“Maybe so, but I have to start somewhere. I have a list of the ten names.”

  “Hard copy, nothing online, nothing in your computer. Everything leaves a trail, Simon, and I can find it.”

  Simon handed her a folded sheet of paper with the ten names. She took it, laid it on the table, then ignored it.

  “How long will this take?” he asked.

  “Are you in a hurry or something?”

  “Damned right I’m in a hurry.”

  “Same time tomorrow?”

  “Sure. That easy, huh?”

  She dismissed him with a look that said, Don’t doubt me.

  He wondered if the metal in her eyebrows somehow kept her from blinking. Her gaze was not altogether unpleasant, but he was finding it unsettling. Whatever pill she was taking to remain so calm and unconcerned was the one he wanted.

  From one criminal to another, he asked, “Do you worry about getting caught?”

  “Not really. It happens, but rarely. We’re light-years ahead of the cops. And if you get caught, like Cooley, my boyfriend, then you go to a nice federal camp and keep working in prison.”

  There was so much he didn’t know, and even more he didn’t want to know.

  * * *

  The following morning, they met at the same table and ordered the same drinks. Zander handed him a sealed manila envelope, eight-by-eleven, and said, “I’m afraid there’s not much there. Just the usual stuff—generic job applications, references, education, payroll information, a few disciplinary matters, all minor. Nothing that piqued my interest.”

  She spoke like she was now in charge of the investigation, which was fine with Simon. She worked in a world foreign to his, and if she wanted to dig in and help, go girl. “But what did you expect?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. There’s a level of desperation here, you understand?”

  “Sure, but you won’t find anything in the personnel files. If a bad actor works for the hospital and might have been involved in a poisoning, you won’t find anything useful in his file. What’s he gonna admit to? Favorite hobbies—mixing poison compounds? Collecting banned substances in the black market? Education—bounced from college chemistry for blowing up a lab.”

  What a smart-ass! Simon tried to suppress a smile as he admired her sarcasm and nerve. She was thoroughly unintimidated. He said, “I get that. I’m just beginning, okay? Gotta start somewhere.”

  “Well, you’re off to a bad start.”

  “I’m digging in other places.” He drank some coffee and tried to hold her gaze. She flicked her lazy eyelashes and asked, “So where would you look?”

  “Someone inside the hospital had the thallium. That person is a sicko who likes to poison, probably done it before.”

  “And you think that’ll be in the file?” she asked.

  “No, not at all. Are you always such a smart-ass?”

  “It’s likely. I talked to Cooley last night.”

  “Cooley has a cell phone?”

  “He has three, all contraband of course. You’d better bone up on this prison stuff. The guards smuggle in phones and sell them to the inmates.”

  “That’s nice to know.”

  “Some of the guards make a ton of money smuggling goods.”

  “I’ll remember that. What’s Cooley up to?”

  “He’s intrigued. Took him two hours to find a dealer for thallium, guy in Singapore. If you want, I can order some. Five hundred bucks for fifty grams.”

  Simon had to catch his breath as his thoughts scrambled.

  She continued, “You can’t order it because you’ll leave a trail. We don’t.”

  “Okay, but I think it’s too late for that. Let me think about it. It’s that easy?”

  “Oh no. It’s hard as hell. Far too complicated for the average hacker and impossible for a guy like you. It’s the dark, dark web, Simon. Don’t go there.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  She finished her tea and asked, “Are you in a hurry?”

  “Not at all.”

  She looked at an opening that apparently went to the kitchen and said, “Lois, more coffee and another tea, please.” Lois did not reply.

  Simon believed her but asked himself if he should be more cautious. It sounded so easy: an inmate in a federal prison with three cell phones and a computer, all contraband, goes into the dark web and locates a source of thallium in about two hours.

  They sat silently for a while, waiting on the refills. When Lois was gone again, Zander said, “Judging from what I’ve read, and again I’m suspicious of everything, it looks as though you bought the ginger cookies, your secretary took them to the hospital, and at that point everything was still okay.”

  “Assuming the secretary didn’t doctor the cookies.”

  “Is that a possibility?”

  “Remote.”

  “Okay, so your theory is that someone on the inside did the deed.”

  “Correct.”

  “We have work to do.”

  For some reason, Simon felt safer with a criminal like Zander on his side than with the FBI.

  Chapter 57

  Simon felt no loyalty to Eleanor Barnett. Her deceit had caused more problems than she could possibly have foreseen. However, the last will and testament he prepared for her was properly executed and legally valid, unless, of course, it could be proven that she was not mentally sound. That fight now belonged to someone else. But he would not sit idly by and allow Teddy Hammer and his bogus clients to plunder what was left of her diminished estate. Plus, he was about to be disbarred and sent away, so what the hell? He decided to thoroughly muddy the water and go out in a blaze of glory.

