An Invisible Client (3 page)

5

The home had three levels, each set up for different purposes and with a different atmosphere. On the bottom level were the pool table, the weight room, the projection screen, my library, and a small bar. The middle level was where guests came and ate and marvelled at the view. The top level with the balcony was only for me. I had never taken anyone else up there.

I got out a Guinness and drank down half before walking out onto the balcony. From there, I could see all the way from the mountains in the east across the valley to the mountains in the west. I took another sip, then sat down in a lawn chair. The house was quiet, and the neighborhood, just as much. I’d grown up dirt poor. Every day, getting enough to eat had been a challenge. Living in a neighborhood like this—without the sounds of screaming couples, bass thumping in passing cars, and children playing outside at all hours—had a calming effect I’d never experienced while growing up.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out. Tia. I let it ring a few times, staring at her name on the screen.

“Kinda late to be calling, isn’t it?” I said. “People might think you still have a thing for me.”

“Since when have I cared what people think?”

“You care what your mother thinks.”

“You love my mother and care what she thinks, too.”

A slight twinge of guilt hit me in the gut. Her parents had taken me in and treated me like a son, and in exchange, I’d treated their daughter like crap. I’d stayed out long hours, missed holidays . . . One birthday, I left her present unwrapped on the counter. When I came home, she was crying on the couch. I’d sat down next to her without a word and we stared at the walls. I think both of us knew that night it was over, though the marriage lasted another six months. We both cared about the other so much, we were willing to stick it out as long as we could just to spare the other one’s feelings. A situation that was corrosive to the soul in a way few other things were.

The morning after we separated, she had her brothers come pack her things. She moved to Los Angeles, where her parents lived, and I hadn’t seen her since.

I remembered the last time I had kissed her. It was odd to think about, that there was a last kiss. It happened in the car. I dropped her off at work and said good-bye and we kissed. I remembered the scent of her lotion and the trace of her lipstick. I still felt it sometimes on my lips, like a ghost limb from some part of me that had been cut off.

“How’s your mom?” I said after too long a silence.

“She’s okay. They’re thinking of moving to Florida.”

“That cliché? At least choose Palm Beach or St. George or something.”

“They have friends in Florida. My dad’s plan is to become a tour guide.”

“Has he ever actually been to Florida?”

“Not once.”

I chuckled. “He’ll make a good guide, then. I bet he’ll just make stuff up that sounds entertaining.” I looked out over the city. “The lights keep multiplying every year. They reach a little farther over the mountains and a little higher into the trees. Salt Lake’ll be a big city soon. Don’t know if I wanna stick around for that.”

“Please. You’re a big-city kid. You’d be so bored in a small town, you’d cause trouble just to stir things up.” Silence lingered between us, then she said, “I called for two things, Noah.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, you can borrow money. Just email Jessica what you need, and she’ll—”

“I don’t need money, you jerk. Just listen to me . . . I’m getting . . . I’m getting remarried. We’re doing it in Hawaii sometime in the winter. Haven’t set an exact date yet . . . Noah, you still there?”

I thought about this house. It had been our dream to own a home like this, but when we were married, I wasn’t rich yet. We were barely making ends meet, shopping at dollar stores and taking out payday loans just to buy some food and pay the electric bills, using candles when we’d maxed the loans we could get. We’d come to neighborhoods like this and look at the homes and I would make grand promises about how ours would be bigger than any of these, and she would live like a queen. She’d kiss me and tell me she believed that I could conquer the world.

The first night I spent in this house, alone, the only thing I could think was that I wished like hell she could see that I’d made good on my promise.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Sorry. Um, well, that’s great news. Richard, right? Works for a nonprofit or something?”

“Yes. He asked me yesterday, and I said yes. I wanted to tell you before you heard it from someone.”

I took a deep breath. “You don’t owe me any explanations. You deserve those mansions I promised you. I’m glad you found someone who can do that for you.”

“That’s a relief. I thought you might be upset.”

I shook my head, though there was no one around. “No. No, I’m happy for you. I’ll bring a nice gift to the wedding.”

“Richard and I talked, and we think that maybe . . .”

“Oh. Yeah, that would be awkward. No big deal. I’ll send something.”

“Thank you for being understanding about this.”

I wanted to throw the phone across the lawn, but instead, I said, “Well, I better go. Got a hot date.”

“Just one more thing. I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

Anger rose in me like a ball of heat. Tia had just told me she was getting remarried, and now she was asking for a favor in the same call? She must’ve really thought I was a sucker.

