Chapter 54
Teddy Hammer moved quickly. The following morning, he filed a petition to open the estate of Eleanor Barnett, who, he alleged, died without a valid will. Hammer sought to have Jerry Korsak appointed administrator of the estate.
The petition was the first shot in a legal battle that would probably drag on for years, like most probate matters. Hammer believed, as did Clement Gelly, that the estate could be liquidated and yield at least half a million in cash. Teddy wanted his share.
Cautiously, he opened his laptop and began reading dozens of emails, from friends, acquaintances, old clients, and current ones who were worried about their files. He fought the urge to check social media or scan the news. Why ruin another miserable day?
He busied himself with work that had to be done.
He prepared a form letter to his clients and explained that he was no longer in business and they would need to find another lawyer.
Since he was not about to unlock the front door, he promised to mail or ship their files to them.
He sent emails to opposing lawyers, clerks, magistrates, and judges, and apologized for the inconvenience.
He struggled through a short chat with Paula.
The kids were a mess and she did not want him to visit anytime soon.
He loved them more than anything, but he really didn’t want to face them.
A hard knock on the front door startled him. He let it pass.
Long after dark, he ventured out on foot and stealthily made his way to Raymond’s office.
Casey was visiting his current girlfriend and trying to make up for lost time.
Raymond’s wife preferred that he work at all hours and stay out of the house.
He was finishing a sandwich when Simon found him in the conference room, a layer of smoke from the first cigar already hanging above the long table. They poured themselves a bourbon.
After a long pull, Simon said, “If we’ve learned anything, it’s that we cannot assume anything. I was assumed to be the killer, and convicted because of it. We know it’s not true. Now, we’re assuming Matilda Clark was involved, with Jerry Korsak, and it might be a mistake to make this assumption.”
“I’ll play along. You got a better suspect?”
“Plenty. Let’s walk through this. I bought the cookies and Matilda delivered them to the hospital.
The killer had access to Eleanor’s room and saw the cookies.
I can’t believe that the killer had the nerve or the time to remove the twenty-four cookies from the two cartons and apply the thallium while in the room.
It makes more sense for the killer to notice the two cartons, go to Tan Lu’s and purchase identical ones, for cash of course, then take them home or wherever and add the thallium.
Then, at the right time, probably after midnight when the place is practically deserted, return to the room, and swap the cartons. ”
Raymond frowned as he listened and struck a match. “Seems as if I remember a similar conversation a month ago.”
“Yes, but a month ago neither you nor I thought it was possible that twelve jurors would vote to convict me. And we were wrong. Also, a month ago we didn’t have the time or money to investigate other suspects. Now, Raymond, things are radically different. We have to find the killer.”
“I thought you were convinced it was Matilda and Jerry Korsak.”
“They are the prime suspects, but what if we’re wrong? We investigate them, not sure how, but we’ll figure out something. At the same time, we widen the net.”
“How wide?”
“You showed the jury the faces of thirty doctors, nurses, and hospital employees who had access to Eleanor’s room. I thought it was a brilliant move and proved its point.”
“I guess the jury wasn’t impressed.”
“Guess not. I’ve combed the records again, every page, every word, and I’ve found three more names.
Total of thirty-three. I think we can safely eliminate the three hospital administrators and two secretaries.
Down to twenty-eight. A total of seven doctors either treated Eleanor or stopped by to take a look, pinging Medicare as they came and went.
Let’s cut the seven. Down to twenty-one.
She was a patient for two weeks and at least eight nurses are on record as having had something to do with her care.
For the sake of time, let’s take the eight off the list. I’ve found a dozen cases over the past fifty years where hospital nurses got rid of their patients, for all sorts of crazy reasons, but let’s not go there now.
Down to thirteen. There were three janitors on duty at various times, though they were not required to file reports.
They’re listed on the floor summaries. I don’t want to assume too much, but let’s assume these guys were not sophisticated enough to procure some black-market thallium.
Now we’re down to ten. Technicians and orderlies.
These folks know a lot about medicine and drugs, and, same as in every hospital, they had virtually complete access to Eleanor’s room. Are you with me?”
Raymond blew a cloud of smoke with his eyes closed. “I think so. Keep going.”
“So, let’s start with our top ten. Unfortunately, we know very little about them because we can’t access all of their employment records and history. We need to hack the hospital’s files.”
“Come on, Simon.”
“You don’t have to be involved. I’ll do it. Hell, what’s there to lose? Convicted of murder on Friday and sued for wrongful death today. A trifling hacking charge won’t faze me.”
“You’re on your own, pal. My firm will do whatever we can to help investigate any possible suspect, but we’re not risking anything. Are you asking for money?”
“No. I’m just thinking out loud, Raymond. The person who murdered Eleanor was in her hospital room. And it was someone who was supposed to be there, someone who was unnoticed, someone who didn’t care about security cameras, of which there are very few, I might add.”
