The Widow

Chapter 44

Over coffee that morning, Raymond had told Casey and Simon that he was prepared to make one of three opening statements, depending on Cora’s tactics. She had a lot of ground to cover and he suspected she might ramble a bit. All in all, though, he gave her high marks for her presentation. The jury stayed with her as she told a compelling story and piled plenty of suspicion upon Simon.

Raymond’s approach would be that the defense had nothing to prove and would need only to poke holes in the prosecution’s case. Once the jurors had settled into their chairs after the recess, he walked to the podium, with no notes, and offered a charming smile.

“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to remind you that nothing you just heard from Ms. Cook has been proven, none of it is evidence, all of it just her speculation, her hopes and dreams maybe, of what the Commonwealth might try to prove against Simon Latch. She tells a nice story. She’s an experienced prosecutor. The problem is that she has promised too much. She can’t deliver all that she promised, nearly two hours’ worth, because she doesn’t have the proof.”

He stepped away from the podium and stuck both hands deep into his pants pockets. “There are so many important facts that she conveniently left out. For example, she said that Ms. Barnett was in the hospital being treated for injuries received in a car wreck. What she failed to include was that Ms. Barnett was driving too fast late at night, ran a red light, and T-boned another car, seriously injuring its occupants. At the time of the crash, she was driving and she was, well, let’s just say she was intoxicated. Point zero-nine, over the limit. It seems that she had been out partying with the girls, they had some type of ‘poker’ club they called it, and it was their annual Christmas party. She got hammered, got behind the wheel, and as her friend Doris rode shotgun they took off down the streets of Braxton at ten-thirty at night. She damned near killed Doris.”

He managed to make killing Doris sound almost humorous. Simon was impressed with his oratorical skills. For years he had heard stories about Raymond’s courtroom antics and abilities, but he had never seen him in action. With a packed house, an attentive jury, and everything on the line, Raymond was in the center of the ring and completely at home.

“Greed!” he snarled loudly. Then he managed a belly laugh that startled everyone. “Greed. For the simple will, Simon Latch charged Eleanor Barnett the greedy sum of two hundred and fifty dollars. And she never paid him! And for the retainer that she insisted on, he got really greedy and charged her one thousand dollars. And she never paid that bill either! For almost nine months of legal work, and not counting the long lunches she insisted on, nor the coffees, nor the late-night phone calls, nor the hospital visits, not counting anything but the hours spent at his desk tending to her legal matters, over sixty hours of billable time, the defendant, Simon Latch, received a total sum of...zero! Nothing, not a dime. Why are we talking about greed?”

Raymond wandered away from the podium, shaking his head at such foolishness.

“Something else Ms. Cook neglected. Mr. Simon Latch, a well-respected member of the bar with no ethics complaints or malpractice suits filed against him throughout his entire career in Braxton, was immediately suspicious of Ms. Barnett’s assertions of being rich. How often does a client walk into a law office to meet an attorney for the first time and claim to have twenty million or so in assets? In Braxton, Virginia? It never happens, I can assure you of that. Simon Latch was no fool. He saw the signs of modest affluence — the absence of debt, a nice pension inherited from her husband, a lovely home free and clear — but those things were not unusual. He immediately suspected she wasn’t being truthful. He repeatedly asked her for proof, as in periodic brokerage statements or bank records. When she resisted, he became even more suspicious.”

And here the fiction began. Only Simon could tell the jury what went on between himself and Eleanor. Only he could re-invent what his thoughts were at the beginning. There was an element of truth in what Raymond was telling the jury, but the fiction was taking over.

“He wasn’t driven by greed. The poor woman had no one else. No husband, no children, no siblings, no close relatives. She needed a friend, a counselor, a lawyer to help her through the legal maze. She was eighty-five, single and lonely, and she claimed to have a lot of assets. Perhaps she really believed the money was still there. Perhaps, ladies and gentlemen, Ms. Eleanor Barnett was already a bit off her rocker, as we sometimes say.”

Simon had never really believed Netty was unbalanced or losing her mental acuity, but something was wrong. A screw was loose somewhere. To build an elaborate charade and pursue it with such detail was still difficult to comprehend.

“Ms. Cook makes hay from this cremation issue. Again, her facts are wrong. Years ago Simon and his wife signed new wills and advance directives providing for their own cremations and interments in a mausoleum. Nothing new. They were convinced it was a cheaper, more sustainable way to go. Cremation is rapidly gaining popularity across the country, with a thirty percent increase every year for the past ten. Simon recommended cremation to many of his clients. Eleanor Barnett was one. He wasn’t trying to destroy evidence by having her cremated. Nonsense.”

Raymond spat out “nonsense” as if only a fool could believe such stupidity.

“And the bit about pulling the plug. Oh, that’s rich, that’s juicy. But, alas, it’s not true either. Again, Ms. Cook leaves out some very important facts. You’ll hear from Dr. Connor Wilkes, the hospital’s CEO, and she will tell you that Simon wanted no part of the decision to take Ms. Barnett off the ventilator. He flat-out told her and the doctors that it was a medical decision to be made by them, and not him.”

