The Widow

Chapter 42

In the first week of May two events occurred at virtually the same time, and though neither could rescue Simon from the ugly prospect of being put on trial for murder, they provided the first glimmer of good luck he had seen in months.

First, Paula sold the house in Braxton for more than the list price. After paying off both mortgages, she netted $28,000, a windfall no one was expecting. Simon did the paperwork and charged nothing for the closing. At the last minute, Paula told her ex that she would pay $5,000 in legal fees for his services. It was a fine, generous gesture and, after first protesting meekly, Simon agreed to take the money.

Two days later, his mother called with the welcome news that after twenty-seven unhappy years she was splitting with Arn. Things were somewhat amicable, and they had agreed to a division of the assets. With Arn’s name off her bank accounts, she was now in charge of her money. She was sending her son $10,000 to help with his legal bills. He accepted the money, called it a loan, and promised to repay it at some undetermined time in the future. He was proud of her for showing the courage to walk away from a bad marriage at the age of seventy-three and take her savings with her. He did not know how much money she had squirreled away and he was not about to ask. Never, ever again would he pry into the financial affairs of a senior citizen. On the phone, she sounded ten years younger and was planning a trip to the Greek Isles with some friends. However, if he needed her to be in the courtroom she would happily postpone the trip. He thanked her and promised to consider it.

Off to the Greek Isles with a pocketful of money. He was headed to a courtroom where he would either be condemned to prison or narrowly escape with nothing but the shirt on his back. He had not envied his mother in many years; indeed, he had pitied her because she was stuck with a turd like Arn. Now, she seemed like the luckiest person he knew.

Simon did not want his mother or his children anywhere near the courtroom. He and Paula had discussed the trial at length. It would be impossible to shield the kids from the publicity. Even if the local news in Danville ignored the story, there would be an avalanche of crap online. On the phone, he and Paula had floated the idea of a nightly recap of the trial with the children. She could review the news stories and hold a discussion that would include the facts as presented by the press. It seemed a slightly better idea than simply ignoring the trial and dreaming the kids might somehow escape it. Simon was not afraid of the truth and wanted his children to know that he was not guilty of anything, other than perhaps a little bad judgment. Still, the visual of him going to and from the courthouse, with a horde following and all manner of sensational coverage by the talking heads, was not pleasant.

When the check arrived from his mother, Simon promptly deposited it in his firm’s account and wrote another one to Raymond for legal fees. $10,000. He walked it over to Raymond’s office that night and handed it to him. “One eighty to go,” he said proudly.

“Where’d you get this?” Raymond asked suspiciously.

Simon told him the story. The lawyer put the check in a drawer.

Raymond had talked to some attorney friends in the Tidewater area and was now firmly convinced that moving the case there was of great benefit to Simon. It was far away from the Blue Ridge Mountains and in another world.

To replace Mary Blankenship Pointer, the supreme court had appointed Padma Shyam, one of three female judges on the Virginia Beach Circuit Court. She was forty-six years old, had been on the bench for nine years, and annually received the highest ratings not only from her colleagues, but also from lawyers who appeared before her.

Simon had a good friend from law school who practiced in Chesapeake, next door to Virginia Beach, and the guy raved about Judge Shyam.

Both Raymond and Simon had fretted over Judge Pointer’s recusal. They knew her well and thought they understood her leanings and eccentricities. She was a tough law-and-order judge, but she was unfailingly fair to both sides. Simon was still smarting from the $300,000 bond she had required for his release, not to mention the seven nights in jail, but he had forgiven her and had convinced himself she would give him a break if needed.

Now, though, she was forgotten, at least for the murder trial. Raymond had chatted twice with Judge Shyam and felt comfortable with her. She, too, was worried about publicity and too much press. She had the idea of selecting the jury a week before the announced trial date of May 23. The court clerk could quietly summons fifty or so prospects to an empty courtroom, and the lawyers could grill them about serving on the jury. If more were needed, call another fifty. If they could keep the story away from the press, the majority of the jurors would not know about the case. But if they waited until Monday, May 23, the courthouse would be a circus and the prospective jurors would have to walk through a throng just to get to the courtroom. By then, the story would be front-page. An uninformed and impartial jury would be almost impossible.

Judge Shyam warmed up to her own idea. The lawyers thought it would work well. She had never held jury selection before the actual start date of a trial, but there was no procedural rule against it. She also liked the idea of a gag order to quieten the lawyers and witnesses. Raymond, a trial lawyer who loved to see his name in the newspapers, agreed wholeheartedly. He promised not to say a word about the trial and to keep Simon quiet as well.

Simon had no intention of showing his face outside the courtroom.

Through many late-night meetings they had slowly pieced together a defense strategy that was both bold and risky. There was no direct evidence against Simon — no one had seen him buy the thallium and there was nothing to link him to its acquisition. No one had seen him lace the ginger cookies with the poison, nor feed them to Eleanor Barnett. The indirect evidence would undoubtedly be used to create a great deal of suspicion around his actions, but it was not enough to convict. The prosecution would be forced to rely on circumstantial evidence to convince jurors of his guilt.

Raymond had leaned on a friend who knew a pathologist who agreed to study the autopsy for only $1,000, a greatly reduced fee. Dr. Brock, the state medical examiner who performed it, had impressive credentials and experience and would make a believable witness for the Commonwealth. Same for the forensic toxicologist. To attack both would require finding other experts with unimpeachable qualifications who were willing to testify. And they would cost a fortune.

Raymond’s friend agreed with the conclusions of the autopsy.

So why bother? Why attack the experts? The smarter approach was to admit almost everything. Admit Eleanor died of thallium poisoning. Admit Simon bought the ginger cookies at Tan Lu’s, a place he had taken her for lunch three times. Admit she liked the food there and so did he. Admit Matilda visited Eleanor in the hospital on three occasions, twice taking her ginger cookies and other goodies. Admit the will. Admit the power of attorney. Admit the retainer agreement. Admit everything that was true and obvious.

But deny vehemently that Simon poisoned the cookies. Obviously, someone did, but it wasn’t Simon.

So who did it? That was a problem for the police and prosecutors, not for Simon. He was under no obligation to solve the crime.

His only obligation was to save his own skin.