Raymond took another large bite of his smoked tuna on rye and said, with a mouthful, “I don’t think so. The trial is going our way, Simon. I think the prosecution is out of witnesses. The last two helped us more than Cora. Her case is sputtering to a close.”

  “I don’t know. Casey?”

  “The Commonwealth has proven the facts that we stipulated to. It has done a decent job of making you look suspicious, but it has not placed you at the scene of the crime. And I agree with Raymond—they have nothing else. I’m pretty confident right now.”

  “So, will I testify?”

  “Do you want to?” Raymond asked.

  “What I want to do is save my neck, and I’ll do anything, and say anything, that will help me walk out of here a free man. Do you know what it’s like to think about going to prison for the rest of your life? Carry that around with you all day long, okay? Try to get a decent night’s sleep with that nightmare screaming at you. It’s terrifying. I’ll do anything, say anything.”

  * * *

  The final witness for the prosecution was Sami Lu, the eighteen-year-old daughter of Tan Lu, the restaurant owner. She had worked part-time in the family business since she could walk and would soon enroll at Virginia Tech with a full scholarship. Sami did not want to get involved in the trial and would not agree to testify; thus, she had been served with a subpoena. She took the stand holding some notes, copies of which had been provided to the defense.

  Cora asked her if she remembered serving the defendant and his client, Ms. Eleanor Barnett. She replied that she did not know the name of the client, but yes, they had eaten in the restaurant on three occasions the previous year and she had waited on them. Using her notes, she gave the dates and said that each meal was paid with Mr. Latch’s credit card.

  Almost on cue, Raymond stood, appeared to be thoroughly exasperated, and said, “Your Honor, please. Why are we wasting so much time?”

  “State your objection, Mr. Lassiter,” Her Honor said sharply, as if irritated by him.

  “Your Honor, we have tried and tried to stipulate that Simon Latch dined there several times, then later stopped on two occasions to buy two boxes of ginger cookies. He bought them for Ms. Barnett while she was in the hospital. But he didn’t poison them.”

  “That’s enough! Overruled. Please continue, Ms. Cook.”

  Sami produced the credit card receipts as the prosecutor projected them on the screen. Simon used the diversion to glance at the jury. Number two was Linda Garfield, age thirty-seven, a real estate appraiser for a bank, an attractive woman with large, sad, brown eyes. If it was possible to flirt with a cute woman sitting on your jury, then Simon had been flirting. There was no way Linda would convict him.

  Cora picked up two exhibits, the carryout containers for Tan Lu’s orders to go, and Sami identified them as being identical to the ones she had sold to Mr. Latch.

  At first, Raymond thought about waving off the witness and forgoing any cross-examination, but decided to poke some fun at the prosecution’s case. He ambled over to the podium and asked, “Now, young lady, who bakes these Saigon ginger cookies in your restaurant?”

  Sami offered a lovely smile, her first of the day, and said, “Oh, everyone. Me, my parents, my sister, my aunt. The entire family works in the restaurant.”

  “So you can bake these cookies all by yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “And for how long have you been doing this?”

  “I don’t know. Many years.”

  “What are the ingredients?”

  “White flour, cane sugar, brown sugar, butter, baking powder, eggs, ground ginger, molasses, a little salt, some ground cinnamon. I think that’s all.”

  “Sounds delicious. Do you need to use a recipe when you bake these cookies?”

  “No. I’ve done it many times.”

  “And they’re baked fresh every day?”

  “Yes.”

  “Approximately how many are baked each day?”

  “About ten dozen.”

  “Did you bake the cookies purchased by Mr. Simon Latch?”

  “Oh, there’s no way to know. We sell a lot of them and, as I said, the entire family works in the kitchen.”

  “Has anyone ever complained about getting sick from eating your cookies?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Are you familiar with a poison called thallium?”

  “No.”

  “Have you or anyone in your family ever added thallium to your cookies?”

  “No.”

  “So, as far as you know, when Mr. Latch bought the cookies, both to carry out and to eat in the restaurant, they were free of thallium and all other poisons?”

  “As far as I know, yes.”

  “Well, has Mr. Latch complained of being poisoned by your cookies?”

  “I don’t think so. Not to my knowledge.”

  “Thank you.”

  Judge Shyam said, “You may step down.”

  It came as no surprise when Cora stood and said, “Your Honor, the Commonwealth of Virginia rests.”

  Her Honor thought for a second as she reviewed some notes. She directed the bailiff to dismiss the jury, then adjourned until 9 A.M. Thursday morning. With the early adjournment, Simon, Raymond, and Casey disappeared into an empty courtroom down the hall. Raymond was of the opinion that the Commonwealth had mismanaged its case and allowed it to end without a punch. It simply ran out of gas. The last witnesses were ineffective and Cora Cook appeared to be stalling, trying to burn some clock.

