The Widow

Chapter 48

When Clement Gelly agreed to serve as the conservator of Eleanor Barnett’s estate back in January, he was practically guaranteed by Judge Pointer that he would not get tangled up in any criminal proceedings. He certainly did not want to testify against Simon Latch, a lawyer he liked and respected. Now that he was entangled and even subpoenaed, he tried to avoid taking the stand by filing a motion with the court. Said motion was denied. He pleaded with Judge Pointer to remove him as conservator, but she refused. She apologized for the mess he was in, but had no choice because no other lawyer in Braxton would get near the case.

He swore to tell the truth and sat in the witness chair with the firm intention of saying as little as necessary. If at all possible, he would say nothing to harm Simon’s defense.

Using real estate tax records, bank statements, and quarterly notices from Rumke-Brown, he quickly laid out the value of Ms. Barnett’s estate. The house was unencumbered by debt and appraised last year for $292,000. A checking account at Security Bank in Braxton had a balance of $3,300. There were two certificates of deposit held by the East Federal bank in Atlanta, one for $21,000 and one for $13,000. A money market account at the same bank had a balance of $28,400. The estate owned 6,775 shares of common stock in the Coca-Cola corporation, market value the day before of $271,000. Add another $5,000 for furniture and assorted personal items, and the total value was slightly more than $630,000. No state or federal estate taxes were anticipated.

As Simon scribbled the numbers down and tallied them up, he had to admit that most of the wills he had prepared in his career involved estates with far fewer assets. It was an impressive estate for Braxton, Virginia, but a far, lonely, and pathetic cry from what he once dreamed of. He could not help but remember the first time he tallied up the value of her estate. It had been more than a year earlier, in his conference room, as Netty softly dabbed her eyes with a tissue and lied through those natural yellow teeth. What a smooth and convincing liar she had been. What a gullible and greedy fool he had been.

Relying on brokerage statements provided by Buddy Brown, Clement gave a succinct summary of Harry Korsak’s investment history and the accumulation of wealth. Because he could not verify the story, he skipped the best part, the volcano that blew Montrouge out of the Caribbean and off the map, and said that Harry had lost most of his money through bad investments. It was a colorful subplot but thoroughly irrelevant.

Clement showed the jury the mysterious notebook Ms. Barnett kept partially hidden in a check binder, but refused to speculate on why she did so. The jury would have to speculate too. Apparently, the old gal lost her marbles not long after she lost her money, and still pretended she was loaded. In great detail, she had lied to two lawyers and kept her fiction straight.

Simon thought of the hours lost with her, primarily eating in ethnic restaurants and discussing strange food. And all on his beleaguered credit card.

She never offered to pay for the first meal.

The estate was liquid and would provide a nice windfall for someone, probably Jerry and Clyde Korsak. There was enough money to keep a bigshot like Teddy Hammer sticking around. He was back in the courtroom for the third day, second row from the rear, left side, a regular vulture. Praying for a conviction to keep Simon on the sideline for years to come.

The Commonwealth wanted to use Clement to further its theory that Simon became convinced his client was wealthy; thus, the motive to use her estate as a vehicle to collect some fat fees. In Simon’s opinion, that motive had already been established.

The next witness piled on. Dirk Wheeler had been subpoenaed by the prosecutor and reluctantly took the stand. Cora established that he was a lawyer in D.C. and had gone to law school with the defendant. They were old friends who kept in touch.

“Mr. Wheeler, on March the tenth of last year, you received a call on your office phone from the defendant, correct?”

“Simon Latch called me, yes.”

“According to your phone records, the call lasted for almost fifteen minutes.”

“Is that a question?”

“Let’s say it is.”

“You have my phone records, Ms. Cook, and Simon’s as well. You know exactly how long the call lasted.”

“What did you talk about?”

“The weather, college basketball, life in general, a law school friend who has some medical issues.”

“What prompted the call?”

“Simon placed the call. You’ll have to ask him.”

“What did he want?”

“Well, among other things, he said he had a client with a substantial net worth and wanted some off-the-cuff tax advice.”

“And you’re a tax lawyer, correct?”

“Yes, estate and tax.”

“What kind of off-the-cuff tax advice?”

“Rates, primarily.”

“Can you explain this to the jury?”

“Yes, I can.”

After an awkward pause during which Cora glared at the witness and the witness never blinked, she said, “Then please do so.”

“We never got into the current rate structure for estate taxes because there were no estate taxes for last year. It was a loophole Congress overlooked. I explained this to Simon.”

“He didn’t know it?”

“If he had known it, he wouldn’t have called and asked me.”

