury. They’ll pay us out instead. Unless they win this motion, of course. Then we won’t see a dime.”

  “I understand,” Caroline said.

  “Do you?” Jasper met her eyes and searched them. “You need to win this thing.”

  “We’re going to do our best.” Caroline winced at the we. As if she spoke for anyone other than herself.

  “You need to do better than that.” His expression was tense and flushed. Then he looked down at his feet and kicked the linoleum.

  “Please,” he said softly.

  “We’ll win,” Caroline said with a certainty she didn’t feel and an authority she didn’t have. She instantly wished she could take the words back because she doubted it was true, but she knew he needed to hear it, and she was the only person around to say it.

  “Good,” Jasper grunted and turned away, back toward his brother.

  Watching him go, Caroline realized she’d just made a promise she had to keep.

  Caroline sat alone at the wooden table at the front of the courtroom. A pink plastic pitcher of water with a short stack of white paper cups beside it occupied one corner of the sticky surface. A meager but much-appreciated offering from the court to nervous litigants and their lawyers. Caroline considered pouring herself a cup but rejected the idea. She feared her hand would tremble. So instead she sat frozen. Waiting for the hearing to begin.

  Behind her, people jammed the benches like churchgoers who had been promised cupcakes after services. The only empty seats were in the jury box, where the heads of sleeping jurors had left stains on the ancient wood.

  The bailiff entered the courtroom and walked to the front, swinging around to face the gallery.

  The murmur of voices stilled.

  “All rise,” the bailiff called out.

  With a rustle like falling rain, the assembled crowd stood up as one.

  “Court for the Southern District of California is now in session. The Honorable Judge Edmund Samuels presiding.”

  When the bailiff finished speaking, the door of the chambers clicked opened.

  The judge emerged, hunched and slight. His black robe hung loose on his body. His thin white hair stood up like a rooster’s comb. He moved slowly across the front of the courtroom, then climbed the stairs to the tall, black, leather chair.

  Gesturing with age-spotted hands, he silently asked for the audience to be seated.

  “Good morning, everyone,” he began in a voice no louder than if he’d been talking to a friend across a dinner table.

  A polite murmur of hellos rippled through the courtroom in respon
se.

  “Please state your appearance,” the judge ordered. “Who’s here for the plaintiffs?” He scanned the sea of faces.

  Caroline stood up. This was it. The rite of passage.

  “Caroline Auden. Here on behalf of the SuperSoy Plaintiffs’ Steering Committee.” Her voice sounded strong and clear in her ears. Good.

  “Thank you, Ms. Auden,” the judge said.

  Caroline released the breath she’d been holding. She had pulled off her first statement of appearance without passing out or vomiting on her shoes. Her future was looking bright.

  She waited for the judge to call for an appearance from Med-Gen.

  But instead she heard a man’s voice announce, “I’m Eddie Diaz of Tiller, Brenner, and Hidalgo. I’m also here for the Plaintiffs’ Steering Committee.”

  Caroline turned around to find the voice’s owner.

  A man with tousled black hair stood behind her, just beyond the low wall that divided the counsel tables from the gallery. He wore a gunmetal-gray suit and a tomato-colored tie that was loud enough to be assertive yet quiet enough to be credible.

  “Thank you, Mr. Diaz,” the judge said. “Who’s here for the defense?”

  A woman rose from defense counsels’ table. “Annette Fujimoto for Med-Gen. I’m from Sakai, Anderson, and Day.”

  Caroline studied the petite defense attorney. She recalled seeing the woman’s name and bar number on the caption page of Med-Gen’s Daubert motion. At the bottom, where the most junior associate’s name went. Caroline took solace in the fact that the defense, too, had entrusted the low girl on the totem pole to handle the hearing.

  “Thank you, Ms. Fujimoto,” Judge Samuels said.

  He turned back to the entire audience seated in the courtroom.

  “I scheduled this status conference to make an announcement,” the judge said. “Because my wife has been placed on hospice, I’m taking a leave to care for her. I’m transferring this case to New York, Southern District. Judge Todd Jacobsen will be your new judge. He’ll be taking over the SuperSoy litigation. I am sorry to miss such an interesting case, but real life has unfortunately demanded my attention.”

  A ripple of murmurs shot through the crowd like a shock wave.

  “All pending deadlines remain on calendar,” Judge Samuels continued. “Plaintiffs’ opposition to Med-Gen’s Daubert motion remains due on October 5. The hearing on the motion will still be October 8. All scientific evidence must be filed by October 6.”

  His announcement completed, the judge stepped down from the bench.

  Everyone in the gallery rose, standing silently, their hands clasped respectfully before them as he began his slow walk back toward his chambers. But just outside the door, the judge paused and turned once more to face the lawyers.

  “Please remember to file your applications to appear pro hac vice in New York,” he said.

  Caroline jotted the Latin phrase on her legal pad, then waited, hoping he’d illuminate its meaning. But instead, the judge turned and finished his departure from the courtroom.

  The instant that the chambers door clicked shut, voices rose all around as the crowd digested the news that the rest of the SuperSoy multidistrict litigation would be taking place all the way across the country.

  Caroline knew she needed to figure out the implications of the move, too, but at the moment, she had a more burning curiosity. She spun around, her eyes sweeping the courtroom for the other attorney who’d purported to represent the Plaintiffs’ Steering Committee.

  She spotted him walking toward the door, holding his phone to his ear.

  Weaving through the crowd, Caroline jogged down the aisle to catch up with him.

  Caroline needn’t have rushed. The attorney she’d chased was waiting outside the courtroom.