Suddenly, he was sad and frustrated. He spoke softly, as if confiding in the jurors. “The truth is, we don’t know who poisoned Eleanor Barnett. And the Commonwealth of Virginia is going to waste this entire week trying to pin a murder on an innocent man, while the killer laughs at us. The killer could be in this courtroom at this very moment.” Raymond allowed those words to settle upon the crowd, then he, a bit too dramatically, paused and gazed at the audience, as if searching for the murderer. As if he knew the person was watching and listening.

He returned to the jurors and said, “At the rate we’re going, her murder will never be solved. The police picked the wrong suspect, arrested him, then stopped their investigation. The prosecutor ran to the grand jury, got an indictment, and never considered other suspects. Now we’re here, in this courtroom, watching and listening as the Commonwealth of Virginia tries in vain to pin the murder on Simon Latch. He didn’t do it, ladies and gentlemen. No one saw him buy the poison. There are no records of him doing so. No one saw him tamper with the ginger cookies, because he didn’t. No one saw him feed them to Ms. Barnett, because he didn’t. There is simply no proof.”

Simon scribbled, “Brilliant, but a good time to quit.”

Raymond knew it too. With a look of total frustration, he wrapped it up with “When all the witnesses are finished, and the proof is in, and you deliberate and realize that Simon Latch is not guilty, then you will march back into this courtroom, take your seats, declare his innocence, and go home having done your civic duty, and the real killer will still be out there. Laughing. No doubt, laughing.”

Detective Roger Barr was sworn in as the first witness for the prosecution. It was 1:15 Monday, and he was in for a long afternoon. Cora Cook walked him through his training and experience and so on, though he was not testifying as an expert in any field. His task was to present the framework of the case. Others would fill in the gaps and nail down the proof.

His involvement began on December 30 of the prior year, when a dispatcher at the city desk informed him that an anonymous phone call had been received and recorded. A distorted voice said, “Eleanor Barnett just passed away at Blue Ridge Memorial. The doctors say it’s pneumonia. But her death is suspicious. It should be investigated.”

Ms. Cook walked to the exhibit table where a recorder had been prepared. She got the nod from Judge Shyam and pressed a key. The message boomed from the courtroom’s PA system. Ms. Cook waited a few seconds, and played it again.

Detective Barr went through an exhaustive description of the efforts by the state crime lab to identify and track the caller, but it was not possible. The technicians could not agree on the gender of the informant. He or she had used a cheap throwaway phone with a temporary number. The voice was disguised. At any rate, Detective Barr was given the green light to investigate by the chief, and he went straight to the hospital. Referring to his detailed notes, he walked the jury step by step, minute by minute, through his initial actions. The interviews with the doctors and staff, the collection of items from Eleanor’s hospital room, the visit to the funeral home to stop the cremation, and so on.

Simon pretended to listen with great interest, but he had read all of Barr’s reports. He had read everything in the police files, every exhibit the Commonwealth would throw at him. He had read and re-read and memorized every detail known to the lawyers, experts, and investigators. So he made notes, the same ones he had scribbled onto paper a hundred times in the past four months. Who was the leaker, the informant, the person close enough to Eleanor to know when she died? His top suspect was Jerry Korsak, who had been to the hospital at least once and probably more than that. He clearly had an interest in the estate and had even hired an expensive lawyer to get involved. Jerry was slippery and evil enough to poison his dear stepmother. He was broke and crooked enough to go for her money. He was also thick between the ears and not smart enough to pull it off. The one great question Simon always confronted when suspecting Jerry was: How did he know about the cremation? The leaker stopped it cold. If two more hours had passed, what was left of dear Eleanor would have gone up in smoke.

His next suspect was Tillie, primarily because she handled the ginger cookies. Simon bought them and put them on her desk to take to the hospital. Tillie knew about the plans to cremate because she typed the advance directive. She knew the time of Eleanor’s death. But Simon could not force himself to believe that a gentle soul like Matilda Clark would commit such a horrible crime.

Wally Thackerman’s name was always on Simon’s list, for obvious reasons. Two days before Eleanor died, he checked in at the hospital’s front desk, as all visitors were supposed to do. He visited Eleanor for half an hour and signed out. Simon was not aware of his visit until much later when he saw the hospital logs. In Simon’s world, Wally remained a suspect, though not a serious one. If he was planning to poison her, why would he bother signing in and out and leaving clear proof that he had been there?

He forgot about his sleuthing when Raymond began barking. The Commonwealth was attempting to introduce into evidence the last will and testament Simon had drafted for Eleanor. Raymond objected, but only because he had to. There was no way to keep the will from the jury. Two weeks earlier, in an all-day motion hearing, the two sides had fought vigorously over which documents would be admitted into evidence. The defense took the position that the will was the private work-product of an attorney, and thus privileged and protected. The will had not been probated and was not a matter of public record. The Commonwealth argued that the privilege expired when Eleanor died, so Simon had no right to conceal the will. It was a crucial issue and both sides submitted lengthy briefs. Simon wrote his own, all thirty pages of it. Judge Shyam promptly ruled in favor of the prosecution. The will, advance directive, and power of attorney could be admitted. Raymond was not surprised with the ruling.

