Chapter 62
Victor Mulrooney was old-school and still wearing dark suits and silk ties, even around the office.
His associate, Hilary, wore jeans and sneakers.
They met Simon in a small conference room with three walls of glass and impressive views.
They sipped coffee for a moment, but only as a formality.
Hilary, a senior associate, was allowed to speak whenever she wanted to.
“We’ve gone through your file, Mr. Latch,” she said. “Quite a lot of press.”
“It’s Simon. You’ve probably seen more news reports than I have. I’ve been dodging reporters and their outlets for many months. I know it’s all bad.”
“I had a nice conversation with Raymond Lassiter. He says the defense was surprised by the verdict.”
“Still stunned. I didn’t testify because we were confident the Commonwealth did not prove its case. That was a miscalculation. I’d rather not talk about the trial. You know why I’m here.”
Mulrooney said, “Yes. Raymond and I discussed it. He seems quite the character.”
Simon nodded politely but had no interest in talking about Raymond, regardless of how colorful he might seem. “Can you answer a few basic questions?”
“We’ll see. You understand our situation, Mr. Latch.”
“Yes, and you understand mine. In a month I go before the trial judge to be sentenced to prison for something I didn’t do.”
“I believe you’re innocent, Mr. Latch.”
“Then help me.”
“It’s not that easy. We have an agreement with the defendant—”
“Fendamar Health.”
“Yes, and we cannot discuss the matter. There are some rather harsh penalties for violating the nondisclosure agreement.”
“Got that. Did your client have a claim that involved an X-ray technician by the name of Oscar Kofie?”
Mulrooney looked at Hilary. The answer was obvious. He said, “Yes.”
“Was your client either Mr. Herbert Grasskie or Ms. Ruth Abercrombie? Both died here in Fendamar Hospital under mysterious circumstances. We have their medical records and we know that Kofie was at the hospital when they died.”
“You have their records?” Hilary asked.
“Yes. Enough piles of paper to cover this desk.”
“But how?”
“I have secrets too. But the answer is easy. Just hire the right people and turn ’em loose. Illegal as hell but for some reason I really don’t care right now. If I have to break a few more laws, what’s the downside? I’m looking for the truth.”
Mulrooney’s facial expressions were almost noncommittal, but he absorbed this with a hint of admiration, even satisfaction. He said, “We represented both families.”
“Were they poisoned?”
“Here’s the way we’ll handle this, Mr. Latch.
I’m not willing to run the risk of violating the nondisclosure agreement.
Wouldn’t be fair to me, this firm, or our clients.
But there might be a way around it, a way to give you what you’re looking for while keeping us safe.
The hospital has some very tough lawyers and will not hesitate to seek damages from a breach.
But, sir, you are indeed on the right track. ”
“I’m listening.”
Hilary cleared her throat, flashed a conspiratorial look at Mulrooney, and said, “There is a person who might talk. His name is Alan Teel, and he was a junior partner in this firm until he left three years ago. He burned out, to put it mildly. If you need to know more about that, ask him. Alan was our colleague and a truly gifted trial lawyer, very hard worker, very committed, some would say overly zealous. When he crashed and burned he quit the law. Resigned from the firm, surrendered his license, the works. It was a fairly dramatic exit from the legal profession.”
Mulrooney said, “We tried to help him, paid for therapists and doctors and such. And he got better, but he was completely fed up with litigation and the law.”
Simon asked, “Was he a member of the firm when it settled the cases and signed the nondisclosure agreements?”
Mulrooney said, “No. He knows everything, but the NDA is not binding on him. That’s why he might talk.”
“Where is he?”
“A small town about an hour from here.”
“Do you mind calling him?”
“He knows you’re coming,” Hilary said.
Simon was eating a BLT in the town’s only diner when Alan Teel walked in, twenty minutes late.
He wore a beard, shorts, a T-shirt, and hiking boots, and nothing in his appearance suggested he had ever been a star in the courtroom.