“Wasn’t this rather basic knowledge at the time?”

Dirk snickered as if she was an idiot and said, “Absolutely not. Very few lawyers were aware of the loophole last year. It’s a tax issue, and most lawyers stay away from tax work. It’s all I do.”

“How often does the defendant call you for advice?”

“I don’t log my personal phone calls, Ms. Cook. Simon and I talk all the time. Last year I had a bankruptcy question so I called him. Back and forth. That’s what lawyers do. There was nothing at all unusual about the call you’re referring to.”

Dirk was believable and Cora was on her heels, six-inch ones. Actually, lawyers, or at least the ones Simon knew, rarely relied on one another for legal advice. To do so would be to admit ignorance. But Dirk was scoring points for the defense and the Commonwealth was losing interest.

On cross-examination, Raymond asked, “Mr. Wheeler, what’s the going hourly rate for estate tax lawyers these days in Washington, D.C.?”

“Oh, they vary, same as most legal fees. The big firms with the big clients are charging fifteen hundred an hour. Smaller tax firms are trying to catch up.”

“May I ask how much you charge per hour?”

“Sure. It’s no secret. We post all of our fees for any new client. Right now my rate is nine hundred an hour.”

“That sounds like a lot of money?”

“It is indeed, but we deal with wealthy clients with many assets, often in different countries. They owe a lot in taxes and prefer to avoid them as much as possible. These are complicated situations that require a high level of skill.”

“Do you think five hundred an hour is a fair rate for the legal work involved in Ms. Barnett’s estate?”

“More than fair.”

Simon glanced at the jury box and made eye contact with Number Eleven, Mindy Rutledge, a thirty-four-year-old mother of three whose husband had just been kicked out of the Navy. The disgusted look she gave Simon meant only one thing: How dare you expect me to believe that anybody is worth five hundred dollars an hour?

During lunch, they hustled back to the offices of Marshall Graff and met in the “war room,” as they called it. They were standing and eating cold sandwiches when Landy arrived and shut the door behind her. “This meeting never happened, okay?”

They agreed and gathered around her laptop on the table. She pressed a key and the video began. Landy narrated, “At eight-oh-four this morning, Matilda Clark left the Hampton Inn. That’s her in front, behind is Jerry Korsak. They stopped, said goodbye, quick peck on the cheek, and they got in separate cars.”

She froze the video for a close-up of Tillie. Simon, Raymond, and Casey leaned in closer.

“Ms. Clark drove three hours to Fredericksburg, Virginia, where she parked in a lot next to an apartment building in a large complex. Unit 614 has been rented by Jerry Korsak since February of this year. About an hour after she entered the building, a repairman knocked on the door, she answered, and he apologized, said he had the wrong place. He works for us and verified her identity. Meanwhile, Jerry returned to the courtroom and found a seat on the back row. He’s wearing glasses and may be trying to disguise himself.”

Simon said, “I saw him. He’s been here every day.”

Casey: “I guess he’s an interested party.”

Simon said, “His lawyer, Teddy Hammer, is back there too. They smell blood.”

“And money.”

Landy closed her laptop and said, “Okay, boys, I could get fired for this, so mum’s the word. The agency takes a very dim view of moonlighting.”

“Not a word,” Raymond said.

“Thanks a lot, Landy.”

“Don’t mention it. Good luck.”

She nodded and left, no handshake, no peck on the cheek of her old boyfriend. Strictly business.

Raymond crunched on some chips and said, “Fascinating, yes, but right now it’s a diversion, one that we have to ignore.”

Simon was bewildered by the images of Tillie and Jerry together. He said, “I don’t understand. Shouldn’t we tell the judge about this?”

Both defense lawyers shook their heads. Raymond said, “No, you can’t simply call time-out and say, ‘Hey Judge, we might have some more clues here.’ ”

Casey said, “It’s suspicious as hell, all right, but we have no proof of anything even remotely relevant.”

Simon sat down loudly, raked his fingers through his hair, and said, “This jury is going to crush me, I can tell.”

Raymond took another large bite of his smoked tuna on rye and said, with a mouthful, “I don’t think so. The trial is going our way, Simon. I think the prosecution is out of witnesses. The last two helped us more than Cora. Her case is sputtering to a close.”

“I don’t know. Casey?”

“The Commonwealth has proven the facts that we stipulated to. It has done a decent job of making you look suspicious, but it has not placed you at the scene of the crime. And I agree with Raymond — they have nothing else. I’m pretty confident right now.”

“So, will I testify?”

“Do you want to?” Raymond asked.