Detective Barr explained to the jury how he came to possess the documents, but was not prepared to discuss them. He was not a lawyer.

At 3:30, everyone needed a break, and Judge Shyam recessed until 4 P.M. The courtroom emptied quickly as folks raced for the toilets. Simon remained at the defense table and watched the crowd. He was surprised to see Teddy Hammer, evidently there to keep an eye on things. With the value of Eleanor’s estate now greatly diminished, Simon had assumed Teddy would move on to hunt bigger game. Maybe not. Maybe he was still sniffing around, plotting to grab a hundred grand or so in fees from whatever was left. Oh well. The chaos of Eleanor’s estate would be handled by someone else. Simon was much more concerned with his own problems.

A ballsy reporter thrust herself toward him and was about to pop a question when a bailiff practically clotheslined her. “No press, no press!” he growled as he shooed her away.

Simon chatted with Casey Noland. “I assume the horde is still out there in full force.”

“Oh yes. Dozens of them.”

“Have they convicted me yet?”

“That happened months ago.”

“Thanks for nothing.”

Detective Barr returned to the witness stand and proceeded to answer questions about Eleanor Barnett’s driving record and her accident. Copies of her tickets and court transcripts were admitted. Such evidence was not needed nor was it relevant, but Raymond had mentioned it during his opening remarks and Judge Shyam saw no harm in allowing it. Raymond had no plans to criticize Ms. Barnett, may she rest in peace.

When Cora Cook was finally finished with Detective Barr, she tendered the witness for cross-examination. Raymond carried a legal pad to the podium and tossed it down. “Detective Barr, where does one purchase thallium?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you tried to purchase it, as a law enforcement officer?”

“No. Why should I?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe to better understand the murder weapon. Maybe to better inform the jury. Maybe to gain knowledge that might be useful later on. I can think of several reasons.”

“Sorry. Never tried it.”

“But you believe that Mr. Latch purchased it, right?”

“I don’t know how he got it. Why don’t you ask him?”

“I’m in charge of the questions right now, Detective. Certainly you’ve talked to other homicide detectives, and perhaps toxicologists, perhaps other experts in the field, to gain some understanding of where the poison comes from. Right?”

“Is that a question?”

“It is. Answer it,” Judge Shyam snapped, obviously ticked off at Barr’s cockiness.

“Well, I spoke with the toxicologist at the crime lab right after the autopsy. We had a general discussion about thallium, but nothing specific.”

“Okay. Now, back in January, you asked Mr. Latch if he would voluntarily surrender his laptops and desktop computers, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And did he?”

“Not at first. He was rather reluctant.”

“Has it been your experience that most people are reluctant to hand over their computers to a homicide detective?”

“I guess you could say so.”

“And did he eventually give you his computers?”

“Yes, after I got a warrant. You were there, Mr. Lassiter. The entire meeting is on video.”

“Okay, now why did you want his computers?”

“We were looking for evidence, for any entry or any reference to poisons, specifically to thallium.”

“Who examined Mr. Latch’s computers?”

“Charles Pettigrew, a tech analyst with the state crime lab.”

“Did Mr. Pettigrew find what he was looking for?”

“No.”

“Did Mr. Pettigrew find any evidence that Mr. Latch or someone else had erased or scrubbed or in any way deleted files or references from either computer?”

“No, there was none of that.”

“So your search of Mr. Latch’s computers turned up nothing relative to poisons?”

“That’s correct.”

“Did you also have a look at Mr. Latch’s phone records, both his cell and his office landline?”

“Yes, we got a search warrant and collected those records.”

“Searching for what?”

“The same. Any reference to poisons, poisoning deaths, thallium, the like.”

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing of interest.”

“Not a hint of anything remotely related to poisons in general and thallium specifically?”

“That’s correct.”

“How long have you been a police officer in Braxton?”

“Eleven years.”

“And how long have you been a homicide detective?”

“The past six years.”

“How many homicides have you investigated?”

“About half a dozen. We don’t have many homicides in Braxton.”

“Did any of these homicides involve thallium?”

“No.”

“Did you seek assistance from the Virginia State Police?”

“Yes, we normally consult with them in homicide cases, but they were not officially involved in this one.”

“Did they have any idea where one might procure thallium?”

“Well, uh, I don’t recall the state police having knowledge of other poisoning cases such as this one.”

“They knew of no one who might deal in lethal poisons?”

“If they did, they didn’t mention it to me.”

With a heavy sigh and a frustrated look, Raymond said, “Your Honor, that’s all I have at this time. I’d like to reserve the right to recall this witness in the morning.”

“As you wish. We are adjourned until nine A.M. tomorrow.”