“What?” I asked.

“My cousin, Rebecca, her boy is really sick. It’s from that whole Pharma Killer thing. He was one of the ones who took it.”

I knew what she was talking about. Everybody did—it had been all over the news out here. Some psychopath had laced children’s cough medicine with cyanide. Three kids in Salt Lake County had gotten extremely ill, but none had died.

“Sorry to hear that, but I don’t know what I could do. They haven’t caught the guy. And even if they did, he wouldn’t have any money. It’s not worth it.”

“I know, but her boy is really sick. He’s only twelve. It would make her feel better if she met with you. She’s got a lot of anger and just needs someone to listen to her.”

“Tell her to hire a shrink. That’s not my job.”

A beat of silence passed.

“Okay, Noah. I’ll tell her. Sorry to bother you so late.”

“No, wait. Wait. I’m sorry. Just a long night. Have her call the office and set an appointment. I’ll meet with her. But make sure she knows there’s nothing I can do. I don’t want her crying in my office when I tell her no.” I reached for the beer, which I’d put down and it tipped over, the black fluid bleeding into the wood of the balcony. “There’s a lot of other personal injury attorneys you could’ve called.”

“You’re the best at what you do. I know that.”

An entire life flashed before me just then. A life with her. Kids and grandkids. Birthdays and graduations. But that wasn’t my life now. It was for Richard.

“Night, Noah. Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, you, too.”

I woke up still on the lawn chair. The sunlight blinded me for a moment, and I squinted, then covered my eyes with my hand. Once my eyes adjusted, I rose and looked out over the city. A thin gray haze stuck to it like pus. I went inside, showered, and changed into a navy Armani suit with a white shirt, a red tie—to show assertiveness—and a red pocket square. The Bentley was back in the garage, and I drove it down to the firm.

It was past ten by the time I arrived, and the firm was buzzing with activity. Luckily, because I was officially supposed to be out, none of that activity was directed at me. I went to the break room, fixed a cup of coffee, got a banana out of a fruit bowl, then sat down in my office and stared at the reflection of the city in my computer screen.

I’d been born and raised in Los Angeles. When I’d moved here, Salt Lake City had been about as different from LA as Mars was from Earth. Now they had begun to resemble each other. I meant what I’d said to Tia last night: I wasn’t sure I wanted to stick around for that transformation.

“Sir,” my secretary said over the intercom.

“Yeah?”

“Rebecca Whiting here to see you.”

“Who is that?”

“A consult. I placed it on your calendar with notes. She’s your ex-wife’s cousin.”

“Oh, right.”

“She wanted the soonest appointment available. I knew you didn’t have a trial, so I set it for this morning. Hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Send her back, would you, Jessica?”

“Sure.”

A moment later, my office door opened, and Rebecca Whiting walked in.

6

Rebecca didn’t look familiar, though I was sure we’d met before. She had brunette hair and crystal-blue eyes. She hadn’t dressed up, which was unusual because most potential clients did. She wore sweats and no makeup. Her eyes were puffy, and her hair was pulled back and held in place with an elastic band. I rose and shook her hand.

“Thank you for coming,” I said.

“We’ve met once before, Mr. Byron.”

“Call me Noah.” I sat down. “Where?”

“At a wedding with Tia for my other cousin, Sandy.”

“Oh, right,” I said, still not remembering.

“I’m sorry you guys didn’t work out. I really liked you. You were nice to us when you met us.”

I had made some kind of impression, and I was glad it was a good one. I wasn’t known for controlling my drinking at weddings.

“It’s all right. I’m glad Tia’s found someone.”

She nodded, staring at a gold penholder on my desk. “Did she tell you what this was about?”

“Yeah, your son is sick. Is that right?”

She nodded. “Joel. He’s twelve. Just turned twelve. Do you know about Herba-Cough Max? The kids’ medication?”

“I’ve heard about it. Someone laced it with cyanide, if I remember.”

She nodded again. “That’s the story. That some lunatic laced children’s cough medicine with poison. But that’s not what happened. Not what I think happened, anyway. There’s more to it.”

Her eyes started to glisten. She was fighting back tears, and I got the impression that it was taking everything she had not to break down right there.

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

She took a tissue out of her purse and dabbed at her eyes. “I talked to them. They’re covering up. Someone from their company, Debbie Ochoa, told me they were the ones that started the rumors about a lunatic. She told me that on the phone. I’d gotten to know her because I would call so much, and she told me that. Now they tell me she isn’t there anymore.”