“What about motive? It was argued that you had motive. Perhaps Matilda and Jerry had a motive. Why would a hospital employee want to poison an old woman who’s banged up anyway?”
“There’s no answer to that question. Nurses who kill their patients. Serial rapists who assault random women? Active gunmen killing schoolchildren? There are no motives. Some people are just plain sick.”
“Damned right about that, Simon. Look, we’ll do what we can. This loss stings, you know? You bear the brunt, but it’s a kick in my balls too. It’s a screwball verdict that should not have happened. I’m sorry, Simon.”
“Please don’t say that again, Raymond. I owe you a lot, remember. You did a marvelous job and we should’ve won.”
“Right. We should’ve won.”
After being closed for renovation, Chub’s had reopened.
If the sprucing up included new paint, carpet, furnishings, and a good power-wash to remove layers of nicotine stains, it was not immediately evident.
It all looked and smelled the same, which was not unpleasant.
The clientele was accustomed to a certain grunginess.
Simon had always suspected that Chub hurriedly closed his pub and left town to fake off the FBI, or at least cool their aggressiveness.
At the time, Chub had given Simon too much credit for calling off the dogs.
Now, Simon was back and needed a favor. He stopped in late Tuesday night and managed to avoid familiar faces. At the bar, Valerie gave him a big smile and said, “Well, well, already escaped?”
“Ha, ha. I don’t report for a few months.”
“Rumor was they hauled your ass out in chains, took you straight to death row.”
“And how reliable are rumors around here?”
“Extremely unreliable. Good to see you, Simon. I actually cried when I heard the news.”
“So did I. Bourbon and ginger ale.”
“You got it.”
“I don’t see Chub. Is he around?”
“Upstairs. I’ll get him.” She slid the drink across the bar and disappeared. Simon kept his eyes glued to a Dodgers game and hoped no one would bother him. He was glad it was baseball and not basketball; otherwise, he would be tempted to place a bet.
He had never been invited into Chub’s office.
One wall was nothing but blackened one-way glass that allowed the boss to watch the floor below.
One wall was framed autographed jerseys of famous football players.
One wall was covered with enlarged photos of Chub preening next to aging sports heroes, none of whom Simon recognized, and a few shady types who were probably either politicians or gang bosses.
One wall was adorned with autographed baseballs, basketballs, footballs, pennants, Super Bowl game programs, Kentucky Derby betting sheets, and so on.
They sat in comfortable chairs and sipped their drinks—bourbon and ginger ale for Simon, bottled beer for the boss. Chub said, “So sorry, man, I couldn’t believe it. Your lawyer said you’re gonna appeal and all that.”
“That’s the plan, but it’s a mountain to climb. I need some help, Chub.”
“Well, if it’s your office, stay as long as you want. I’m still working on plans to renovate, probably lease it as office space, maybe retail on street level. But I’m in no hurry.”
“Thanks, I really appreciate it. Right now I have no place else to go.”
“A bummer.”
“But that’s not why I’m here.” As always with Chub, Simon was wondering if someone else might be listening. He doubted it, though. And what did he care at this point? “I need some help and it involves a good hacker.”
Chub whistled as if stunned by the magnitude of the crime. As if bookmaking and running an illegal gambling business for the past thirty years were nothing compared to hacking. “Can’t help you, Simon. Don’t know nothing about hacking. Computers, man, that’s a different world.”
For at least the past ten years, Chub’s video poker machines had been rewired by a homemade software program that allowed him to keep tallies on his most active clients. This was not common knowledge, but the gamblers knew it. Yet he always pretended to be overwhelmed by technology.
Simon said, “I’m not asking you to get involved. I need Spade’s help. Spade knows the right people.”
“Yes, and he came very close to getting busted two years ago. He’s gun-shy. Can’t blame him.”
“Here’s what I’m asking, Chub. I want you to talk to Spade so I don’t have to.
Spade talks to a hacker. The hacker never knows my name, but he gives me a blueprint on how to hack into the personnel records of the hospital.
Spade breaks no laws, neither do you, neither does the hacker.
If I get caught, what the hell? I’m a convicted murderer headed to prison with nothing to lose. ”
“You wanna hack a hospital?”
“Yeah. I figure it’s an easy job.”
“Beats me, man. Not my world.”
“I know, but Spade lives there and he knows the right people.”
Chub took a swig from his bottle and stared at the wall of football jerseys. “What if Spade wants a fee?”
“Then remind Spade that I got the FBI off his back last December. Tell Spade that I was sleeping with the special agent, a woman, who was in charge of the investigation. You might want to remember that too.”
“Oh, I remember it well.” Another swig. “You were banging a Fibbie?”
“An old friend from law school. And, please, this needs to be kept quiet.”
“Who would I tell, other than Spade? All of my conversations are off the record, Latch. You know that.”
Of course. Either off the record or recorded by law enforcement.
“I do. Lean on Spade, Chub. I need some help. I’m rather desperate.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”