“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.