“A drink after work. Down the street at O’Malley’s. Five P.M.?”
“Sure,” she said with a smile. “Make it five-thirty.”
“Okay, please be there and don’t run. I know where your apartment is in Fredericksburg. Unit 614. And I know where your roomie hangs out these days. The FBI is watching him.”
Her mouth fell open as he turned and left.
At five-thirty, Tillie walked into O’Malley’s and Simon waved her over to his booth. They had a lot to talk about, not that she was planning on saying much. He sipped a beer as a waiter took her order for a diet soda.
“What, no asparagus smoothie?” he joked but it fell flat.
If she had been rattled to see him, that had now passed. She was unmoved and quite collected. “Why are you here, Simon?”
“Just passing through. I’m looking for the person who poisoned Eleanor Barnett, Tillie, because I damned sure didn’t do it.”
“And you’ve found me. You think I did it?”
“That thought crossed my mind. In fact, when I found out that you were shacking up with Jerry I got real suspicious. But if I’ve learned anything lately, it’s not to assume too much.”
“Why did you hide her will from me?”
“Because I got greedy and wanted her money, and to get it I had to draft a lopsided will that gave me complete control of her estate and assets. And I didn’t want you to know about it because you’re a good, honest, decent person who would have questioned me over such a will. I didn’t want a fight. I wanted the money. My marriage was falling apart. I was sick of the office and its overhead. And Eleanor Barnett was my way out.” He slugged some beer and wiped his mouth with a sleeve. “There. Is that honest enough for you?”
“I suppose.”
“Let’s be honest, Tillie. Cut the crap. I’ve been convicted and I’m headed to prison, so I can afford to be brutally honest. I didn’t poison Eleanor.”
“That makes two of us.”
They studied each other for a long time, neither daring to blink. Simon took a sip, wiped his mouth, and asked, “When did you first get suspicious?”
“Three days after she signed the will you typed. Then you lied to me and tried to cover up. You’re not a deceitful person, Simon, and a lousy liar. You were sneaking around, taking her to lunch, ingratiating yourself. I knew what was going on. Then we did the living will that gave you full control. The cremation angle was a nice touch. Face it, Simon, there was plenty of red flags.”
“Well, my jury certainly thought so, didn’t they?”
“They did.”
“And you agree with them? You think I’m guilty?”
“No, I don’t. I was very suspicious, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“I know you too well. I watched you in the courtroom and I saw a man who was bewildered by the accusations, a man who would never harm another person.”
Her soda arrived and she ignored it. Simon drained his beer and ordered another. They stared across the table for a long time, both wanting to believe the other.
Finally, he asked, “How did Jerry enter the picture?”
“Is that really any of your business?”
“Let’s say it is.”
“Simple enough. He stopped by the office one day when you were gone. He called a week later and we had a drink. One thing led to another. He’s had his ups and downs with romance. I certainly have.”
“He doesn’t seem like your type.”
“What is my type, Simon? I’ve tried them all.” She managed to smile.
“You want advice from me? I can’t remember the last time I made a smart decision. Got a question.”
“I’m an open book.”
“December thirtieth, the day she died. I called the funeral home to come get her, but an anonymous caller alerted the Braxton police. The cremation was stopped. I’m assuming that call was made by you.”
Her jaws clenched slightly and she glanced away. Dead guilty.
“Why did you do it, Tillie? I’m being perfectly honest with you, so return the favor.”
“Jerry wanted me to do it. He wanted an autopsy. By then Teddy Hammer was calling the shots and he was very suspicious of you.”
“And the fact that you, and Jerry, stopped the cremation is pretty clear proof that you didn’t poison Eleanor. Otherwise, no one would have ever known, and I would not be facing prison.”
“We didn’t do it, Simon, I swear we didn’t.”
“Nor did I, regardless of what the jury said.”
“So, who killed her?”
He rubbed his temples, then shook his head. “If it wasn’t me and it wasn’t you, then I don’t know. I suspect someone entered her hospital room after she’d been there a few days. You know how casual hospitals are. Doctors, nurses, and staff come and go at all hours.”
“An inside job?”
Simon would only say so much. She would repeat everything to Jerry.
“Possibly. Why did Jerry sue me?”
“I begged him not to, told him you were broke. But Hammer said it had to be done.”
“I’m worse than broke.”
“Can I help?”
“Hell no. The last thing I need is for you trying to get involved. Just leave it alone. Things are bad enough and you’re sleeping with the enemy.”
Chapter 60
Evidently, Cooley had plenty of free time in prison. He was actually finishing his time in a federal “camp,” a fenceless low-security joint where violence was not tolerated. Simon tracked him down online and learned that he had been convicted in Maryland three years earlier and would be released on parole in early September. It was his first offense, a federal violation, something complicated to do with internet theft. Further sleuthing revealed virtually nothing about his girlfriend, Zander.
Simon’s curiosity about them paled in comparison to their interest in him. According to Zander, Cooley had easily trespassed into Simon’s virtual world, and not only thumbed through his office files, a mind-numbing waste of time, but also accessed his longtime personal email account at Google. Simon was momentarily irritated by this, but then figured what the hell. For years he had assumed that someone somewhere was seeing every email, shopping order, calendar entry, and personal note, so he had always been careful. He was floored, though, when Zander informed him Cooley had hacked into the secret email account Simon had opened over a year earlier, primarily to hide his gambling.
“Why’d you stop gambling?” she asked over a drink in a student bar, two doors down from the tea shop.
“I made too much money.”
“Doesn’t appear so.”
“Look, the FBI had me on its radar and I got a tip from an old friend. It was time to quit.”
“Just curious.”
“Okay, I have something important for you. Can you guys take a look into the virtual world of Oscar Kofie, the X-ray tech I mentioned last time?”
She giggled, a little teenage snicker, and said, “Cooley’s already on the trail. It’s not going to be easy, though. Kofie really likes his privacy and he knows his way around the digital world.”
“Not sure I follow.” When it came to technology, Simon was often on thin ice, and usually felt like a moron when talking to Zander. She could roll her eyes like a know-it-all kid or she could flash a warm, reassuring smile that exuded patience.
She smiled and said, “He’s obviously paranoid and protects himself with some pretty impressive firewalls and gates. But Cooley loves a challenge. He’ll get in soon enough.”
Simon was once again amused at the idea of a federal inmate with his own contraband laptop, holed up in the prison library wreaking havoc in the virtual world. It was also sobering to know that somewhere out there in the vast universe of the web there were people who could find and watch everything. Why couldn’t those people work just for the intelligence agencies and leave the common folk alone? If he could do it, and he knew it was impossible, he would toss his computers and retreat to the Stone Age where people wrote letters with pen and paper and had long chats on old-fashioned telephones.