Chapter 31
For Eleanor Barnett, the tag read: Possible Poisoning.
After working for two hours nonstop, they returned the organs to the cavity, stitched the corpse, and tidied up.
The following day, Dr. Brock met with Detective Barr and reviewed her findings.
She had no control over what happened to the body but strongly urged the police to prevent cremation.
Barr followed the hearse back to Braxton.
Along the way, he called Teddy Hammer with the news that they were expecting.
He called Judge Pointer, who agreed to stop the cremation.
He did not call Simon Latch. He obtained a search warrant and took possession of the items Eleanor left behind in her hospital room.
He also wanted to search her home and the judge signed a second warrant.
On Wednesday morning, Barr returned to the state crime lab with the items and presented them to Dr. Henry Roster.
Since he had a good idea as to what they were looking for, their job was much easier.
According to Nurse Loretta Goodwin, the brownies had been baked by Matilda, who delivered them herself.
Eleanor didn’t like them and had tried to give them to the nurses and orderlies.
Thankfully, they had refused. It was against the hospital’s policy to sample food brought to the patients.
The brownies were at least a week old by then.
The chemical analysis revealed no toxicity.
The Saigon ginger cookies were another story. There were eleven, two in one box, older and stale, and nine in another box. Both containers were clearly marked as being from Tan Lu’s. Significant levels of thallium were found in every cookie.
On Thursday morning, Detective Barr walked into Tan Lu’s with a search warrant and asked for their sales receipts. The Vietnamese were terrified and overly eager to comply. Within minutes, they found the receipts. The waitress identified a photo of Simon Latch, and even remembered his name.
Simon had been staring at his phone for days and was a nervous wreck.
The landline on his desk. It hadn’t made a sound.
The first week in January was usually the slowest of the year and the landline seldom rang anyway.
Now, though, he kept checking to make sure it wasn’t unplugged.
He would make the calls himself if he knew who to call.
He had no contact with the medical examiner’s office, and even if he had one he couldn’t simply call and ask about the autopsy.
Such information was strictly confidential, or it was until it got hashed about in a court of law.
Simon could call the funeral home but why waste the time?
He really wanted to have a chat with Detective Barr, a man who was dominating his thoughts, dreams, even nightmares, but he knew Barr would make an appearance on his own terms.
The waiting was nerve-racking and debilitating. He could not concentrate on anything and his current files were gathering dust.
Detective Barr called just before 6 P.M. on Thursday and asked if he could stop by. As if Simon could say no.
They sat in the conference room with a wide table between them. Barr looked at his notes, of which there seemed to be plenty, and asked, “Did you prepare a last will and testament for Ms. Barnett?”
“I did, back in March.”
“Could I see it?”
“I don’t think so. It’s confidential.”
“Well, your client is dead and you have to probate the will, right?”
“That’s the plan, as soon as Judge Pointer gives the green light.”
“And the probate becomes a public matter, right? So the public can see the will, right?”
“Maybe, maybe not. It’s possible to close the file and keep everything confidential.”
“How convenient. Did Ms. Barnett have a lot of money?”
“I really can’t discuss this right now. Maybe later. What about the autopsy?”
“I can’t discuss it.”
“Did it confirm the cause of death as pneumonia?”
“I can’t discuss it.”
“There seems to be a lot of secrets here, a lot of things we can’t discuss.”
“Yeah, I guess it’ll all come out in court,” Barr said with a nasty little smile.
“Court? Who’s going to court?”
“I can’t discuss it right now.”
“Why are we having this meeting if you can’t talk about anything?”
“I want to see her will.”
“Sorry.”
“I’ll get a warrant.”
“Go ahead.”
“And I’ll need to search your computers.”
“Sorry.”
“I’ll get some more warrants.”
“I can’t stop you.”
“Later.” Barr abruptly stood and left the room.
Simon didn’t move for a few minutes. When he did, he realized his underarms were wet and his shirt was sticking to his back.
He walked into the alley behind his office for a blast of arctic air.
He made a call, and an hour later walked around the corner and down the street to the offices of the best criminal lawyer in town, a man few people liked, including Simon.
