Landy pulled an all-nighter and put together a ten-page memo, a very rough draft of Mr. Oscar Kofie’s adventures with thallium. She had plenty of facts on the Eleanor Barnett case, but fewer on the others.
It was an all-girls show, except for Simon, who sat on one side of the table with Landy as they faced Carmen Riddle, the assistant U.S. attorney (AUSA), and Shelia Wycoff, supervisor in charge (SIC), FBI. Once Simon had the alphabet untangled and somewhat clear, he was ready to proceed.
He explained that he possessed an extensive collection of materials regarding the suspect: his personnel, employment, HR files from the four hospitals where he had worked in the past decade; the voluminous medical records of patients in those hospitals who had died either by poisoning or similar, though undiagnosed, symptoms; along with a mountain of materials regarding the claims of two deceased patients in Scranton, Pennsylvania.
Shelia Wycoff asked, “How did you obtain the personnel records from the hospitals?”
“I paid a hacker. I don’t know anything about hacking, so I found someone who did.”
“Did you violate statutes?”
“Oh hell yeah, and maybe I’ll do it again. What are you gonna do, indict me? Look, Ms. Wycoff, I’ve already been convicted, wrongfully, you see, and I’m headed to prison for a long time. I really don’t give a damn about breaking laws at this point. Pile it on. I don’t care if you indict me.”
Carmen Riddle asked, “Okay, what about the claims, the lawsuits, in Scranton. Where did that information come from?”
“It started with the same hacker, you see. A young lady with a boyfriend who’s in a federal prison camp with two laptops and three phones, all contraband. They’re a great team, unless they get caught. You guys should really tighten up security at your camps. Anyway, they picked up the trail of the Scranton claims and located a lawyer who was involved. I went to see him three days ago and I learned all we need to know about Oscar Kofie. He’s a serial homicidal poisoner with at least three dead bodies notched in his belt, maybe as many as five more. But you don’t have to prove those. Prove only one. Prove only Eleanor Barnett, and send him away for life.”
It was obvious Simon was miles ahead of them, not only on the facts but also with strategies. Carmen Riddle was curious about the role of the local police.
Simon dismissed it immediately. “Don’t waste your time. Their case is closed. They got the killer, the wrong one, and they’ll probably defend their bogus investigation until hell freezes over. Standard procedure for law enforcement. Sorry, but that includes the FBI. In wrongful convictions the stakes are too great, and the mistakes are so catastrophic, that no one can ever admit getting the wrong guy. Forget the locals. Nice boys and all that, but you don’t need them. I’m handing you the case, okay?”
“Got it.”
Carmen Riddle looked at Landy and asked, “Should we put Kofie under surveillance?”
Simon barged in with “Why? He’s not going anywhere, unless he gets spooked. Play it cool, don’t tip him off, grab him one day at work, then trash his apartment.”
Riddle said, “We’ll handle that part, Mr. Latch. For now, I advise you to stop your illegal monitoring of his email.”
Simon shrugged as if he’d think about it. “Will you get a warrant and watch the apartment?”
“That’s what we usually do. We’ll tap his phone and his computer.”
Simon found it funny and said, “Well, if your boys need any help, just let me know. My hackers are already there.”
The three women seemed startled and glanced at each other. Carmen Riddle took a deep breath and asked Simon, “Do you know the medical director at the hospital in Braxton?”
“Yes, quite well. Dr. Connor Wilkes.”
“Well, how should we approach her?”
“Simple. The most urgent matter right now, other than me saving my own neck, is to make sure this guy does not poison anyone else. Right now the hospital has no clue. They think the Barnett murder is solved, life goes on as usual. Though I’ve heard through the grapevine that they’ve banned all carry-in food. No more cookies and brownies for Grandma. Which is a shame because they should ban all the food from their own cafeteria.”
Simon paused for a bit of laughter, or at least a nod to his quick wit. Nothing.
“And I’ve also heard that Tan Lu’s Vietnamese restaurant can’t give the damned ginger cookies away these days. Too bad.”
Carmen said, “If we could get back to the issues.”
“Sure. If I were you, I’d have a powwow with the hospital brass soon, tomorrow if possible, and make sure their lawyers are there. Tell them the truth. Tell them that Eleanor Barnett was not poisoned by me. Tell them they have a probable serial killer on their payroll, and that the FBI has the place surrounded.
“Their exposure is enormous. A trial lawyer’s dream. A public relations nightmare that could easily bankrupt the hospital. Who would want to go there for critical care? Make sure someone inside is watching Kofie to keep him away from the patients. You need the hospital’s cooperation right now, at least until he’s in custody. Once that happens, the shit hits the fan. It’s front-page headlines and the hospital turns into a bunker. I don’t really care. Kofie is their employee. He’ll go to prison and the hospital will be mired in lawsuits for years.”
Riddle and Wycoff scribbled furiously. Landy looked at some notes. To Simon, the silence indicated they would like to hear some additional thoughts from him. He continued, “Once you meet with the hospital and drop that bomb, you lose control of the story. You can’t trust everyone to keep quiet. If I were in charge, I’d move quickly but carefully. Get your warrants, go through his apartment, where you’re probably going to find one or two locked toolboxes where he keeps his little pharmacy, his collection of poisons. I’ve seen pictures. It’s quite impressive. Includes thallium, which appears to be his favorite. When you find that, you have probable cause.”
Riddle asked, “And what’s your schedule?”
“As you know, I’m trying to set aside my guilty verdict. We have a hearing next week, a closed one. You should be there. Let me know and I’ll get you front-row seats.”
Chapter 65
Judge Shyam made the wise decision to hear the defendant’s motion several days before she was to sentence him on August 22. That day was on the record, well known and publicized, and thus on the calendar for the reporters, journalists, news crews, and other tabloid junkies. Justice would be better served if those people were not watching. She personally called the lawyers and arranged a closed hearing a week earlier, on August 16, in Virginia Beach. She cautioned them to keep it confidential and wanted no leaks. She even drove home the point by threatening sanctions.
Before the hearing, she put three deputies at the main door to check the guest list she had screened. Only a handful of people were allowed inside. When they were seated, she entered the courtroom and greeted her invitees. She began with “Mr. Lassiter, it’s your motion to vacate. Please get things started. Feel free to keep your seat.”
There was no way Raymond could speak properly to a judge while seated. He stood, fiddled with his silk tie, thanked her properly, and said, “Your Honor, my client, Simon Latch, was found guilty in this courtroom on May the twenty-seventh. I was shocked at the verdict, as was Mr. Latch and many others. Since then, we have worked desperately to solve the mystery of who poisoned Eleanor Barnett, and through the rather heroic efforts of Mr. Latch himself, we now know. Our first witness will testify under a pseudonym. His identity must be protected. After he testifies, I will tender to the court an affidavit with his real identification along with an explanation of need for secrecy. This affidavit should not go into the record.”