“Where were you calling?”

“Pharma-K. They’re the company that makes the medicine. They got all these kids sick, and now they’re covering it up.”

“Do you have any proof other than Ms. Ochoa’s statement?”

“No. They won’t talk to me anymore. Just transfer me to their attorneys, who don’t tell me anything. I tried to go to the news, but they wouldn’t listen. They think I’m crazy.”

I’d seen horrific accidents befall children, and without a doubt, the most common reaction from parents was disbelief. To have someone to blame—someone to point the finger at and say, “They did this”—was so cathartic that if that person didn’t exist or if the parents didn’t know who it was, they would invent him. I had a feeling that was what Rebecca Whiting was doing. Her boy had been one of the unfortunate ones to suffer because of some sick maniac, and without the maniac, she needed to blame someone. Pharma-K was as good a choice as any.

“Ms. Whiting,” I said softly, “I’m not sure what you’d like me to do.”

“I want you to sue them. Sue them so they can never hurt another child again. They’re just gonna keep doing this if they think they can get away with it.”

I tried to be as compassionate as possible. “So, let’s assume you’re right, that this is something they’re covering up. That means the police investigation would have to be flawed, or maybe the police would have to be in on the cover-up. Dozens of employees of the company would have to know what was happening and agree to keep their mouths shut, and the investigative journalists working this story would have to come up with nothing in support of this view, or again, be part of it. All those things would have to happen for this to be true.”

To her credit, she held my gaze. I continued. “But for us to win a lawsuit, all of those things would have to be true, and we’d have to be able to prove it in a court of law. I don’t see how exactly we would do that without spending tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of dollars.”

“Money? Is that really what this is about?”

“It’s always about that.”

“My son is dying, Mr. Byron. He’s in renal failure. The cyanide wasn’t enough to kill him, but it was enough to ruin his kidneys. He’s on the transplant list, but he’s too sick. I thought the transplant list was for sick people, but if they’re too sick, they don’t get a kidney. They’d rather give it to someone who has a higher chance at survival.”

She dabbed at her eyes again. I didn’t know what to say. She was asking me to take on a case that we would likely lose.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think our firm can help.”

She sniffled. “Will you talk to them? Pharma-K? Just go out and talk to them. See what they say. My boy’s at the university hospital, and I’m there all day and night if you talk to them and then want to meet with us. Please, just talk to them.” She hesitated. “I knew no lawyer would take this case, but Tia said you would look at it. That you wouldn’t just turn us away like everyone else.”

Her eyes held a desperation that I’d seen only a few times in my life: I was her last resort.

I clenched my jaw, as if preparing for a blow, then slowly relaxed. “Okay, I’ll talk to them.”

Jessica set an appointment with Pharma-K for six in the evening, and by five, I was actually itching to leave the office, but I didn’t want to go home. So I told myself the meeting would be a nice little distraction. I would joke around with the executive, maybe have a drink or two, and down the line, maybe he would even think of me if he had a case he wanted to send out.

Marty came to the door. “Hey, I heard about that Pharma-K thing. You really thinking of taking that case?”

“No. I just told the client I would meet with them.”

He put his hands in his pockets and strolled into my office. “Might not be a bad idea to take a look. The company’s probably terrified right now. They might settle a suit just to get rid of us.”

“Why would they possibly do that? I would fight tooth and nail if I were them.”

“You’re not them. They have shareholders who get spooked easy. Cyanide in their children’s cough syrup is spooky. If there’s anything there, it might be worth exploring. If nothing else, it would get us some press. This Pharma Killer story is everywhere.”

For some reason, I was annoyed that Marty thought the case was a good idea. “Do you know how much we would have to spend? Just on investigators and depositions alone, it would probably be two hundred grand. Maybe more.”

“Oh, probably more, but we would take the first settlement and run. I’m just saying, if it seems like something they’d settle after we look into it, we should consider it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Oh, almost forgot, that interview’s here.”

“What interview?”

“Raimi was supposed to tell you about her. BYU grad—he wants her in the bankruptcy division?”

“Shit. Just freakin’ hire her. What do I need to interview her for?”

“We agreed that all three of us would interview new hires, no matter how big we got. Has to be unanimous. One for all and all for one.”

I chuckled. “You’re such a dork.”

He shrugged. “I gotta be me. I’ll send her in.” He turned to walk out, then said, “If there’s anything there with Pharma-K, I might seriously consider it.”

“I said I’d think about it.”