The Widow

Chapter 41

A month before the trial, Judge Pointer scheduled a closed hearing to address a number of issues, the most important of which was venue.

Raymond had been adamant from day one that the trial must take place far away from Braxton. He really didn’t care where, but preferably out of the reach of the Washington and Richmond press. His client had been pilloried and savaged from the day of his indictment and the damage was irreversible. The only remaining question in the press was: Where was the firing squad? Raymond had been a prominent criminal defense lawyer for forty years and had never represented a defendant so thoroughly condemned by his neighbors and townsfolk. His own secretary, a compassionate soul, had quietly said to him several times, “Better get a plea bargain.”

Simon had been reluctant at first. For a while he argued that by the terms of the will he drafted for Eleanor, virtually everyone in Braxton would benefit from her generosity. The trust he so cleverly created spread her money to every church, civic club, food bank, scout troop, garden club, and so on. And, more important, the will did not give Simon Latch a dime of her money. He had to earn it! He would be paid $500 an hour and his fees would be impressive, but an hour away in Washington the going rate for the big firm guys was double that. Under oath and on cross-examination he was confident he could justify his billings.

Raymond countered with the argument that the terms of the will might never be heard by the jury. The will was not the issue. Murder was. Oddly enough, motive was not always a factor and did not have to be proven. Simon believed the will would be the Commonwealth’s first exhibit, dramatically waved in front of the jury by Cora Cook as proof that the defendant was dreaming of huge fees and profiting from the death of Eleanor Barnett.

He and Raymond argued for several weeks, usually late at night over cigars and bourbon. But Raymond would not budge and even threatened to withdraw, a ploy he used occasionally. The defense filed a motion seeking a change of venue.

During their discussions and arguments, they were joined by Casey Noland, the newest member of Raymond’s firm. He was thirty years old and had spent the past three years as a federal public defender. His unabashed goal in life was to become a high-octane, radical, colorful criminal defense lawyer, similar to Raymond Lassiter. While his law school buddies dreamed of the big corporate firms and million-dollar salaries, Casey wanted to be in the courtroom defending clients accused of horrible crimes. He wanted to protect the rights of the worst killers. He wanted to face skeptical juries. He wanted the spotlight.

Casey was also single and worked strange hours. To impress Raymond enough to get a job, he was developing a taste for bourbon and cigars.

For the hearing, Judge Pointer put two bailiffs at the door of Courtroom B and banned all spectators. She was tired of reporters hanging around the courthouse and bothering her secretary. She had called the police on several occasions to get rid of people digging for dirt about the case.

Cora Cook opposed the motion because she was supposed to, but she, too, knew a fair trial was impossible in Braxton. Around her office, the sentiment always leaned toward guilt, but that was to be expected among the staff of a prosecutor. No one was willing to give Simon Latch the benefit of the doubt. Forget about the presumption of innocence. Out of respect, her friends never commented on or gossiped about a case, but she knew they thought Simon poisoned Eleanor. Her current boyfriend thought a conviction was a slam dunk.

As always, the hearing was on the record, but Judge Pointer, as she often did, treated it as informally as possible. The attorneys kept their seats as they bantered back and forth, respectfully. Judge Pointer interrupted when necessary. Simon sat between Raymond and Casey Noland, and passed notes to both, once again thankful that he had not pursued a career as a criminal lawyer. He was still trying to warm up to Casey.

Virginia, like most states, allowed either side, defense or prosecution, to request a change of venue. However, neither side could suggest a preferred alternate. That was within the sole discretion of the judge.

After an hour of discussion, and little argument, it was apparent that Judge Pointer had made up her mind. She said, “I’ll grant the motion to change venue and I’ll decide on the jurisdiction later. I’m looking at various parts of the state and I tend to agree with the defense that the trial should be moved far away.”

The attorneys scribbled notes. No one was surprised. Simon didn’t relish the idea of spending a week or two in a cheap motel in a strange town, but the longer he stayed in Braxton, the more he was convinced that he needed to leave.

They then quibbled over discovery matters, with Her Honor lecturing both sides on the rules that required full disclosure. Cora Cook had a stellar reputation as an ethical prosecutor and withheld nothing. Raymond’s reputation did not quite match hers but he had nothing to hide.

At noon, Judge Pointer surprised them when she recessed until 2 P.M. There was nothing left on the agenda, not in Commonwealth of Virginia v. Simon F. Latch, and the lawyers left the courtroom scratching their heads. What was the unfinished business?

Simon tried diligently to avoid being seen in public anywhere in Braxton, especially downtown where the lawyers and courthouse gang had their lunches. Casey drove them to an old country store where they had sandwiches at a table in a corner. It was one of the few restaurants Simon and Eleanor had not tried.

At 2 P.M. they reconvened and waited fifteen minutes for Judge Pointer to assume the bench. She was religiously punctual and the slight delay was unusual. When she took her place she dismissed the court reporter and settled in for a casual chat with Raymond, Casey, Cora, and Simon.

