The widow, p.21
The Widow, page 21
“It’s horrible.”
She was using the same icy tone Simon had become accustomed to over the years, yet there was an even harder edge to it. He couldn’t blame her.
“What about Janie?”
“She’s a mess. They’re all in shock, Simon. What do you expect? Their father is in jail charged with murder. First our separation, then the divorce, now this. It’s front-page news and viral on the internet. The kids are traumatized.”
“Have you explained to them that I am not guilty, that I haven’t killed anyone?”
“Yes, I’ve tried and they want to believe it, they really do. They love their father. But it’s all so confusing and they’re just overwhelmed. Right now there are two television vans parked in the street in front of the house. We can’t go out. A city cop is guarding the driveway. We had reporters knocking on the door at eight this morning. These creeps are rude and shameless, Simon, but they’re here and they’re not going away. We need to get out of town. I’m thinking of sneaking away to my parents’. Forget school tomorrow. I’m not sending them and they don’t want to go.”
Simon rubbed his eyes with one hand and held the phone with the other. He had never felt so defeated.
She continued, strong and icy, “And this is just the beginning, Simon. Tomorrow you’re in court and it will be a zoo, but it’s just the first appearance, the first of many, all leading up to a trial that will be a world-class shit show. Those creeps in the street will dog you, and your family, every step of the way.”
Simon thought that was a bit over-reactive, but he had no standing to argue. Nor was he hiding in the house, peeking through the curtains at the creeps with cameras.
He said, “Look, Paula, I have to talk to the kids and convince them I’m innocent. They have to know right now, up front, that their father is not a murderer.”
“Simon, right now that seems impossible.”
Another gut punch.
“The sentiment online is running heavily in favor of guilt and there seems to be no shortage of people who want to know why you’re charged with first-degree murder and not capital murder. They want the death penalty.”
Another gut punch.
A thirty-second ceasefire ensued as both realized they were getting nowhere. Finally, Simon said, “I need a favor. Could you please call Raymond Lassiter and ask him to be here at the jail at two this afternoon?”
“And who is Raymond Lassiter?”
“My lawyer, for now anyway.”
“Oh yeah. I saw his name. How much will this cost you, Simon?”
You, not us.
“I don’t know. We’re still negotiating. There’s a good chance he’ll fire me this afternoon.”
“Then who will represent you?”
“Probably some court-appointed kid fresh out of law school. I’ll worry about that tomorrow.”
It was apparent that she was not worrying much about him. She had not asked about bail and the prospect of getting out, nor had she shown any interest in the life behind bars. That was fine with Simon. She was concerned only with the kids.
To end the misery, Simon said, “Gotta go now, I’m out of time.”
“I don’t know what to say, Simon. I’m sorry this is happening. I wish I could help but we are, after all, practically divorced now. My only concern is protecting the children and I’m not sure how to do that right now. Any suggestions?”
“Get ’em out of town.”
* * *
Simon opened the door and waited as the guard cuffed his wrists. As he walked by the front desk, Mason said, “Hey Latch, got some reporters outside lurking around. What do you want to do with them?”
“Arrest them, put them in the cell next to me and I’ll give them a story.”
Chapter 36
The street was still dark and empty when Paula opened the garage door a few minutes after five on Monday morning. A police cruiser pulled into the driveway, on schedule, and the officer got out and said hello. She herded the three kids out of the house, each carrying an overnight bag and a backpack. They hustled to the car and sped away behind the officer. No one noticed them. One mile past the city limits, the cruiser turned into the parking lot of a convenience store. Paula tapped the horn and never slowed down. She had no idea when she might return.