“What I want to do is save my neck, and I’ll do anything, and say anything, that will help me walk out of here a free man. Do you know what it’s like to think about going to prison for the rest of your life? Carry that around with you all day long, okay? Try to get a decent night’s sleep with that nightmare screaming at you. It’s terrifying. I’ll do anything, say anything.”

The final witness for the prosecution was Sami Lu, the eighteen-year-old daughter of Tan Lu, the restaurant owner. She had worked part-time in the family business since she could walk and would soon enroll at Virginia Tech with a full scholarship. Sami did not want to get involved in the trial and would not agree to testify; thus, she had been served with a subpoena. She took the stand holding some notes, copies of which had been provided to the defense.

Cora asked her if she remembered serving the defendant and his client, Ms. Eleanor Barnett. She replied that she did not know the name of the client, but yes, they had eaten in the restaurant on three occasions the previous year and she had waited on them. Using her notes, she gave the dates and said that each meal was paid with Mr. Latch’s credit card.

Almost on cue, Raymond stood, appeared to be thoroughly exasperated, and said, “Your Honor, please. Why are we wasting so much time?”

“State your objection, Mr. Lassiter,” Her Honor said sharply, as if irritated by him.

“Your Honor, we have tried and tried to stipulate that Simon Latch dined there several times, then later stopped on two occasions to buy two boxes of ginger cookies. He bought them for Ms. Barnett while she was in the hospital. But he didn’t poison them.”

“That’s enough! Overruled. Please continue, Ms. Cook.”

Sami produced the credit card receipts as the prosecutor projected them on the screen. Simon used the diversion to glance at the jury. Number two was Linda Garfield, age thirty-seven, a real estate appraiser for a bank, an attractive woman with large, sad, brown eyes. If it was possible to flirt with a cute woman sitting on your jury, then Simon had been flirting. There was no way Linda would convict him.

Cora picked up two exhibits, the carryout containers for Tan Lu’s orders to go, and Sami identified them as being identical to the ones she had sold to Mr. Latch.

At first, Raymond thought about waving off the witness and forgoing any cross-examination, but decided to poke some fun at the prosecution’s case. He ambled over to the podium and asked, “Now, young lady, who bakes these Saigon ginger cookies in your restaurant?”

Sami offered a lovely smile, her first of the day, and said, “Oh, everyone. Me, my parents, my sister, my aunt. The entire family works in the restaurant.”

“So you can bake these cookies all by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“And for how long have you been doing this?”

“I don’t know. Many years.”

“What are the ingredients?”

“White flour, cane sugar, brown sugar, butter, baking powder, eggs, ground ginger, molasses, a little salt, some ground cinnamon. I think that’s all.”

“Sounds delicious. Do you need to use a recipe when you bake these cookies?”

“No. I’ve done it many times.”

“And they’re baked fresh every day?”

“Yes.”

“Approximately how many are baked each day?”

“About ten dozen.”

“Did you bake the cookies purchased by Mr. Simon Latch?”

“Oh, there’s no way to know. We sell a lot of them and, as I said, the entire family works in the kitchen.”

“Has anyone ever complained about getting sick from eating your cookies?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Are you familiar with a poison called thallium?”

“No.”

“Have you or anyone in your family ever added thallium to your cookies?”

“No.”

“So, as far as you know, when Mr. Latch bought the cookies, both to carry out and to eat in the restaurant, they were free of thallium and all other poisons?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

“Well, has Mr. Latch complained of being poisoned by your cookies?”

“I don’t think so. Not to my knowledge.”

“Thank you.”

Judge Shyam said, “You may step down.”

It came as no surprise when Cora stood and said, “Your Honor, the Commonwealth of Virginia rests.”

Her Honor thought for a second as she reviewed some notes. She directed the bailiff to dismiss the jury, then adjourned until 9 A.M. Thursday morning. With the early adjournment, Simon, Raymond, and Casey disappeared into an empty courtroom down the hall. Raymond was of the opinion that the Commonwealth had mismanaged its case and allowed it to end without a punch. It simply ran out of gas. The last witnesses were ineffective and Cora Cook appeared to be stalling, trying to burn some clock.

Casey was more pessimistic. Because he was not on his feet interrogating witnesses, he spent more time watching the jurors, and he was worried about most of them.

Simon was still praying for a miracle but expecting the worst. From a third-floor window, he watched the news vans close up shop and leave the courthouse. When all was clear, he said, “I’m going for a drive. Call me if you need me.”

Raymond said, “What about tomorrow? Do you want to testify?”

“I don’t know. I’ll sleep on it. Let’s meet for coffee at seven and we’ll decide.”