Doubt (Caroline Auden Book 1) (21 page)

As the members of the Steering Committee stepped aside, Caroline couldn’t suppress the grin that spread on her face. Whatever disappointment Louis had felt in her for befriending Eddie had been obliterated by her strong performance in court. She knew he wouldn’t mention Eddie again. Neither would she.

She followed Louis’s tall frame through the throngs of lawyers, who parted like a Red Sea to his Moses.

“Are you really going to let me examine the scientists?” she asked Louis’s back. Even with the buzz of the hearing still thrilling her senses, she knew it was unlikely her boss would entrust the witness examinations to a first-year lawyer.

“Absolutely,” Louis answered over his shoulder. “You know the science better than anyone. I have full confidence in your ability to handle this.”

“I promise I’ll run all of my witness examination notes by you first,” she said.

“Good. We’ll make sure you’re ready to go before the first scientist takes the stand,” he called back to her. “We can set up some mock examinations with Eddie to help prepare you, if you’d like.”

Caroline grinned at his unexpected mention of Eddie and his tacit permission for Eddie to help out. Louis was nothing if not socially graceful.

Louis led Caroline through the doors of the courtroom into the hall.

Once they were out of the earshot of the other attorneys, Louis stopped walking and turned to meet Caroline’s eyes.

His face grew serious.

“Where are we on finding Dr. Wong?” he asked.

“We’ve subpoenaed her,” Caroline said, jarred by the sudden change in her boss’s mood. “There’s a bench warrant out for her arrest.”

“That’s not good enough,” Louis said, frowning. “There’s no way to enforce bench warrants. Unless Dr. Wong gets pulled over for speeding or something, that warrant won’t help us.”

Caroline repressed her surprise. For some reason, she’d expected things like bench warrants to matter.

“We were very lucky to survive today’s hearing,” Louis said, still scowling. “Many judges would have simply dismissed an unpublished, non-peer-reviewed article out of hand. That Judge Jacobsen decided he wanted to talk to the scientists first is a result of your good work. You should be justly proud of what you achieved here today . . .”

“But we need Dr. Wong,” Caroline finished, the last remaining shards of joy from the argument leaving her.

The door to the courtroom swung open, and Ian Kennedy emerged with two junior associates trailing behind him like black-suited ducklings.

As if by unspoken agreement, Louis and Caroline fell silent, waiting for him to pass.

But Kennedy slowed his step as he approached. He quirked a grin at Caroline.

“Like I said before the hearing, you’re worth a raise,” Kennedy said, holding Caroline’s eyes a moment before continuing down the hall and out of sight.

As soon as Kennedy was gone, Louis rounded on Caroline.

“When did he talk to you? What did you say to him? Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Louis’s eyes narrowed.

Caroline reeled under the barrage of questions. “It was just a two-second conversation at the water fountain. I said nothing to him, don’t worry—nothing.”

Louis held her eyes, his jaw working.

“What’s the big deal?” she asked.

“What’s the big deal?” Louis repeated her words slowly, his pale eyes filling with fire. “The big deal is, Kennedy corrupts people. He can corrupt you.”

Louis took a breath, as if consciously caging his passion. The fury in his eyes dissipated until the senior partner’s face held an expression of pensive remorse.

“I’m afraid I wasn’t completely candid when I said I’d only had one run-in with Kennedy,” Louis said in a quiet voice. “The truth is, I know him rather well. In fact, I used to work with him.”

Caroline opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Louis’s revelation was an awfully big omission.

“Ian and I began at the same firm out of law school,” Louis said. “A white-shoe firm in Boston. Those old boys knew how to practice law, and they had no patience for Ian’s shenanigans. Shredding documents and whatnot. He left the firm in disgrace.”

He shook his head in disgust.

“I had hoped never to see him again,” he continued, “but life is long, and mercenaries like Ian are attractive to clients that find themselves in dire straits. The scent of money and desperation is like chum in the water to him. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him on this case. Nor should I be surprised that he’s courting you.”

Caroline flushed at her boss’s verbalization of what Kennedy’s overtures meant. She moved quickly to disabuse him of the notion that those overtures had any chance of success.

“You don’t have to worry,” she said. “I’d never work for a fixer. I don’t care what he offers me. It would never be enough to work for someone like him.”

Louis’s gaze thawed slightly. “That’s welcome news. There are many people out there for whom morality is a convenience to be placed aside for the right price.”