She had spent the night in her bed with her laptop, never bothering to put on pajamas and with no thoughts of sleep. The story was huge and growing by the hour, though almost no new facts had surfaced in the past twenty-four hours. The news cycle was now spinning what had already been spun and recycling every tidbit of speculation. Simon’s face was on every major newspaper’s online edition, with print on the way. The story was simply too sensational to ignore. When she saw the headline from a newspaper in Oregon that screamed: “Virginia Lawyer Arrested for Poisoning Rich Client” she knew any hope of fairness was gone. There was no tempering, no throttling, no effort whatsoever to play by the old rules. What rules? Not too long ago any reputable newspaper would try to control itself and cautiously use language like “alleged poisoning.” Not now. Now Simon had been caught and declared guilty.
The comments from the average readers were so mean-spirited and scathing that Paula forced herself to stop reading them. She spent hours throughout the night answering thoughtful emails from many of their friends. By phone, she spoke to her boss and informed him she was taking a week of vacation. Getting out of Braxton couldn’t happen fast enough.
Mercifully, the three kids were asleep within minutes, and as she drove Paula tried to enjoy the solitude without worrying about being watched. She felt sorry for Simon, but there was nothing she could do at the moment.
* * *
The chief of police arrived to take charge, and sent for the prisoner. When Simon stepped into the visitation room the chief said, “Look, Simon, you got a packed house today with lots of cameras. Raymond asked for a big favor and I said yes. It might be embarrassing for you to walk into court in your orange coveralls, so take ’em off and put these on again.” He nodded at Simon’s jeans and jacket.
“Thanks Chief.” Simon seemed grateful, but what he really wanted to do was to ask the chief why his jail used bright orange, practically neon orange, coveralls in the first place.
The jail was soon busy with officers. The moment offered excitement and the chief wanted a show of force. Simon wanted to ask why. The victim was an old woman with no family and few friends. Where was the security risk? Who were the cops afraid of?
A pack of dogs waited outside the jail and readied their cameras as the cops filed out. Some couldn’t resist the opportunity and yelled such banalities as “Hey, Simon, how much money is in the estate?” and “Hey, Simon, where’d you get the thallium? It’s banned in the U.S.”
The van was fifteen feet from the back door of the jail and Simon ducked into it. Two motorcycles and a cruiser led the way, with another behind the van. Simon could have walked from the jail to the courthouse in five minutes, but a little parade was necessary. They went down Main Street so everyone could have a look, then circled the square. Simon sat high in the seat and looked through the window. If not handcuffed, he would have waved at his spectators.
Protected by the same security force, he entered the courtroom from a side door and did not look at the crowd. The place was full, and he had no desire to make eye contact with anyone. He took a seat near the jury box and studied his feet, a cop on each side. Raymond bent down and they whispered. When Judge Pointer finished with some paperwork, she called his name. He and Raymond approached the bench. Simon gritted his teeth, looked Her Honor dead in the eyes, and refused to blink.
Staring right back, she said, “Mr. Latch, this is not an arraignment, we’ll do that later. There are two pressing issues here, one is your representation, the other is the matter of bail. Mr. Lassiter is here as a matter of courtesy, as I understand the relationship. Will he continue to represent you?”
“No ma’am. If I can make bail, I will find another lawyer. Mr. Lassiter has advised me, pro bono, until now. He is here only as a friend.”
Evidently, Raymond was quite taken with the size of the crowd and the number of cameras and reporters. Simon’s would be the biggest trial in the recent history of Braxton, and Raymond’s office was not far from the courthouse. It would be a shame to miss it, fee or no fee. He said, “Your Honor, if it’s okay with you, I will continue to represent Mr. Latch until he hires other counsel. Show me as his attorney of record.”
Simon looked to his right, nodded humbly at Raymond, and whispered, “Thank you.” Simon, and the other lawyers in the courtroom, knew damned well that Raymond Lassiter was now on the hook for the trial. He could not dare allow another defense lawyer to trespass on his turf.
Her Honor said, “Moving right along. Mr. Lassiter, what are your thoughts on bail?”
