Chapter 47
After four days of sobriety, Raymond needed a drink. The lawyers retired to one of Marshall Graff’s favorite watering holes and ordered cocktails and oysters. They huddled in a corner with their backs to the world and began replaying the day’s testimony.
Raymond thought Matilda’s performance was a wash.
It raised suspicions and portrayed Simon as a sneaky type up to something, but what exactly?
Preparing a perfectly legitimate last will and testament for a client?
Where was the crime in that? He was on trial for murder, not lying to his secretary.
Nothing Matilda said on the stand proved he had poisoned Eleanor Barnett.
Sure, he bought the damned cookies, but they were harmless when delivered to the hospital.
And he was dreaming of getting paid a bigger hourly fee for his work, not exactly a crime either.
If that was illegal, every lawyer in the country would be indicted.
Casey usually disagreed with Raymond out of habit, and he thought her testimony was damaging because she seemed sincerely betrayed by her boss.
Two of the female jurors appeared to be very sympathetic.
Simon was pleased that Tillie had not done more damage.
She knew plenty of secrets, including the countless times he had stuffed cash fees in his pockets with nothing on the books.
Of course, he almost always shared the unreported loot with her.
But it was tax evasion on a small scale.
“Every lawyer does it,” he liked to say.
Tillie could have portrayed the law office for what it really was—a heavily mortgaged assembly line for cheap bankruptcies and other mundane legal matters, a practice that was barely afloat.
She could have portrayed her ex-boss as a man who lived beyond his means and really needed some bigger fees.
After an hour of rehash and two martinis, with a dozen oysters, Simon left them and made his way back to his dark and lonely hotel suite. Landy had texted and said she could not drop by for something more pleasant. Maybe tomorrow night. She was probably working out with Delano, whoever he might be.
At 8 P.M., Simon called Paula and said hello to the family.
He had an image of her, Buck, Danny, and Janie sitting around the kitchen table, after dinner, perhaps in the middle of homework, having their nightly chat into the speakerphone with their indicted father.
He went through the order of witnesses for that day and gave his opinions on how they performed.
The lawyers were upbeat. The jurors were engaged.
The judge was impartial and fair. The courtroom was still crowded with spectators.
The trial should be over by Friday. No, he would not predict the outcome.
Simon managed to sound confident, or least to fake it, but it was not easy. He could not control the terrible thoughts of his children hearing their father had been convicted of murder. They had done nothing to deserve such pain.
Neither had he.
Instead of a romp with Landy, he went to bed alone around 10 P.M. The hour did not matter because he could not sleep regardless. Landy didn’t help when she called at 11:17 and said, “We gotta talk.”
“Okay, we’re talking.”
“Do you think someone might be listening?”
For at least six months Simon had lived with the assumption that someone was always listening or watching online. “I don’t know. Hell, you’re the FBI.”
“There’s a Best Western on Brodnax Road, close to downtown. I’ll meet you in the lobby at midnight.”
“Must be important.”
“You’re not going to believe it.”
“I’m on my way.”
There was no one else in the lobby. Even the desk clerk had disappeared. Simon followed Landy up two floors to her room. She chained and locked the door. Her laptop was on the breakfast table, already open. She said, “We followed Matilda Clark after she left court.”
“Didn’t know you were working this case.”
“I’m not. Just a favor.” She pressed a key and said, “She went here and there, zigged and zagged, real suspicious-like, as if she didn’t want to be followed. She finally stopped at a Hampton Inn, a half a mile from here.”
The dark video showed Matilda in the lobby where she spoke to a man who could not be identified. They disappeared.
“Room 220. Occupied for the last three nights by one Jerry Korsak. You want to sit down.”
Simon took a seat.
After five more hours of no sleep, Simon showered and changed into the same suit and shirt he’d worn on Monday, drove to the Balfour Hotel, and walked into the lobby at dawn.
He found Raymond and Casey in a business-center conference room working on a tall thermos of coffee.
A platter of untouched pastries was nearby.
Raymond, red-eyed and haggard but not hungover, said, “Okay, we’re listening.”
Simon removed a legal pad from his briefcase and looked at the notes he had labored over for the past six hours.
“The first time I met Eleanor was March tenth, last year, in my office. She mentioned her two stepsons, Clyde and Jerry Korsak, but insisted on leaving them nothing. I encouraged her to leave a hundred thousand in cash to each one to prevent trouble.”
“Nice try,” Raymond said, like a real smart-ass.
“Thanks. She signed the will, life went on. On June fifteenth, Clyde came to town and assaulted Wally Thackerman in his office. Another story. Still no sign of his brother Jerry. Weeks pass. About that time I noticed that Matilda was looking pretty good. She was losing weight, going to the gym every morning, eating all manner of greens, dressing nicer. This came and went over the years as she bounced from one bad boyfriend to the other. She’s struggled to find Mr. Right. ”
“You ever touch her?” Raymond asked.
“None of your business but the answer is no.”
“The skinnier she got the happier too, and I suspected she had found a new guy. There had been several serious ones and I had learned not to ask. My marriage was in the tank and I didn’t want to talk about it.
We kept our private lives to ourselves. But it became so obvious that I was tempted to say something, but I bit my tongue.