“I’m not one of those people,” Caroline said, surprised by the vehemence in her voice.

Louis must have heard it, too, because his face calmed and his posture relaxed.

“Now that Kennedy knows we need Dr. Wong to win, he’ll be mobilizing all of his resources to find her, too. Heaven help Dr. Wong if he gets to her before we do.”

Caroline stayed silent. She waited for Louis to outline his plan. He was a chess player. A master litigator. He’d have a strategy. He always did.

But his next words left her worried.

“I’m going to be stuck here in New York for the
Telemetry Systems
depositions for the rest of the week, so you’re going to have to take the lead in trying to locate Dr. Wong,” he said. “Please keep me apprised of your progress.”

Caroline’s face fell.

“I’m sorry I can’t help,” he said, “but there’s no way I can reschedule these depos.”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet.

“But I can give you this.” Louis removed a black credit card embossed with the golden logo of Hale Stern, LLP. He extended it to Caroline.

“This is the firm card,” he said. “We usually only give these to our partners, but this is an exceptional circumstance. Please charge whatever you need to on it.”

Warmed by her boss’s trust, Caroline took the card from his hand and tucked it carefully into her wallet. But even that small patch of sunshine couldn’t dispel the building maelstrom of worry coursing through her gut. If Dr. Heller had been murdered, those who’d killed him would now be gunning for Dr. Wong.

“I’m a little . . . nervous about going after Dr. Wong.” Caroline cringed at her words.

“I understand,” Louis said. “You’ll have to excuse me. Sometimes I become so wrapped up with winning that I forget the human stakes involved in our cases.” He released a long breath, then added, “You shouldn’t do anything you feel uncomfortable doing.”

Caroline considered his words. He was allowing her an out. A chicken exit.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I’ll keep going.” At least for now, she added silently.

“Good,” said Louis, looking at his watch. “Then you better get going. You don’t want to miss your flight home.”

CHAPTER 11

When Caroline exited the sliding doors of the airport terminal, she was greeted by the stinging odors of car exhaust and jet fumes. Vehicles of all sizes jammed the narrow road fronting the Arrivals curb. Some had trunks open, their occupants standing on the sidewalk hugging welcomes to their loved ones back from faraway places. Others sat waiting for passengers to appear from the black hole of baggage claim.

Caroline knew there was no one for her. Eddie was in transit. Her mom was in Oregon. Her dad was in Connecticut. Her best friend was traveling God knew where. And Uncle Hitch was likely curled up with a bottle of Grey Goose somewhere.

Making her way toward the outer ring of the arrivals area, Caroline scanned the signs until she found the one she sought:
P
ARKING
L
OT
S
HUTTLES
. A bus sat beneath the yellow sign, its engine idling, its bifold doors standing open.

Lucky break, thought Caroline, dragging her suitcase toward it.

After slotting her suitcase onto the luggage rack, Caroline sat down in one of the concave plastic seats. Almost immediately, the tiredness hit her. The last week had been a sprint. And the race wasn’t over. She still needed to find Dr. Wong. More than that, she still needed to get Dr. Wong to come to New York for the hearing in six days. Just six days.

There would be no rest for her. She needed to get her car. Get back to the firm. Find Dr. Wong. In that order, and right away. Then she could rest. Easy.

The bus rocked as another passenger boarded. A blond man wearing a knit cap and an army surplus jacket made his way down the narrow aisle toward Caroline. Over one shoulder, he wore a black nylon messenger bag with gunmetal-gray buckles that clinked as he walked.

He sat down beside Caroline just as the doors at the front of the bus squeaked shut. With a rumble and a cloud of exhaust, the bus pulled away from the curb to begin its slow circumnavigation around the airport terminal, picking up more passengers before finally it would head to the off-site parking lot where Caroline had left her Mustang.

“How’s it going?” the man said, jutting his chin toward her in greeting.

“Fine, thanks.” Caroline hoped that would be the extent of the conversation. She wasn’t in the mood to make small talk. During her long flight alone, the weight of her decision to look for Dr. Wong had settled over her like a shroud of worry. She was going to go head-to-head with Kennedy. No possible reassurance by Louis could convince her it wasn’t dangerous.

“Where are you coming from?” the stranger on the bus asked.

“New York,” Caroline answered. No such luck on the no-small-talk thing.

“Business?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Finance?” he asked, his eyes lighting up with interest.

“No, law,” she answered.