They were the same age—forty-three. Simon offered to buy lunch but it was already 3:15.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “We had a fire call and I’m on duty.”
“You’re a fireman?”
“Volunteer. Town’s too small for a professional department.”
“Mind if I ask how you picked this place?”
“How much did Mulrooney tell you about me?”
“Some of the basics. I assume your story has many chapters.”
Teel laughed and asked the waitress for some coffee. “I try to avoid Mulrooney, another long story. I’m still friendly with Hilary and she made the call, gave me the heads-up. I went online and read about your recent adventures. Quite the media star these days.”
“Thanks. Had you seen the story before now?”
“No. I don’t read newspapers and I ignore the television and use the internet only when necessary.”
“That’s enviable.”
“You flamed out of the profession with headlines. I left it in the middle of the night.” The waitress placed a cup of steaming coffee on the table and Teel took a long drink without the slightest grimace.
“I’m facing prison for the rest of my life, Alan, and I haven’t killed anyone. I need some help.”
A long slow minute passed as Alan stared at something on the floor. Simon finished his sandwich and drank some tea.
Alan asked, “Ms. Barnett was poisoned, right?”
“Yep. Thallium.”
“Was Oscar Kofie working at the hospital when she was a patient?”
“He was.”
Alan glanced at his watch and said, “Look, I can’t talk right now. My son has a baseball game at six and I have to get the field ready. I’m the grounds crew. Pays as much as a volunteer fireman. Come to the game and we’ll sit together, have a long talk.”
“How old is your son?”
“Ten. My youngest.”
“I have a daughter who’s ten, a soccer star.”
“Can you handle a weed-eater?”
“Haven’t had much practice but I’m sure I can.”
“Let’s go.”
At six, they were sitting in lawn chairs just beyond the left-field fence, under the shade of an old tree, sipping cold lemonade and admiring their handiwork.
The field was pristine, and Alan took full credit for its perfect condition.
He did everything, from fertilizing the grass, trimming it three times a week, grooming the dirt infield, raking the mound and batter’s boxes, and pulling and cutting weeds.
He had even painted the dugouts and repaired an old scoreboard.
After three hours together, Simon was still uncertain as to what, exactly, the man did for a living, if anything. He appeared to be a full-time volunteer.
And he was content to get out of the way and let others do the coaching.
Once the field was ready and the perfect chalk lines were down, he retreated to his favorite spot in the shade, far away from home plate.
He had yet to mention a wife, either current or ex.
Simon figured they would never meet again and didn’t press for details.
Hayden, his son, played second base for the Marlins and struggled at the plate.
When he struck out to end the first inning, Alan, showing no disappointment at all, began talking.
“A secretary in the law firm got an anonymous phone call about the death of Herbert Grasskie, age eighty-one, lived somewhere around Scranton or Wilkes-Barre. Said his death was not caused by pneumonia. Rather, he was poisoned. Mulrooney assigned me the case and I started digging. Autopsy, toxicology tests, the works. Took about two weeks to confirm the cause of death was thallium. I’m sure you know all about the toxin. ”
“More than enough.”
“The perfect poison to kill with. More digging and we found another case in the same hospital. Two months earlier a seventy-two-year-old woman named Ruth Abercrombie died a similar death. We really opened the bank at that point, eventually spent over three hundred thousand dollars on the investigation. Mulrooney took charge, as only he could do, which wasn’t a bad thing.
He’s brilliant, both in court and out. And we knew that Fendamar Health has very deep pockets.
It’s owned by a private equity fund out of Boston that’s worth zillions.
You can imagine how valuable the cases were—two wrongful deaths caused by a demented hospital employee who likes to play with poisons.
The cases were pots of gold and we were all losing sleep with excitement.
For various reasons I won’t waste time with, our suspicions soon centered around an X-ray tech named Oscar Kofie, a truly strange character. ”
“Slow down. How did you choose Kofie?”