Raymond Lassiter was a large, loud, boisterous attorney who strove to be colorful.
His reputation had been built on a couple of sensational murder trials he had won many years earlier, and he still attracted high-end criminals up and down the Shenandoah Valley.
He once boasted of having won seventeen murder trials in a row, but there was no one to verify it.
Much of what Raymond said needed verification, but why bother?
Most folks enjoyed his act and routine and took him in stride.
He was a tough courtroom fighter. Police and prosecutors preferred to avoid him.
If you got yourself in trouble and had a little money, he was the lawyer to see.
He was in his early seventies and still worked seven days a week.
Because of his excessive drinking, his mornings were slow and he seldom hit his stride until his staff left around five.
He was known to work until midnight, usually with a bourbon on his desk and a cigar in the ashtray.
A strict disciplinarian, he put away the booze when a trial started and became laser-focused. Sobriety made him meaner.
But he wasn’t entirely sober when Simon arrived shortly after eight, nor was he drunk.
Raymond could drink all day and keep his blood alcohol level around 0.
10, a nice buzz but nothing that would distract him.
Simon took a bourbon but not a cigar. Raymond propped up his feet on his oversized desk and said, “Tell me your story, but I only want to hear what I need to hear. Not everything, you understand?”
Simon had never shared secrets with a criminal lawyer before and wasn’t sure what Raymond wanted to hear. “Shouldn’t we sign something, like a representation agreement, you know, with a fee? To make it official?”
Raymond waved him off with his cigar. “Later. My fee is five bucks for the next twenty minutes. I want to hear your story. We’ll do the paperwork later.”
“So it’s now attorney-client?”
“Yeah, yeah, get on with it.”
After the basics, Raymond interrupted with “So you don’t know what’s in the autopsy?”
“No. Detective Barr wouldn’t say.”
“Barr’s a good guy. Not too bright but dogged and tough. I’ve had him on the stand a few times.” Raymond blew smoke as if he had eviscerated Barr and might want to talk about it later.
Simon said, “But Teddy Hammer hinted rather strongly that the death was not natural.”
“Hammer’s an asshole,” Raymond said, blowing more smoke.
I’m sure he’s a big fan of yours. Are we making progress by name-calling?
“He seemed quite sure of himself. I have not been accused of anything, Raymond, but I can feel the suspicion.”
“Suspicion? It’s a PR nightmare. Greedy lawyer discovers nice old lady has a secret fortune so he prepares a will that gives him control of her assets then convinces her, while she’s injured and drugged and in the hospital, to sign a power of attorney and advance directive that gives him even more power, including the right to pull the plug, which he does, conveniently on December thirtieth as the clock is running out, and she barely dies last year when there’s no estate tax, thus giving said greedy lawyer even more money to play with.
Her death was suspicious and the greedy lawyer tries his damnedest to get her remains cremated, his idea not hers, before anybody can ask questions. Did you say suspicion?”
Simon had never felt so guilty.
Raymond had him bleeding and on the ropes and went for the kill. “Son, I get two hundred thousand bucks up front for a murder case, not a penny less.”
Simon was prepared to be shocked, or so he thought.
He had no idea how much a noted trial lawyer would charge for a murder case, but his guess was somewhat lower.
He said, “I don’t have that kind of money.
And I’m not sure I’ll be charged with anything.
It’s just that the cops are sniffing around and I don’t want to make the wrong move. ”
“Smart guy. Look, consider this. I’ll cover for you now in the initial stages. When Barr comes back for more, tell him I represent you. Sometimes that scares the cops off, but not always. I’ll bully Barr and see how serious it is. And I’ll do it pro bono until there’s an indictment.”
“There won’t be an indictment because I’ve done nothing wrong. I just need someone to talk to.”
“Fine. Talk to me and follow my advice. If things get more serious, then we’ll have another chat.”
A blue cloud hung near the ceiling and the rich smell of fine tobacco permeated the room. Simon was frightened and didn’t want to leave. “If the offer is still there, I’ll have one of those cigars.”
Raymond smiled and said, “Help yourself. I’ll pour us another drink.”