Chapter 49
For a moment, he thought he was being followed by a blue Impala, but it soon disappeared into traffic south of Norfolk.
He zigzagged at random to be safe, and finally relaxed on a county road near Suffolk.
For three hours he drove at a leisurely pace through the peanut farms and tobacco fields of southern Virginia.
It was a perfect spring day and life would have been something quite pleasant, but for the horror of tomorrow when his future would be handed to twelve ordinary people, a jury of his peers.
He replayed every witness and every word of testimony he could remember.
At times the past three days were a blur.
A moment later, he could recall the attire of every witness and hear their voices.
The Commonwealth’s case was heavy on suspicion and motive, but severely lacking on direct proof.
Sure, he bought the damned cookies, and gave them to Tillie who took them to Eleanor, who ate them and died.
But the crucial part about the poisoning had been botched by the prosecutor and her team.
They simply had no proof, primarily because there was no proof.
Simon had nothing to do with her death, and the fact that he was even suspected of it still made him burn.
The possibility of being convicted of it was overwhelming.
Paula had moved the kids into a three-bedroom apartment in a new complex on the eastern edge of Danville. A crowd of young singles lounged around the pool, sipping beer and listening to music. On a playground nearby, toddlers swung and seesawed as their mothers chatted.
Not a bad place and very far from Braxton.
Buck answered the door and gave his dad a hug, one he meant, and he was soon joined by Danny and Janie.
Simon was determined not to get emotional and tried to keep things light.
Paula was at the stove cooking pasta. For a few hours, they felt like a family again, eating slowly and talking about life—school, the new town, new friends, and old ones from Braxton.
Janie asked if they were ever going back there, even referred to it as “home.”
With one week left in the school term, homework was not a priority.
After the dinner table was cleared, they sat for a long time and talked about the trial.
Simon went through each witness and gave honest assessments.
He explained that his defense would begin first thing in the morning and would not take long.
He didn’t have to prove anything. He was presumed to be innocent, and was in fact innocent.
The burden was on the prosecution, and his lawyers thought the Commonwealth had not done an effective job.
The kids believed every word he said. Paula had repeatedly assured them that their father would never commit such a crime.
Simon asked about the media coverage and said he had ignored most of it.
Buck said there was still plenty of it in the Washington and Richmond press, but nothing much in Danville.
After all, it was a small town. Danny said the online stuff was terrible so stay away. Simon had no plans to take a look.
The conversation drifted to the end of school and summer plans.
The year before, the family had gone camping and canoeing in the Smoky Mountains, and, in spite of the friction between the mother and the father, they had enjoyed themselves.
Simon hoped they could do it again, though sharing a tent with Paula was not going to happen.
His heart ached for his children. They had done nothing to deserve the unfairness of being forced to flee their home and listen to the crap about their father. And if he was convicted, they would be scarred for life.
They talked and talked and couldn’t get enough of their time together. They were starved for his attention. At 10:45, Paula finally said, “Fifteen more minutes, then lights out.”
When they were finally in bed, he said, “We need to talk.”
“Okay. There’s no booze.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Do I?”
“You’re okay. How about coffee?”
“Decaf?”
“Even better.”
When they were sure the kids were asleep, Simon said, “I think Tillie may have been involved in Eleanor’s death.”
Her mouth dropped open but she didn’t speak.
“It’s a long story.”
“I’m listening.”
He slept on the sofa, the same one he and Paula had purchased on sale in Braxton years earlier when the kids were small and life was much less complicated.
But sleep was only a goal. At 3 A.M., he finally got up and quietly left the apartment.
Driving away, he wondered when he would see his kids again.
It could be as soon as the weekend, assuming his trial ended well.
Or, it could be weeks, months, or years.
In the early days of his practice, he had a court-appointed criminal client who pled guilty and went to prison.
Simon liked the guy and they kept in touch with mail and an occasional phone call.
The client left behind a wife and kids, and he would not allow them to visit him in prison.
He missed them greatly, but didn’t want them to see him in prison clothes.
Six years passed before he was paroled and went home.
Six years? Simon was facing a lifetime behind bars.
Pushing the speed limit, he made it to his hotel by dawn, showered and changed, and met his lawyers at 7 A.M. for breakfast. As soon as the waitress walked away, Raymond said, “We are of the opinion that you should not testify.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ve tried a thousand cases, Simon, and I can remember only a handful in which the defendant helped himself by taking the stand.
When they do so, they become fair game for a brutal cross-examination, one the prosecutor has been planning from day one.
There will be traps, trick questions, insinuations, arguments, retorts, irrelevant comments.
Of course, I’ll be there to object and raise hell, but in the end we’ll probably wish you had stayed in your seat. ”
Simon looked at Casey and asked, “And you?”
“You’re a lawyer, Simon, and half the jury will suspect you’re not being truthful just because you’re a lawyer.
You’re fighting for your life and you’ll say anything to stay out of prison.
But you’ve never been cross-examined like this before.
Some of your actions look suspicious on the surface.
By the time they’re hashed and rehashed on cross-examination, they’ll look even more damning.
I agree with Raymond on this one. Let’s play it safe and keep attacking the Commonwealth’s case. ”
Simon looked at Raymond and asked, “If the jury voted right now, what’s the score?”
Raymond took a sip of coffee and closed his eyes. “Eight to four to acquit.”
Casey asked, “Who are the four to convict?”
With no hesitation, Raymond replied, “Two, four, seven, and eleven.”
Casey said, “I’ll take those four and add eight and nine.”
For a second Simon felt like he was at a poker table with two professionals. He flashed back to those halcyon times at Chub’s when he played video poker for hours while drinking bourbon and ginger ale and watching three games on the big screens.
But it was his life they were betting on.
Casey said, “I’ve never liked this jury. I’d say a six-six split.”
“So no acquittal?” Simon asked.
“No acquittal, no conviction. A hung jury with a retrial later this year and a better jury.”