  He smiled when he saw her, his obsidian eyes full of welcome, and Caroline found herself smiling back. His manner felt so familiar that it seemed as if he already knew her. And maybe he did. In Caroline’s experience, some people just . . . shined. Who knew why? Past lives intertwined, perhaps? Some glow of necessity, of meaning in this lifetime. Some hint of some role to play. Whatever the reason for the shine, this man had it.

  “I’m Eddie Diaz,” he said with a slight drawl. “I work with Paul Tiller out in Atlanta. He’s on the SuperSoy Plaintiffs’ Steering Committee.”

  He extended his right hand. Caroline noted his fingernails looked recently manicured. At his wrists, square gold cuff links glittered in the institutional lighting.

  “You’re a long way from home,” she said, shaking his hand and finding it warm.

  “It’s a long field trip; that’s for sure.” He chuckled. “When this hearing was put on calendar, my boss, Paul, sent me to help y’all out on whatever briefing got ordered. I’ll be working down the hall from you for the next couple of weeks. You’re Caroline Auden, right? That new hire at Hale Stern?”

  “Right.” Caroline’s eyes narrowed at the man.

  “When my boss said you’d be covering this hearing for Louis, I checked out your bio on your firm’s website so I’d know what you looked like,” Eddie said.

  “I guess I’m at a disadvantage,” Caroline said. Now she had another explanation for why this man had looked at her as if he already knew her: he’d Internet-stalked her.

  Eddie smiled again, and the corners of his eyes crinkled into well-worn folds. Caroline’s mother had always said you could trust people who smiled with their eyes. Caroline wondered if that rule applied to stalkers.

  “Sorry to rattle you,” Eddie said.

  Caroline studied his face, trying to discern if his words held a double meaning. Had he seen her before the hearing, struggling to pull herself back together in time for court? She consoled herself that it was unlikely he’d have noticed one small woman tucked onto a bench amid the dense crowd outside the courtroom.

  “I’m not rattled,” she said. “I just need to get back to the office.”

  She began walking toward the elevator.

  Eddie kept pace beside her, his footsteps almost silent.

  Caroline stole a glance at him. Full lips graced a generous mouth. High cheekbones attested to some Native American ancestor. He was handsome. But even more than that, he had a natural grace. He moved with the subtle confidence of someone who knew he belonged in every room where he found himself.

  “So, you’re on the Hale Stern team giving a final look at the science?” he asked.

  “I am the Hale Stern team,” Caroline said. “There’s no one else. Except for Louis.”

  Even without looking over at Eddie, Caroline could feel his eyebrows rising in surprise.

  “Well, then, how’s the science looking?” His voice held a hint of mirth.

  “Hard to say,” Caroline said, hedging. “Louis put me on this case yesterday and then sent me to court today. So I haven’t had much time.”

  “That’s just Louis’s way, I hear,” Eddie said. “He throws y’all in the deep end to see if you float.”

  “Or drown,” Caroline muttered under her breath.

  “Let me help,” Eddie said. “It’s what I’m here for, after all.”

  When Caroline didn’t answer, Eddie stopped walking.

  Caroline stopped, too. Turning to face him, she watched him scowl, his handsome features darkening as if clouds had moved cross the sun.

  “Louis told you I’m Paul Tiller’s spy, didn’t he?” Eddie asked. “That he only let me come out here because he was being—”

  “—diplomatic,” Caroline finished for him.

  Eddie’s black eyes flashed. “Diplomacy is saying, ‘Nice doggy,’ while you look for a rock. I promise I’m no pit bull. We’re fighting on the same team here.” The urgency in his voice suggested he had something to prove to someone. Probably to his boss, Caroline realized. She knew the feeling.

  “If I need any help, I’ll come find you,” she finally acquiesced. Even as she recognized that Eddie was another of the loaned associates, she found it diffic
ult to maintain her wariness. Unlike Deena, whose abrasive manner sparked hostility, Eddie’s soft drawl and easy manner exuded likability. If Deena was like a car sideswiping her way through the tunnel of life, Eddie glided, leaving no marks from his passage.

  “Good,” Eddie said, gracing her with a luminous smile.

  A phone buzzed in Eddie’s pocket.

  He withdrew it and glanced at the caller.

  “My boss. Calling me back,” he said, looking at Caroline with an apologetic expression. “This’ll just take a second.”

  Caroline stepped back to give Eddie symbolic privacy, but she watched him while he talked. With his well-styled hair and well-tailored suit, he looked the part of a confident young lawyer. But on his neck, just above his perfectly pressed collar, there was a small burn scar, perhaps the size of a cigarette tip. She wondered how he’d gotten it.

  Eddie hung up and turned back to Caroline.

  “Sounds like this new judge is trouble for us,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Paul didn’t say much, but he didn’t sound too happy about the shift to New York. He just said Jacobsen’s a god-awful draw for us.”

  “Maybe Louis knows something,” Caroline said, already hurrying toward the elevator.

  Caroline sat in Louis’s guest chair with a legal pad balanced on her lap and a pen in her hand, waiting for her boss to say something.

  Louis stood silently by the window, his glasses perched atop his head, his neck craned down at the file’s contents. In his gray suit, he looked as monolithic and formidable as the gray buildings behind him. Upon learning the name of the new judge, he’d called Silvia, who’d appeared in his office seconds later holding the file folder with the judge’s name typed across the top. Now he studied the pages. One by one. Deliberate but fast.

  When he’d finished the last page, Louis scowled. “Paul Tiller’s right. Judge Jacobsen is a dreadful draw for us. He defended companies against asbestos litigation for decades before being appointed to the bench. He also did some graduate work in molecular cell biology prior to going to law school. By nature and by training, he’s going to be skeptical of the science.”