  Casey was more pessimistic. Because he was not on his feet interrogating witnesses, he spent more time watching the jurors, and he was worried about most of them.

  Simon was still praying for a miracle but expecting the worst. From a third-floor window, he watched the news vans close up shop and leave the courthouse. When all was clear, he said, “I’m going for a drive. Call me if you need me.”

  Raymond said, “What about tomorrow? Do you want to testify?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll sleep on it. Let’s meet for coffee at seven and we’ll decide.”

  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.”

  Chapter 50

  The person who acquired the thallium and added it to the ginger cookies did so either in private or in Eleanor’s room when the hospital was quiet. Matilda was the only possible suspect who could have doctored the cookies either at the law office or at her apartment. But she was gone and no longer involved in the trial. There was not a speck of proof against her, only speculation. There was no procedural gimmick that would allow the defense to haul her back to court for more questions. And if there had been, why bother? She would simply take the stand again and deny every hint of culpability.

  Simon still found it difficult to believe Tillie was involved, but was wavering. Her little romance with Jerry Korsak added plenty of suspicion.

  What intrigued him were the comings and goings at the hospital. There was virtually no security or surveillance. Most of the doors to the patients’ rooms were partially open all the time and never locked.

  At his suggestion, the first witness for the defense was Loretta Goodwin, the charge nurse who supervised the east wing of the third floor of the hospital. Raymond had plenty of time and much ground to cover. He liked to roam his side of the courtroom, asking questions and listening as he gave various looks to the jurors.

  Loretta had been a registered nurse at the hospital for eight years and a floor supervisor for the past three. One of her duties was to coordinate care for her patients, including Eleanor Barnett. She met with Simon Latch on several occasions and was impressed with his willingness to help his client. She got the impression he did not want to be in the middle of Eleanor’s problems, but there was no one else. Loretta was in the room when Eleanor signed the advance directive and power of attorney, and, while it was an unusual event, she believed Simon was acting in the best interest of his client.

  Raymond belabored this to the point of overdoing it. Simon scribbled, “Okay, move on,” and Raymond must have read his mind.

  Raymond talked about the security at the hospital, the visitation procedures, the flow of traffic between the floors and down the halls. As in many hospitals, there was a constant stream of health care workers in and out of the rooms.

  How many? To prove that dozens of people had unlimited access to Eleanor’s room, Raymond went to the big screen. He began with a large color photo of Dr. Connor Wilkes, the CEO, a witness the jury had already met. Then Dr. Samuel Lilly, the attending physician. Then Dr. Joe Huber, the chief resident. With each, Raymond asked the same questions, which were becoming monotonous. Loretta patiently explained that the doctors had unlimited access to Eleanor’s room, as did the nurses, beginning with Loretta herself. She was amused to see her smiling face on such a large screen and quipped, “A bad hair day.” The jury thought it was funny. Two registered nurses followed. They were followed by four licensed practical nurses and four certified nursing assistants. Raymond asked what role each nurse played in Eleanor’s care, and Loretta patiently explained things to the jury. Blue Ridge Memorial had two NPs—nurse practitioners—who ranked above Loretta and periodically checked on Eleanor. Their faces went up on the screen.

  By ten-thirty, it felt like the entire hospital staff had been introduced to the jury. Finally, Ms. Cook had had enough and said, “Your Honor, this is all quite fascinating but I’m losing any sense of relevance here.”

  Judge Shyam said, “So am I. Mr. Lassiter?”

  Raymond anticipated the interruption and pounced. “Your Honor, we have the right to prove that as many as thirty hospital employees had unfettered access to Ms. Barnett’s room twenty-four hours a day with little or no surveillance, registration, or observation. We cannot prove, nor has the Commonwealth, who actually poisoned the deceased, but we can prove that her door was open at all times.”

  “That’s enough, Mr. Lassiter. I didn’t ask for a closing summation. Let’s take a break and we’ll continue in twenty minutes.”

  * * *

  A cup of coffee did nothing to throttle the defense. With Loretta back on the stand, Raymond picked up where he had left off. With photos, they introduced three nurse’s aides (uncertified), three orderlies who did a variety of jobs, two janitors assigned to the third floor, and five technicians who worked on every floor and could come and go as needed and for the most part went unmonitored.

  Finally, Raymond pressed a button and the screen disappeared. He went to the podium and flipped through some notes as the courtroom relaxed. That ordeal was over. He addressed the witness: “Ms. Goodwin, we’ve just introduced to the jury almost thirty hospital employees. Does every one of them record every visit to every patient’s room?”