“I work in finance,” the stranger said. “My company just launched a new digital currency service. Payments work peer to peer.”

“I know all about cryptocurrency,” Caroline said. Though not yet mainstream, digital currency was a hot topic in tech circles. “Not everyone accepts it, though. People still prefer using money they can see.”

“Some industries are painfully old-school,” the man agreed, holding up a hand. He began counting off fingers. “Trust companies don’t like digital currency. Neither do real estate investment traders. Or banks. Or car dealerships. But most individuals will accept it once they know what it is. Once they realize it’s as good as cash. They just need to be educated.”

Caroline shrugged. “Money’s money. The world will come around. Eventually.”

“Exactly,” said the man. “Let me show you how our ledger works. I know I’m bragging, but it is superior to bitcoin or any of the other cryptocurrencies.”

He pulled out his phone.

“Check this out,” he said, opening an app displaying a payment ledger. “You can send money anywhere in the world. Payments can’t ever be tracked or traced since there’s no central administrator or country that runs it.”

“I know how it works. But no cryptocurrency is uncrackable,” she said, instantly regretting her challenge. She didn’t want to start a debate with this stranger. She really didn’t want to talk.

Glancing at the screen of the stranger’s phone, Caroline saw her name.

Her fingers prickled with alarm.

“How did you know my name?” Caroline asked.

The man jutted his chin toward the luggage tag dangling off the side of her suitcase.

“Oh.” Caroline relaxed.

But then, with a few more taps of his thumb, the stranger pulled up her bank and account information.

“Wait, how did you do that?” Caroline’s heart began to pound. “This isn’t right. You can’t get a bank account just from a name.”

The man didn’t answer. Instead, he typed numbers into the ledger page, initiating a transaction that would transfer funds to her bank account.

“You see, it’s super easy. I can just type in any amount here,” he said, floating his index finger over the field to write a dollar amount. “For instance, what does it cost for a vacation these days? Ten thousand dollars? Twenty thousand?” He kept his eyes trained on his phone.

Caroline said nothing.

“Just for six days,” the man continued. “A little vacation for a hardworking lawyer.”

Caroline froze. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

This wasn’t an innocent conversation with a stranger. This man knew who she was. This man was trying to bribe her. Her mind understood what was happening, even as it tried to reject the reality. This man was Kennedy’s agent.

She was in danger.

“I don’t need a vacation,” she said, noticing the birthmark on the man’s cheek, near his mouth. Pigmented red, it looked like a dead bug with its legs in the air. “I appreciate the education in cryptocurrency.” Caroline watched the airport terminal passing in the bus window. There was one more stop before the bus made its trip to the off-site parking lots.

“Everyone needs a vacation,” the man said. “You could take a break or maybe even help out a struggling relative without worrying about work.”

Caroline shivered at what might or might not have been a reference to her uncle.

When the shuttle stopped at the international terminal, Caroline leaped up. In one fluid motion, she grabbed her suitcase and charged off the shuttle. Hitting the last step of the bus, she pushed off hard, hurtling herself toward the waiting crowd. Then she ran down the terminal sidewalk, looking for a police officer. Someone. Anyone.

Behind her, the revving of an engine startled her.

When she spun around, the shuttle was gone. She was alone.

The first thing Caroline saw when she got back to her office was the package. Four inches tall and twenty inches long, it sat atop the legal pads and books strewn all over her desk. Cardboard and white, the package bore no markings except for her name, which had been scrawled in thick black ink across the center of the top.

Caroline’s first thought was to call for a bomb squad. After her experience on the shuttle, her nerves prickled, filling her with edgy agitation. The appearance of the strange package seemed another ominous portent in a day filled with threats gathering like storm clouds.

She stood frozen in the doorway of her office for another few seconds before forcing herself to exhale. She ordered herself to chill out.

It was just a package. It wasn’t ticking. Audibly, anyway.

Sitting down at her desk, Caroline lifted up the box. Someone, probably her assistant, had already created a long slit along one side so she could easily open it.

She eased the contents of the package onto her desk. Pictures and letters. Loosely shoved into the package, they looked as if someone had printed them out then hastily sent them to her.

A short cover letter from the Plaintiffs’ Steering Committee’s webmaster informed her that these materials had been sent to the Committee’s public e-mail address in the last eight hours in response to a posting on the victims’ Listserv and Facebook page. Seeing Caroline’s name at the top of each letter, the webmaster had printed out and messengered the materials to her so she could “learn a little bit about the real people this case affects.” The webmaster reported that many of the letters followed a similar script. They urged her “to spend some time getting to know the victims and their families.”

