Chapter 35
At five-thirty the following morning, Simon was actually sleeping for a change when the alarm bells sounded and the guards entered the wing, clanging doors and yelling for everyone to wake up.
Breakfast was being served. As if breakfast was something to get excited about.
In the break room down the hall Simon had found the vending machines and was currently subsisting on Cokes and potato chips.
Cokes. The same thought flashed through his mind: Netty and all that common stock, and he still wondered if it was really there.
The guard, Mason, worked the early shift and thus had the pleasure of serving two gourmet meals to his boys. Simon had managed to chat him up the day before.
“Mornin’, Latch.”
“Well, good morning, Officer Mason. So good to see you again. What’s cooking this morning?”
“The same.”
“Lucky me.”
As Simon was picking up his tray, Mason slid a newspaper under the bars. “Might want to take a look at this. Front page, Metro. You’ve hit the big time, Latch. A real star.”
The Sunday Journal, two inches thick and packed with coupons. Simon knew what was coming so he sat on the edge of his bed and took a deep breath. He thought he had braced himself for the bad PR. It could not have been worse.
Metro, above the fold, a large black-and-white photo of Simon Latch, smiling, jacket and tie, posing for the camera.
Someone had borrowed it from the county bar directory published a few years earlier.
Beside it was the unrestrained tabloid headline: “Estate Lawyer Accused in Poisoning Death of Wealthy Widow Client.”
It covered everything: a brief bio of the accused; same for the victim; the new will that gave him absolute control of her assets; then a power of attorney and advance directive, signed in the hospital just days before her death, that gave him the power to turn off the ventilator; which he did; the suspicious efforts to cremate the body a few hours after death; the heroic intervention of the stepsons, who demanded an autopsy; and the fact that she was poisoned, probably while in the hospital.
It was a long article with no shortage of innuendos and speculations.
Indeed, at every point where one word would suffice but three would seem more sinister, Ms. Kane went with the longer sentence.
While not a single source agreed to be quoted or identified, off the record they were babbling away.
Simon immediately suspected Teddy Hammer as one of the conspirators.
His flattering accounts of the actions by his clients, the stepsons, were a bit over-the-top.
Some of the details from the injunction hearing before Judge Pointer had to be relayed by a person who was in the courtroom, a clear violation of the judge’s orders.
The article ended with the information that Mr. Latch would appear in court Monday morning at 9 A.M. to be arraigned and request bail, which was discretionary but rarely given in murder cases.
The tone was basically an invitation for everyone to come to court tomorrow, have a look at the defendant, and share in the excitement.
Simon wiped sweat from his forehead, realized his hands were shaking, and suddenly bolted for the tiny metal toilet in one corner of his cell. He vomited and retched and gagged until all of yesterday’s potato chips were in either the bowl or on the lid.
Across the hall Loomis asked, “Hey man, you okay?”
But Simon did not answer. When the nausea finally passed he stretched out on his bunk and pulled the blanket up to his eyes. He wanted to die. Was it possible to suffocate oneself with a pillow?
Every potential juror reading the Journal would quickly vote to convict, and Simon couldn’t blame them.
Traffic at the jail was slow on Sunday mornings, and Mason had the front desk to himself. At 9 A.M., another guard put handcuffs on Simon and led him to the front.
“I’d like to use the phone,” he said politely.
“Who you calling?” Mason asked.
“My wife and my lawyer.”
“Local calls?”
“Yes sir.”
Mason nodded at a door and the guard led him into a room with several phones on a long table. The guard removed the handcuffs and said, “I’ll be outside.” He shut the door and Simon was alone.
He called Paula’s cell and she didn’t answer, which was not unusual. She rarely took a call from an unidentified number. Simon left the message that he would call back in five minutes. He did and she answered after the first ring.
“How are the kids?” he asked.
“Coping, I guess. It’s not easy.”
“Have you seen the Journal?”
“Oh yes. The story was posted last night online and Matilda called me. By midnight it was all over town. Now it’s everywhere. My phone’s ringing, lots of emails.”
“Have the kids seen it?”
“Are you kidding? Buck and Danny live online and miss nothing. They’re locked in their rooms and won’t come out. We did a lousy job of monitoring their devices.”
“I assume there’s a lot of chatter online.”
“It’s horrible.”
“And social media?”
“It’s horrible.”
She was using the same icy tone Simon had become accustomed to over the years, yet there was an even harder edge to it. He couldn’t blame her.
“What about Janie?”
“She’s a mess. They’re all in shock, Simon. What do you expect? Their father is in jail charged with murder. First our separation, then the divorce, now this. It’s front-page news and viral on the internet. The kids are traumatized.”
“Have you explained to them that I am not guilty, that I haven’t killed anyone?”
“Yes, I’ve tried and they want to believe it, they really do.
They love their father. But it’s all so confusing and they’re just overwhelmed.
Right now there are two television vans parked in the street in front of the house.
We can’t go out. A city cop is guarding the driveway.
We had reporters knocking on the door at eight this morning.
These creeps are rude and shameless, Simon, but they’re here and they’re not going away.
We need to get out of town. I’m thinking of sneaking away to my parents’.
Forget school tomorrow. I’m not sending them and they don’t want to go. ”
Simon rubbed his eyes with one hand and held the phone with the other. He had never felt so defeated.
She continued, strong and icy, “And this is just the beginning, Simon. Tomorrow you’re in court and it will be a zoo, but it’s just the first appearance, the first of many, all leading up to a trial that will be a world-class shit show.
Those creeps in the street will dog you, and your family, every step of the way. ”
Simon thought that was a bit over-reactive, but he had no standing to argue. Nor was he hiding in the house, peeking through the curtains at the creeps with cameras.
He said, “Look, Paula, I have to talk to the kids and convince them I’m innocent. They have to know right now, up front, that their father is not a murderer.”
“Simon, right now that seems impossible.”
Another gut punch.
“The sentiment online is running heavily in favor of guilt and there seems to be no shortage of people who want to know why you’re charged with first-degree murder and not capital murder. They want the death penalty.”
Another gut punch.
A thirty-second ceasefire ensued as both realized they were getting nowhere. Finally, Simon said, “I need a favor. Could you please call Raymond Lassiter and ask him to be here at the jail at two this afternoon?”
“And who is Raymond Lassiter?”
“My lawyer, for now anyway.”
“Oh yeah. I saw his name. How much will this cost you, Simon?”
You, not us.
“I don’t know. We’re still negotiating. There’s a good chance he’ll fire me this afternoon.”
“Then who will represent you?”
“Probably some court-appointed kid fresh out of law school. I’ll worry about that tomorrow.”
It was apparent that she was not worrying much about him. She had not asked about bail and the prospect of getting out, nor had she shown any interest in the life behind bars. That was fine with Simon. She was concerned only with the kids.
To end the misery, Simon said, “Gotta go now, I’m out of time.”
“I don’t know what to say, Simon. I’m sorry this is happening. I wish I could help but we are, after all, practically divorced now. My only concern is protecting the children and I’m not sure how to do that right now. Any suggestions?”
“Get ’em out of town.”
Simon opened the door and waited as the guard cuffed his wrists. As he walked by the front desk, Mason said, “Hey Latch, got some reporters outside lurking around. What do you want to do with them?”
“Arrest them, put them in the cell next to me and I’ll give them a story.”