Chapter 63
Raymond’s customary crankiness vanished after Simon’s opening. The old windbag was speechless and allowed Simon to deliver his narrative for at least twenty minutes before uttering a sound. It was, “Hang on. I need another shot.”
Alan agreed to meet for breakfast at the same diner at seven-thirty before he took his boys to school. Still no mention of a wife or woman in his life, not that Simon cared.
He was only ten minutes late. Simon had just taken his first bite of oatmeal—prepackaged—and flagged the waitress over for more coffee. Alan ordered wheat toast and honey.
“Get any sleep last night?” he asked with a grin.
“No, not much. A lot to think about.”
Alan pulled a folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket, and thanked the waitress for the coffee. “I have three priorities, in order of importance.”
The small sheet of notebook paper had scribblings on both sides.
“Number one: I want Kofie off the street and locked away somewhere. I can’t help with that because I’m not a direct witness to his crimes. And you can’t trust our local boys because they’ve already solved the crime and got their conviction. This is a matter for the FBI.”
“How’d they get Kofie out of town without raising suspicions?”
“Another sad part of the story. They suddenly had some layoffs at the hospital and he got his walking papers. Since no one filed a complaint against him, he kept his technician’s license. Pretty sick, huh?”
“Yeah. His license to poison others.”
“And, apparently, that’s what has happened. May I continue?”
“Proceed, sir.”
“Number two: I want to help you walk away from this. I see where you’ve filed a motion to vacate the guilty verdict. What are the chances of getting before the judge on this?”
“Quite good. So far, she’s held hearings on all motions from both sides. We consider her to be sympathetic.”
“She should be. She presided over a trial that convicted an innocent man. As a believer in our system of justice, I’m appalled by any wrongful conviction. You’re innocent and we know who’s guilty. Let’s nail him.”
“Will you testify at the hearing?”
“I knew this was coming and the answer is yes, with conditions. I’m not sure of the procedure in Virginia, but around here it’s possible to have a closed hearing, on the record, of course.
If we can have a closed hearing to vacate—empty courtroom, no press, no spectators, no one there who’s not supposed to be there—then I’ll testify.
The Fendamar file is under lock and key and it must remain buried.
Which goes hand in hand with number three: I have to protect the NDA.
The hospital can never know about my involvement.
If it finds out it will come after me and the entire Mulrooney firm.
That would not be pleasant. The NDA has some clawback provisions that allow the hospital to recoup some serious money should the lawyers develop loose tongues. ”
“How do we get the file?”
Alan smiled and pulled out a thumb drive. “It’s all right here. I kept copies and recorded everything, even have the video of Kofie’s apartment. Surprisingly, not a very cool pad.”
“Are you offering that to me?”
“No. I’ll bring it to court and share it with the judge.”
“Okay. My lawyer will start pushing for a hearing right now.”
“You told him?”
“Oh yeah, had a long talk last night and we’ll have another when I leave here and drive home. This changes everything, Alan. I can’t thank you enough.”
“You’re an innocent man, Simon.”
“I know.”
He would have called Zander with the news but it was not yet noon. He should be in Braxton by then. Perhaps he could buy her lunch.
He called Raymond, who was far more talkative now that he’d had some sleep and time to digest the news. Raymond was full of ideas about legal procedures and maneuverings Simon had never heard of.
He called Landy and they discussed the FBI’s involvement. She was certain a file would be opened and an investigation would be ramped up soon enough. She would call her supervisor as soon as she hung up.
As he drove past the sign for the city limits of Braxton, Simon asked himself, and certainly not for the first time, why he was returning to the town.
It wasn’t home anymore. For the past nineteen years, ever since he finished law school, Braxton had been the center of his world.
His home and office, real estate he’d once owned, were there.
His three children had been born in the very hospital where Oscar Kofie was still working.
He and Paula had raised the kids in the public schools and rarely missed a teacher conference, a play, a concert, a graduation, or a game.
His church was there, though over the years the family had attended less and less.
The Latches were now considered Easter Christians.
His friends still lived in Braxton, though he felt abandoned by all of them.
The only thing Simon wanted from Braxton at the moment was a clear name.
He had been wrongfully convicted by a jury far away but harshly condemned by the people closest to him.
He wanted to be able to walk through the courthouse and then down Main Street, his final walk on his way out of town, with his head high as he looked down on all those who doubted him.
He wanted them to feel rotten for misjudging him. He wanted retribution.
It was a sad commentary on his life that the only acquaintance he could meet for lunch was a young, talented criminal with hair that was the color of a tangerine this week and lavender last week.
Zander managed to pull things together by 2 P.M. and meet at her favorite tea shop, where the antisocial chef/owner was advertising ginger cookies as a special.
“Let’s skip those,” Simon said, but Zander missed the connection.
She ordered a breakfast tea loaded with caffeine and slugged it down.
She was emaciated and needed to add at least twenty pounds.
So did Simon, and he ordered two sandwiches.
As he devoured them, he gave her a sanitized version of Alan Teel’s story, careful to avoid the sensitive areas.
He thanked her again, and she again waved him off. It was just something she and Cooley did for fun, sometimes for profit.