  He filed a petition to probate Eleanor’s will, along with the affidavits signed by the Larsons, plus one signed by him in which he attested to the “sound and disposing mind and memory” of the late Eleanor Barnett. Since there was no way Judge Pointer would appoint him as the executor, Simon asked the court to appoint Clement Gelly, who was still acting as the conservator. In a phone call, Judge Pointer was pleased to hear from Simon, even claimed to be concerned about him, and welcomed him, and Eleanor’s will, into the fray. She scheduled the initial probate hearing for June 17 and notices were sent. As expected, it drew a crowd of reporters and other courthouse regulars.

  Simon knew his days in the courtroom were numbered. He would be forced to appear before Judge Shyam on August 22 for his sentencing, and he assumed that would be his last time in court. For the initial hearing in the probate matter, in his home courtroom, he was determined to look sharp and act as if life was swell. He had told Paula and the kids that his chances on appeal were excellent and his conviction would be set aside soon enough. He had refused to say a word to any reporter. He avoided them and entered the courthouse through a side door, then hurried upstairs to the main courtroom.

  Judge Pointer called things to order, welcomed the large crowd, and thanked everyone for their attendance and their interest in making sure the judicial system worked properly. Of course, the crowd had no such interest. They were there to have a look at the lawyer who poisoned his wealthy widow client and got convicted of her murder. Everyone was working on a story. Simon knew all eyes were on him. The locals—lawyers, clerks, courtroom regulars—were, as a group, dumbfounded that Simon Latch, one of their own, had managed to get himself in such hot water. They found it difficult to believe that he was headed for prison. The others—reporters, journalists, true-crime hucksters—were there because they smelled blood and wanted a fresh angle.

  Wally Thackerman sat low in the back row, curious as hell but still unwilling to step forward with his version of Eleanor’s will, primarily because he had no idea what would happen if he did so. The chances of him cashing in on his scheme seemed remote. The chances of getting embarrassed seemed rather high.

  As the petitioner, Simon was allowed to speak first. Without referring to his problems, he explained to Judge Pointer that on March 27 of the previous year, the decedent, Eleanor Barnett, signed a last will and testament that he had prepared himself. It met all of the statutory requirements. He offered it as Exhibit A and she accepted it into evidence. In quick order, Simon called Tony Larson to the stand and quizzed him about his involvement in meeting Eleanor Barnett and witnessing her signing the will. His wife, Mary Beth Larson, was next, and explained that their good friend Mr. Latch, the lawyer next door, often asked them to step over and witness wills. She was quite impressed with Eleanor Barnett and had no doubt that she was in her right mind and knew exactly what she was doing. They even walked around the corner and had a nice lunch together afterward.

  Once the will was admitted for probate, the question became: Who would serve as the executor or the administrator? The will named Simon as the executor, but that did not seem feasible. An administrator was needed, and Simon argued that Clement Gelly should be appointed. Clement took the stand and agreed to continue with the estate.

  Teddy Hammer wanted Jerry Korsak to have the job and to control the estate’s affairs. However, he was afraid to put him on the stand. At that point, Simon would be allowed to grill him, and the results would likely be disastrous.

  Teddy said, “Your Honor, we have confidence in Mr. Gelly and will agree to his appointment as administrator. The much larger issue is the validity of this will. We plan to file an objection to it and demand a trial.”

  “On what grounds?” Judge Pointer asked.

  “On the grounds of undue influence. Ms. Barnett was under the complete control of Mr. Latch when she signed her will. At trial we plan to prove that at the time it was drafted, Mr. Latch was laboring under the false assumption that his client was quite wealthy. The language of the will gives him extraordinary power, along with the opportunity to earn substantial fees for representing not only her estate, but also the trust it created. He was after her money, Your Honor, plain and simple.”

  The last thing Simon wanted at that point in his life was to sit through another trial, especially one where he was the sole target. And he would not sit through the will contest. He really didn’t care who got the money or how much was actually out there.

  He managed to mute Teddy Hammer and tune out everyone else. For a moment he was pleased to be making his exit, albeit a rather unexpected one, from the legal profession. The lawyers—they do go on and on.

  Let the vultures fight over Eleanor’s remains.

  Chapter 58

  The airtight conviction of Simon Latch began to crack late one summer night in Raymond’s office. Cigar smoke boiled from the open windows. His staff was long gone. Soft bluegrass echoed through the speakers. It was almost 10 P.M. and Raymond was reading the latest decisions from the state supreme court, a boring habit he had not broken in almost fifty years. He still loved the law and kept abreast of its changes.