“Only one, Your Honor. My client has practiced law in this town and in this courtroom for almost nineteen years now. He is well known in this community. He owns an office building on Main Street. He will surrender his passport and agree to leave the state only with your permission. He is not a flight risk and should be released on his own recognizance.”
“And for the Commonwealth, Ms. Cook?”
The Cougar was well aware that public sentiment, for the moment anyway, was running strongly against the defendant. She said, “Your Honor, this is first-degree murder and bail is always required. A high bond should be set for Mr. Latch, same as any other defendant facing such a serious charge. Just because he’s a member of the bar doesn’t mean he gets special treatment. Releasing him on recognizance would send the wrong message to the rest of the community.”
Raymond was quick to jump in with “Bail is not used to send messages to the community, Your Honor. The purpose of bail is to guarantee an appearance in court to face the charges. Nothing more or less. Do you really believe, Ms. Cook, that Simon Latch will skip town and disappear?”
Lawyer Latch was dreaming of skipping town on the first bus and getting off somewhere in Canada.
Ms. Cook said, “Stranger things have happened. I never dreamed he would be indicted for murder.”
Judge Pointer raised her hands and said, “Okay, okay. Give me a figure, Ms. Cook.”
“Five hundred thousand.”
“Mr. Lassiter?”
He wanted to say Zero, but then he would not be taken seriously. So he said, “One hundred thousand.”
“Okay, here are the terms of bail, Mr. Latch. Turn in your passport, pledge the title to your office building, and post a bond in the amount of three hundred thousand dollars.”
Simon nodded in agreement as if he had plenty of spare cash, but he really wanted to scream.
Scheduling was the next issue and the lawyers went back and forth. Judge Pointer finally raised her hands again for quiet and said, “All right. We’ll have an arraignment next Wednesday at nine A.M. Anything further?”
Both lawyers shook their heads no. Simon was escorted out of the courtroom after being there for less than fifteen minutes. Judge Pointer tapped her gavel and disappeared from the bench. For a few moments, the spectators didn’t move, as if they were waiting for more drama. Realizing there would be none, they slowly rose and began filing out.
* * *
Raymond followed Simon out of the courtroom and asked the officers if he could speak to his client. Simon was handcuffed again and permitted to follow his lawyer. They stepped into the law library, which was always empty, and closed the door.
“How you doing?” Raymond asked.
“I guess I need thirty thousand dollars, right?”
“Yep. That’s what it costs to post the bond. I’ve talked to a good bondsman, one I’ve used before. He’ll meet us at the jail. You said you could scrape together ten grand.”
“Scrape is the word. Can you loan me twenty?”
Raymond laughed and Simon managed a grin, a brief one. “Can’t do it. Against the ethics. Any equity in your office building?”
“I told you, Raymond. Everything I own is double-mortgaged. I could probably squeeze ten thousand out of our home, but I don’t own it anymore. It’s all Paula’s, as per our property settlement agreement.”
“Can you ask her?”
“No. And I can’t go to the bank. No one will loan me a dime right now. Can’t really blame them.”
“All right. What’s the plan?”
“I’ll call my mother.”
“Is she loaded?”
“No, but she’ll try. And I’d like to pay you too, Raymond, I swear I would. I’ll put the office building on the market and hope for a miracle, and if I can find the right buyer maybe—”
Raymond held up a hand as he shook his head. “We’ll talk about it later.”
* * *
At 1 P.M., Judge Pointer convened another hearing, a much different one with no spectators. In Courtroom B, she stationed two bailiffs at the door with instructions to allow no one to enter.
Teddy Hammer had filed a petition to establish a conservatorship for the estate of Eleanor Barnett. There were several pressing matters, the most obvious being the burial of the deceased. Her bills needed to be paid and her assets inventoried. Hammer had requested that his client, Jerry Korsak, be appointed to handle everything, on a temporary basis. Jerry was called to the witness stand and put under oath. He began lying immediately when he tried to convince the court that he and Ms. Barnett, or “Mom” as he called her, had actually been quite close over the years. Since she had no children of her own, she had always relied on Jerry for advice on a wide range of topics.