She began, “My husband is from the Tidewater area and I know it well. From here, it’s four hours by car. It’s also another world, very different from the Blue Ridge Mountains that we know and love. There are two million people in the area, big towns like Hampton, Chesapeake, Norfolk, Newport News, Portsmouth. Virginia Beach is the largest, with twice the population of Richmond. The Tidewater Times has the largest circulation and it hardly covered this story. I found only two reports, while the state’s other newspapers were trying to out-scream each other. As you probably know, the area has a strong military influence. The largest naval base in the world is in Norfolk. The population is very diverse and transient. I have no doubt that it will be easier to find impartial jurors. So, I’ve notified the supreme court that I’m moving the case to Virginia Beach. This will not affect the trial date of May twenty-three.”

She took a sip of water and cleared her throat. “I have also informed the supreme court that I am recusing myself from this case. My reasons are as follows. There are two cases, one criminal, one probate. Under our system, the circuit court has jurisdiction of both, and since I’m the senior circuit judge in Braxton, they’re on my desk. The facts of one case bleed into another. I could learn something from one case that could affect my judgment in the other. It’s best if I turn loose of one. The other reason is that I am facing some medical issues that will require a lighter load for a few months.”

The lawyers frowned appropriately. Judge Pointer certainly looked as healthy as ever. There were suddenly plenty of questions, but none were asked.

“My prognosis is good but it may take some time.” Another sip of water. “And there’s something else, something that may or may not be relevant in the criminal case. I had a talk with Clement Gelly last week and he informed me, sort of off the record, that he has learned something important. He went to Atlanta and met with the investment advisor for Eleanor Barnett. It looks as though she rather outrageously inflated the value of her estate. Her late husband lost his fortune, some fifteen million, in bad investments. Then they moved here and he promptly died. Clement values her home at two hundred and fifty thousand, about the same for her stocks and cash.”

Simon wanted to puke again, but he managed a poker face and nodded as if he’d known this all along, no big deal. It had been a year since he met her. A year since she had uttered, almost in a whisper, the words that wrecked his life: Ten million in Coke stock, six million in Wal-Mart stock, about four million in cash.

How could a pleasant old widow who appeared perfectly normal and acted like the other eighty-five-year-olds be afflicted with some weird strain of insanity? Nothing else in her life, or at least nothing Simon had noticed, gave any indication of mental illness. The word “sucker” rattled around his brain.

Judge Pointer kept talking, something about the will contest, but Simon heard nothing.

At least three nights a week, Simon found himself in Raymond’s law library. He worked on briefs and motions, all designed to aid his own defense. He read dozens of criminal cases involving poison. He studied procedure and began to understand criminal law. He read every report and researched every witness to be offered against him by the Commonwealth.

Raymond’s office was down the hall, his door always open, his cigar smoke wafting through the entire building. At least once each night, he would bark, “Simon,” as if his client was just another paralegal. Simon always answered the call. It was the least he could do for an expensive lawyer working for free.

On the night of the venue hearing, around 10 P.M., Simon sat down and inhaled a load of smoke. Casey joined, in jogging shorts and running shoes. Raymond walked to the liquor cabinet, poured three stiff bourbons, and closed his door. They clinked glasses.

“Cora called this afternoon to offer a plea deal, sort of a formality.”

“It was expected, right?”

“Right. Take a hit for fifteen years, parole after ten, probably, but parole is tough in this state.”

“Fifteen years? I’ll jump off a bridge first.”

“It’s not a bad offer, given the circumstances.”

“What circumstances are you talking about?”

“The facts, Simon, the facts.”

“You still don’t believe me, do you?”

“Oh, I do. I’ve never doubted you. The problem, Simon, is that you look guilty as hell, and I’m not sure how we change that.”

“I’ll testify. I’ll explain everything I did, and I’ll make the jury believe me.”

“Famous last words. Whether you’ll testify or not is a decision we’ll make at the last minute.”

“The answer is no. I’m not guilty and I’m not pleading guilty.”

They worked on their drinks, puffed their cigars. As usual, Casey said little.

For some reason, Raymond began to chuckle. “What is it?” Simon finally snapped.

“Did you really believe the old girl had twenty million dollars?”

“I’m glad you think it’s funny.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“So, what was your first reaction when you were taking notes, the initial consultation with a new client, right, and she says she’s loaded, got twenty mil or so? What was your first thought?”

“Well, it was not a good one. Had something to do with greed.”

Raymond was laughing and Casey appeared to be amused. After a moment or two, Simon wanted to join them. But he couldn’t do it.

He finished his bourbon and left with half a cigar. The only time he walked the streets of Braxton was late at night, usually after leaving Raymond’s. During the day he stayed in his office with the doors locked, and ventured out only after dark.

The air was cool and the night was clear, and so he walked. His thoughts were scrambled around the suggestion that he plead guilty, which was ridiculous, and the destructive lies told by Eleanor, and the prospect of being judged by people who lived far away and knew nothing about the case.

At the moment, Simon felt abandoned by his friends. Not a single one had been loyal. Many had sent quick emails after his arrest, but those had all but stopped. Some of his friends were also friends of Paula’s and, as in most divorces, they couldn’t take sides and found it easier to just ignore the Latches.

The loss of support was crushing. The loss of his children was painful. He called and texted them every day, but they were now four hours away and struggling with their new lives.

And so he walked, for hours.