“Are you in a hurry or something?”
“Damned right I’m in a hurry.”
“Same time tomorrow?”
“Sure. That easy, huh?”
She dismissed him with a look that said, Don’t doubt me.
He wondered if the metal in her eyebrows somehow kept her from blinking. Her gaze was not altogether unpleasant, but he was finding it unsettling. Whatever pill she was taking to remain so calm and unconcerned was the one he wanted.
From one criminal to another, he asked, “Do you worry about getting caught?”
“Not really. It happens, but rarely. We’re light-years ahead of the cops. And if you get caught, like Cooley, my boyfriend, then you go to a nice federal camp and keep working in prison.”
There was so much he didn’t know, and even more he didn’t want to know.
The following morning, they met at the same table and ordered the same drinks. Zander handed him a sealed manila envelope, eight-by-eleven, and said, “I’m afraid there’s not much there. Just the usual stuff — generic job applications, references, education, payroll information, a few disciplinary matters, all minor. Nothing that piqued my interest.”
She spoke like she was now in charge of the investigation, which was fine with Simon. She worked in a world foreign to his, and if she wanted to dig in and help, go girl. “But what did you expect?” she asked.
“I don’t know. There’s a level of desperation here, you understand?”
“Sure, but you won’t find anything in the personnel files. If a bad actor works for the hospital and might have been involved in a poisoning, you won’t find anything useful in his file. What’s he gonna admit to? Favorite hobbies — mixing poison compounds? Collecting banned substances in the black market? Education — bounced from college chemistry for blowing up a lab.”
What a smart-ass! Simon tried to suppress a smile as he admired her sarcasm and nerve. She was thoroughly unintimidated. He said, “I get that. I’m just beginning, okay? Gotta start somewhere.”
“Well, you’re off to a bad start.”
“I’m digging in other places.” He drank some coffee and tried to hold her gaze. She flicked her lazy eyelashes and asked, “So where would you look?”
“Someone inside the hospital had the thallium. That person is a sicko who likes to poison, probably done it before.”
“And you think that’ll be in the file?” she asked.
“No, not at all. Are you always such a smart-ass?”
“It’s likely. I talked to Cooley last night.”
“Cooley has a cell phone?”
“He has three, all contraband of course. You’d better bone up on this prison stuff. The guards smuggle in phones and sell them to the inmates.”
“That’s nice to know.”
“Some of the guards make a ton of money smuggling goods.”
“I’ll remember that. What’s Cooley up to?”
“He’s intrigued. Took him two hours to find a dealer for thallium, guy in Singapore. If you want, I can order some. Five hundred bucks for fifty grams.”
Simon had to catch his breath as his thoughts scrambled.
She continued, “You can’t order it because you’ll leave a trail. We don’t.”
“Okay, but I think it’s too late for that. Let me think about it. It’s that easy?”
“Oh no. It’s hard as hell. Far too complicated for the average hacker and impossible for a guy like you. It’s the dark, dark web, Simon. Don’t go there.”
“Don’t worry.”
She finished her tea and asked, “Are you in a hurry?”
“Not at all.”
She looked at an opening that apparently went to the kitchen and said, “Lois, more coffee and another tea, please.” Lois did not reply.
Simon believed her but asked himself if he should be more cautious. It sounded so easy: an inmate in a federal prison with three cell phones and a computer, all contraband, goes into the dark web and locates a source of thallium in about two hours.
They sat silently for a while, waiting on the refills. When Lois was gone again, Zander said, “Judging from what I’ve read, and again I’m suspicious of everything, it looks as though you bought the ginger cookies, your secretary took them to the hospital, and at that point everything was still okay.”
“Assuming the secretary didn’t doctor the cookies.”
“Is that a possibility?”
“Remote.”
“Okay, so your theory is that someone on the inside did the deed.”
“Correct.”
“We have work to do.”
For some reason, Simon felt safer with a criminal like Zander on his side than with the FBI.
Chapter 57
Simon felt no loyalty to Eleanor Barnett. Her deceit had caused more problems than she could possibly have foreseen. However, the last will and testament he prepared for her was properly executed and legally valid, unless, of course, it could be proven that she was not mentally sound. That fight now belonged to someone else. But he would not sit idly by and allow Teddy Hammer and his bogus clients to plunder what was left of her diminished estate. Plus, he was about to be disbarred and sent away, so what the hell? He decided to thoroughly muddy the water and go out in a blaze of glory.
He filed a petition to probate Eleanor’s will, along with the affidavits signed by the Larsons, plus one signed by him in which he attested to the “sound and disposing mind and memory” of the late Eleanor Barnett. Since there was no way Judge Pointer would appoint him as the executor, Simon asked the court to appoint Clement Gelly, who was still acting as the conservator. In a phone call, Judge Pointer was pleased to hear from Simon, even claimed to be concerned about him, and welcomed him, and Eleanor’s will, into the fray. She scheduled the initial probate hearing for June 17 and notices were sent. As expected, it drew a crowd of reporters and other courthouse regulars.
Simon knew his days in the courtroom were numbered. He would be forced to appear before Judge Shyam on August 22 for his sentencing, and he assumed that would be his last time in court. For the initial hearing in the probate matter, in his home courtroom, he was determined to look sharp and act as if life was swell. He had told Paula and the kids that his chances on appeal were excellent and his conviction would be set aside soon enough. He had refused to say a word to any reporter. He avoided them and entered the courthouse through a side door, then hurried upstairs to the main courtroom.
Judge Pointer called things to order, welcomed the large crowd, and thanked everyone for their attendance and their interest in making sure the judicial system worked properly. Of course, the crowd had no such interest. They were there to have a look at the lawyer who poisoned his wealthy widow client and got convicted of her murder. Everyone was working on a story. Simon knew all eyes were on him. The locals — lawyers, clerks, courtroom regulars — were, as a group, dumbfounded that Simon Latch, one of their own, had managed to get himself in such hot water. They found it difficult to believe that he was headed for prison. The others — reporters, journalists, true-crime hucksters — were there because they smelled blood and wanted a fresh angle.
Wally Thackerman sat low in the back row, curious as hell but still unwilling to step forward with his version of Eleanor’s will, primarily because he had no idea what would happen if he did so. The chances of him cashing in on his scheme seemed remote. The chances of getting embarrassed seemed rather high.
As the petitioner, Simon was allowed to speak first. Without referring to his problems, he explained to Judge Pointer that on March 27 of the previous year, the decedent, Eleanor Barnett, signed a last will and testament that he had prepared himself. It met all of the statutory requirements. He offered it as Exhibit A and she accepted it into evidence. In quick order, Simon called Tony Larson to the stand and quizzed him about his involvement in meeting Eleanor Barnett and witnessing her signing the will. His wife, Mary Beth Larson, was next, and explained that their good friend Mr. Latch, the lawyer next door, often asked them to step over and witness wills. She was quite impressed with Eleanor Barnett and had no doubt that she was in her right mind and knew exactly what she was doing. They even walked around the corner and had a nice lunch together afterward.