Hammer was careful not to let him go too far. He knew that phone records would be subpoenaed and scrutinized and would show little contact.
Clyde Korsak was not in the courtroom and his brother had no idea where he was.
Judge Pointer was skeptical. She knew the story of Clyde’s last visit and his arrest for pummeling Wally, and she had heard plenty of rumors since Eleanor’s death. There was no one to cross-examine Jerry, and Judge Pointer was dismissive of his testimony. And, she already had a plan.
When Jerry stepped down, and when Teddy had nothing else to say, she announced she was appointing a young lawyer named Clement Gelly as conservator. He was a local attorney with a good reputation. Her instructions were strict: There would be no probate until a few weeks passed. The last will and testament prepared by Simon Latch and signed by the deceased would be held in abeyance until further orders. In the meantime, Mr. Gelly would make sure the bills were paid and the assets identified. The file would remain sealed and she would keep it on her desk.
Late that afternoon, Raymond went to the jail and informed Simon of the new conservatorship. He was intrigued by it but had more pressing matters to worry about. He wanted to get out of jail, get out of town, and go see his kids.
After Raymond left, Simon called Paula and they talked for half an hour. She and the kids were at her parents’ home in Richmond and felt safe, no one was bothering them. They discussed the hearing that morning, and the ins and outs of bail procedure, but at no time did she offer financial assistance. Simon did not ask for any. In addition to her future as a single mother, she was afraid she was about to lose her job. Her parents were semi-retired. They had worked hard, saved religiously, and had a nice retirement fund that was off-limits.
Simon would waste away in jail before he asked them for help.
Chapter 37
As for his own mother, things were just as complicated. She had been married many years to Arn, her second husband. Unhappy years, in Simon’s opinion. Arn was a complicated person who had never tried to make her life easier. Simon did not like him and the feelings were mutual. He was a tough guy who’d once owned a successful roofing company and probably had some cash in the bank. They had a nice home downstate in the Roanoke area. The problem was that all of their assets were jointly owned. His mother had no bank account of her own. When Simon explained that he needed to borrow $20,000 to get out of jail, she became emotional and said she would do whatever she could to help. Arn was not sympathetic. When she put him on the phone, Simon asked for the money and promised to repay as soon as he sold his office building. He might as well have asked for twenty million. Arn handed the phone back to his wife and could be heard mumbling in the background. She promised to discuss it and call back the following day.
Knowing Arn, he was reading the newspaper accounts of Simon’s mess and figured the boy was going to prison. Thus, the money would never be repaid. The phone call home was a disaster and made a bad day even worse, if that was possible.
During his fourth night in jail, Simon was able to read half a novel. He tried to convince himself that he could survive incarceration now that the shock had worn off. He felt safe. Loomis explained that there was another wing where they kept the harder cases, but on their wing things were civilized. The chief ran a tight ship and violence, or the threat of it, was dealt with harshly. It was a clean jail without too many rules, and the guards were real people who tried to help. Simon also admitted to himself that, for the moment anyway, it was rather pleasant being away from the glare and gossip. The flashbacks of all those reporters and cameras were unsettling. He felt sorry for Paula and the kids and hoped to see them soon. He actually slept a few hours without interruption.
By nine the next morning, his mother had not called. He could not imagine the war between her and Arn and he felt lousy for causing trouble, but he had no choice. He was confident she would prevail and convince Arn to lend a hand. Dammit, her only son was in jail and that was an emergency.
Raymond dropped by midmorning and they discussed the plan to sell the office building. They talked about various real estate agents in town, few of whom inspired confidence. Such a sale, if indeed anyone wanted to buy the building, would take days if not weeks. There would be an appraisal, then a listing, then showings, and so on. Simon could easily envision a drawn-out process.