Caroline’s eyes widened. Strangers were writing to her? About SuperSoy?

She picked up the top photograph. A picture of a child wearing a reindeer hat smiled back at her. The little boy’s feet were tucked into red-and-green socks with little antlers sticking up from the tops.

Reflexively, Caroline smiled at the sweet image. Clipped to it was a short letter.

Ms. Auden,

Jasper Wilkens says you’re helping us. I just wanted to thank you and tell you who I am. This is my son, Henry. He’s three. This picture was from last Christmas. He doesn’t look like this anymore. He’s currently at Children’s Hospital. He’s stable at the moment, thank God, but his right kidney had been failing, so we went to the hospital. The medication seems to be helping him for now. I just wanted you to know how much it means to me that you’re out there fighting for us.

God bless you.

Aubrey O’Malley

Fascinated and appalled, she flipped to the next picture. This time, twin infants lay in matching hospital gowns, awaiting treatment. The accompanying letter told Caroline to “nail the bastards to the wall.” Filled with vitriol and fury masking what Caroline knew had to be abject terror for the health of his children, this father had poured his desperation into the letter.

Caroline put the letter aside. It was too hard to read.

Especially since the incident on the airport shuttle had made her rethink her mission to find Dr. Wong. She shivered. One of Kennedy’s agents had approached her, had tried to bribe her. Now that she’d rebuffed that attempt, what would Kennedy do next?

She needed to stop looking for Dr. Wong. Even if it meant losing, she couldn’t risk her safety. No one could expect her to. Not even the victims. She felt bad for them, but she couldn’t help them. Not without putting herself at great risk.

Caroline’s hands traveled back to the pile of letters and pictures. She thumbed through the faces of the victims. Babies. Children. Sometimes adults. All of them depended on the
SuperSoy
litigation to ensure their treatment. To vindicate their injuries. To avenge loved ones who’d been ripped from the embraces of their now-bereaved families.

Caroline tried to distance herself from the onslaught. This was a blatant manipulation. Same as Jasper’s brother’s students showing up in court to try to influence the judge, this was a craven ploy intended to curry favor or sympathy from someone involved in the case. They wanted her to feel the weight of their sorrows, the heft of their nightly terrors, the full measure of their suffering. They wanted her to save them.

But she couldn’t save these people. Heck, she couldn’t even save herself.

Suddenly, her hands stopped at a familiar image.

The mother holding the child looked older, more worry worn and exhausted, but Caroline recognized the face of Amy Garber, the younger sister of her college roommate. During freshman year, Amy had visited often, sleeping on a futon in their dorm room.

Even after graduating, Caroline had followed Amy’s blog. She’d read Amy’s accounts of her time in Japan teaching English. More recently, Amy had chronicled her journey toward motherhood.

Caroline recalled the baby shower. Amy had already picked out a name for the baby. Liam. Named for her grandfather. Amy had beamed as she’d opened little towels and burp cloths and even the diaper disposal unit. And Amy had posted pictures of Liam after he’d been born. Scrunched up and pink, he’d looked like a stricken chicken. But Amy had thought him to be the most beautiful creature in the world . . .

Now the image of Liam hit Caroline like a swift punch to the solar plexus, leaving her dizzy and reeling. The baby she remembered had been so healthy, so full of the promise of a whole life ahead of him. Now Liam’s four-year-old visage stared wanly up at his mother, his arm hooked into a dialysis line.

Caroline could barely bring herself to read the letter clipped to the tragic image.

Caro—

I couldn’t believe it when I saw you were working on this case. I’m so glad it’s you. You won’t let Liam die. I know you and I know you’re going to make sure Med-Gen pays for him to get the treatment he needs. I left my job to take care of him. Things are getting pretty desperate. We really need this, Caro.

Love, Amy

Tears welled in Caroline’s eyes. The idea that Amy’s son was sick was almost too much to bear. She knew she should feel the same way about all of the pictures now strewn across her desk, but this child wasn’t a statistic. He was Liam.

The phone on her desk rang.

The number glowing on the phone’s blue screen revealed who it was.

“Hi, Louis,” she answered, wiping the moisture from her eyes and standing up, trying to get away from the pleading voices shouting at her from the pile of letters on her desk.