Evidently, about this time, last summer or fall, she met Jerry Korsak. ”
Raymond said, “His brother’s a thug. What’s he like?”
“Much smoother. Nice-looking, well dressed, I’d guess about fifty years old. I met him only once. Last December, when Eleanor was in the hospital, he came to town and stopped by the office, said he’d been to see his ‘mom,’ as he called her. I had no idea he was also seeing Matilda.”
“You don’t know that he was.”
“No, I don’t. But it now looks suspicious. Earlier this year, after I got indicted, the law practice had dried up and I had to part ways with Matilda. At the time she said she was going to Sarasota or someplace down there to live with a friend.”
“And you haven’t spoken to her since?”
“Oh, yes, several times. We’re old friends. She worked for me for twelve years.”
Raymond was irritated by the diversion. “This is quite interesting but it doesn’t change a damned thing. We’re in the middle of a murder trial and now we learn this. We can’t ask for a time-out to chase down your ex-secretary and ask her who she’s sleeping with. This proves nothing.”
Casey wanted to disagree but could think of nothing to argue.
In the middle of a trial, it was far too late to discover new evidence that was potentially relevant.
If Simon were to be convicted, he might be able to point the finger at someone else on appeal.
If he were acquitted, it wouldn’t matter, at least not to him.
Raymond munched on a croissant, crumbs scattering around the table.
After a long silence in the tense room, he said, “Okay, boys, this is fascinating, but it leads to nowhere, at least not now in the middle of the trial. We have a full day of testimony ahead of us, and witnesses to confront. We’ll deal with it later. Let’s get our eyes back on the ball.”
Casey looked at Simon and asked, “You think Matilda and Jerry are behind the poisoning?”
“As of now, they’re the top suspects.”
“Later boys,” Raymond growled. “Eyes back on the ball.”
As was customary, the Commonwealth had issued subpoenas for more witnesses than it intended to call to the stand. One of them was Wally Thackerman.
The original copy of Eleanor’s will that Wally prepared two months before Simon typed one of his own had mysteriously disappeared.
It was generally thought that it would be with her other important papers, but was not found by Detective Roger Barr.
When Wally got his subpoena, he was compelled to appear to testify and instructed to bring his office copy of the will with him. He did not do so.
Raymond and Casey disagreed over whether the Commonwealth would actually call Wally to the stand. When Cora Cook resumed her case Wednesday morning, she announced, “Your Honor, the Commonwealth calls Mr. Walter Thackerman to the stand.”
Minutes passed as a bailiff found Wally in the hallway and dragged him in.
He took the stand and swore to tell the truth.
Weighing his words carefully, he told the story of his history with Eleanor Barnett.
She was a widow with no children and needed a simple will.
The same story she’d fed Simon two months later.
He marveled at her imagination, her thoroughness, and her scheming.
Most of Wally’s testimony was objectionable on the grounds of hearsay.
He was repeating statements made by a dead person.
However, neither side objected because both sides wanted the jury to hear the testimony.
The Commonwealth was attempting to prove that because of Eleanor’s apparent wealth both lawyers, Wally and especially Simon, were motivated by greed.
Because of her assets, a more complicated will was necessary, one that would generate plenty of fees.
The defense wanted Wally to portray Eleanor as a nutty old woman still dreaming of her lost fortune.
Cora asked, “And she signed the will you prepared for her on January seventh of last year, correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“And what happened to the original?”
“The client always keeps the original. I kept a copy.”
“Her original has not been found. Do you have any idea where it might be?”
Wally cast a casual look at Simon and coolly said, “I do not.”
“Where is your copy?”
“In my office. In Braxton.”
“You were supposed to bring it to court today.”
“I refuse to do so.”
“On what grounds?”
“On the grounds that it is my work-product and therefore privileged. The will has not been probated and is not public record. I have been charged with no crime. Therefore, my work-product is not discoverable.”
“Your Honor, I ask the court to order this witness to produce his copy of the will he prepared for Eleanor Barnett.”
Judge Shyam had been briefed on the issue by her clerk and did not hesitate. “Your request is denied. The will has not been probated and may never see the light of day. Therefore, it is still considered attorney work-product and privileged. Please proceed.”
Wally glanced again at Simon and gave a slight nod, as if to say, I’ll protect you. You protect me.
The dirty little secret of Wally’s gift of $485,000 to himself would remain buried.
Cora was frustrated but kept her cool. She asked Wally if he could describe in general terms how the money would be distributed by Eleanor’s will.
He launched into a windy summary of trusts and their beneficiaries, but continually scoffed at the notion that the money was actually there.
He defended his language that gave himself $750 an hour.
Yes, it was on the high end, but the work would be complicated.
Furthermore, estate lawyers in Washington and New York were charging more than that.
There was even a big firm right down the street in Virginia Beach in which the lawyers were billing a thousand bucks an hour.
At times he almost made $750 an hour sound like minimum wage.
Simon was amused and let Wally know it. One day, hopefully, they might be able to have a laugh over a beer.
During a recess, Raymond, Casey, and Simon debated how to handle Wally on cross. Simon said, “Leave him alone. He did nothing to hurt us.”
“What about his grab for half a million bucks?” Casey asked.
“Let it go. It doesn’t help us.”