Before Judge Shyam could speak, Raymond thundered in with “Hang on, Judge. This is a cross-examination! I’m allowed to explore all manner of irrelevant material. The Commonwealth has certainly been doing so.”
Judge Shyam patiently said, “Okay, overruled for now. But there are limits, Mr. Lassiter.”
Raymond glared at Roster as if he’d caught him lying. “Where was the first one, sir?”
“Ohio, 1998.”
“That was the McGregor case, right?” Raymond asked as he looked at the jurors, as if to say, “Aren’t I clever?”
“I believe so.” Roster suddenly realized Raymond knew as much about the old case as he did, so he added, “Yes, McGregor.”
“And he was found not guilty, right?”
“That’s correct.”
“And where did Mr. McGregor get the poison, the thallium?”
“Well, it was alleged that he stole it from a lab in Cincinnati, but I don’t believe that was ever proven.”
Raymond turned for his seat and said loudly, “Not guilty. Not guilty on all counts.”
Chapter 46
A friendly bailiff led Simon to a side exit and he was out of the building before Raymond greeted the reporters on the front steps with his usual banter and no-comments. They had learned by then that he was not about to say anything remotely relevant to the case, but they followed him anyway, in a pack down the sidewalk, taking photos and videos that would look exactly the same as the ones they had taken on Monday. He answered all their banal questions without saying anything. Simon, meanwhile, wearing a green John Deere cap, jumped into the front passenger seat of a black Chevy Impala, obviously government-issued, and sped away with Landy behind the wheel. When the courthouse was out of sight and no one chasing, he sat up and asked, “So how do you think it went?”
“Pretty boring morning, actually. Raymond is smart to agree with the doctors. His steady refrain of ‘Yep, she was poisoned but not by my guy’ resonates. The prosecutor is not that exciting.”
“Few of them are.”
“You weren’t turned on by her leopard-spotted slingbacks?”
“No. They look ridiculous.”
Landy rolled her eyes. “The boys on the jury sure like them.”
“Where are we going?”
“There’s a seafood joint near the beach. Dark and quiet.”
“You do much work around here?”
“A couple of cases a year. Right now we’re talking to witnesses in a bid-rigging case. Extremely monotonous. The life of an FBI agent is not always gunfights and car chases.”
“Are you here tonight?”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Standing,” he said.
“I’ll see if I can work you in. Delano doesn’t like your jury.”
“Tell me about Delano.”
“My partner on this job. He watched the first two hours this morning and he knows his stuff. Spent four years in the federal defender’s office and did a lot of trial work. Says your jury is not on your side. The first impression was damaging — greedy lawyer sees the opportunity to take advantage of a vulnerable client with no family.”
“Do you agree?”
“I saw only the first half this morning, and Delano and I can’t hang around this afternoon. Work beckons. But we’re in and out tomorrow. Just trying to help, Simon.”
“Thanks, but you didn’t answer my question. Do you think the jury is against me?”
“They’re hard to read, as always. And all the proof’s not in. I’d say it’s half and half.”
Simon took a deep breath and let it sink in. After a moment, he said, “I didn’t take advantage of my client. I’ve earned nothing from all of this. In fact, I’ve lost everything.”
“I know. I’m on your side. But your client is dead and you bought the cookies.”
The Commonwealth called Dr. Connor Wilkes as its next witness, and she took the stand at 2 P.M. Tuesday. Cora Cook quickly established that she had been the CEO of the hospital for three years, and she had met with the defendant on several occasions before Ms. Barnett passed away. Dr. Wilkes described the scene when Mr. Latch appeared in her office with a new power of attorney and advance directive and asked her to review them. He left and she read them. Then she sent copies to the hospital’s attorney for his review. He thought the documents were fine but stressed that she, Dr. Wilkes, along with the doctors, had to ensure that the patient was not being pressured to sign anything. Dr. Wilkes met with the doctors and nurses, several of whom were suspicious and did not want to witness the signings. However, it was obvious that there were no other family members present.
They walked as a group to Ms. Barnett’s room and met Mr. Latch there. He passed out copies of the documents and answered all questions. Slowly and thoughtfully, he explained each sentence to his client. Though medicated, Ms. Barnett was alert and seemed to enjoy the attention. At least twice, Mr. Latch offered to postpone the signings until some date in the future. However, since she was eighty-five years old and in the hospital, they felt like proceeding. The patient signed everything and Mr. Latch left copies for the hospital.
Yes, it was certainly unusual to sign such documents at the hospital, and Dr. Wilkes could think of only one similar occurrence. But, under the circumstances, she felt as though nothing was wrong. The patient needed the advance directive and power of attorney and knew what she was doing.
As her condition deteriorated rapidly, the defendant visited the hospital several times and met with the medical team. He was obviously concerned about her care and spoke often to the doctors and nurses. He refused to make the decision to remove Ms. Barnett from the ventilator. He said, more than once, that it was a medical decision. She was pronounced dead at 10:02 A.M., December 30.
About an hour later, Dr. Wilkes took a phone call from Detective Barr.
On cross-examination, Raymond drilled away at the heart of her testimony: At no time did Simon Latch seem even remotely eager to get involved in the final decisions regarding his client’s care. He didn’t want to be there, but there was no one else.
With that point well made, Raymond caught her off guard by asking if she ever reviewed the visitor sign-in logs at the front desk. No, she did not. He handed her a thick printout and asked her to turn to December 22 of last year.
She found the entries for that date and said, “Okay, sir, I’ve got it.”
Gazing dramatically at the jurors, Raymond asked, “Now, do you see an entry for a man named Jerry Korsak on that date?”
“Yes. He checked in at five thirty-five P.M. to visit Ms. Barnett and stayed about twenty minutes.”
“Did you meet him?”
“No, I don’t regularly meet visitors.”
“Of course not. Do you know who he is?”
“I was informed later that he is the stepson of Ms. Barnett.”
“Indeed he is. Now please turn to December 26, around four P.M. Do you seen an entry for a Mr. Wally Thackerman?”
She flipped and scanned and finally said, “Yes, looks like he checked in at four-eleven.”
“To visit which patient?”
“Eleanor Barnett. Stayed about fifteen minutes and left.”
“Thank you. Now, Dr. Wilkes, does the hospital keep a log of gifts, flowers, candy, cards, that sort of stuff, that is delivered to each patient’s room?”
“No, I’m not aware of any hospital that can keep up with all that stuff.”
Raymond felt it was necessary to introduce the names of Jerry Korsak and Wally Thackerman to the proceedings. It might be helpful later to argue that Eleanor had other guests. Perhaps there could be other suspects.
The owner and director of Cupit & Moke Funeral Home was Douglas Gregg, a pleasant old gentleman who had been embalming Braxton’s dead for decades. If he owned a suit that wasn’t black he’d never been seen in it. He took the stand in his mortician’s finest and looked petrified.