  He heard a knock at the front door. Normally, he would have ignored it and waited for the person to go away, but for some reason he was curious. Something told him to check it out. With a cigar in his mouth and a drink in his hand, he waddled to the front and opened the door. Standing there was a young lady he recognized from somewhere but couldn’t immediately place.

  “Good evening, ma’am,” he said, always the gentleman, especially around women.

  “I’m Loretta Goodwin, a nurse at the hospital. We met at the trial last month.”

  His plans to shoo away the visitor changed quickly. “Of course, of course. Please come in.”

  Hit with the aromas of smoke and bourbon, Loretta stood her ground. “No, I’ll just be a minute. I’m trying to get in touch with Simon Latch, but he won’t answer his phone and I have no idea where he is.”

  Raymond knew immediately that something was up. “Well, I’m sure I can find him. Is this about his trial?”

  She glanced around, hesitated, and answered the question with her eyes. “I need to talk to him.”

  “Okay. I’m happy to make contact, but he’ll want to know what’s up. For a lot of reasons, he stays buried in his office these days. Talks to very few people.”

  She was nervous and uncertain. Raymond said, “Look, if it’s about his case, we don’t have time to play games. If it’s not about his case, he has no interest.”

  “It’s about Ms. Barnett.”

  “Come in and have a seat. I’ll call Simon.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Simon appeared. His shirt was damp with sweat and he said he’d been out for a long walk. Always after dark.

  Loretta was uncomfortable, but also resolved. She began by saying to Simon, “When we met in the hospital last December, I already knew who you were. Several years ago my uncle had a boundary dispute with a neighbor. We live out in Beeno, a whole slew of Goodwins out there. Kind of a clannish bunch. Anyway, my uncle hired you to represent him and you got things settled in a proper way without charging a lot of money. He had good things to say about you. It’s not easy hiring a lawyer when you don’t know much about the law and don’t know how much it’ll cost. So, anyway, I knew who you were when you came to take care of Ms. Barnett. We, the staff, were suspicious when you got her to sign those papers while she was in bad shape, but we were surprised when they accused you of the poisoning. We figured the police knew what they were doing.”

  “Who is ‘we’?” Simon asked.

  “The staff, everyone around the patient. As you know, a lot of people come and go at all hours.”

  “I tried to sleep there one night. Impossible.”

  “By the time the trial was over, we assumed the police and prosecutor got things right. We talked about how sad it all was, nice lady, our patient, being killed like that, and you, a nice lawyer, guilty of it. But I always had a nagging doubt. Something told me it was somebody else.”

  A long pause. Finally, Raymond asked, “Was it somebody else?”

  “I don’t know. But there’s a guy.”

  * * *

  She talked about him for a long time without giving a name. He was an X-ray technician who’d been at the hospital for a couple years. There were three technicians in his group and they worked all wings of the hospital, so he was not limited to the third floor where Eleanor was a patient. He was thoroughly nondescript, the kind of person you would never notice in any situation. Said little, not the least outgoing, wouldn’t speak unless spoken to, sort of edgy though. Since the nurses and their assistants routinely gossiped about everyone else who roamed the halls, they had mentioned him a few times. He was single and got pretty low marks on personality, even lower on good looks. But, she now remembered three events that might be relevant.

  One day in the lounge the staff was lunching on free pizza from a local restaurant. About a dozen were there in a relaxed atmosphere. This guy was on the fringe, eating, listening, saying nothing. It was the week before the trial and the gossip centered around nothing else. The mood was clearly against Simon Latch. Everyone was buying the same greedy-lawyer narrative that had been plastered in the newspapers the previous weeks. They had a mock verdict, with each person allowed to chime in. Most voted for guilt. A couple were undecided. This guy wouldn’t say, but it was clear, at least to Loretta, that he didn’t think Simon was guilty. Throughout the discussion she noticed him several times, always shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

  She flashed back to Christmas, when Ms. Barnett was a patient and not doing well. Loretta saw the guy leave her room late one afternoon, all alone and carrying nothing. She checked the charts and saw that the patient had not had an X-ray in three days. There was no reason whatsoever for this guy to be in her room. It was unusual, though not that suspicious.

  Then, a week or so after the trial, some of the boys from the hospital were in a bar late on a Friday night, drinking beer. Saturday was an off day, and they decided to break bad. The guy was with them, though he rarely hung out with anyone at the hospital. The bar closed, they were still thirsty, and they ended up at the apartment of one of the male ER nurses. The beer was losing its effect so they switched to vodka shots. Somehow thallium became the topic and they talked about the poisoning of Ms. Barnett. The guy knew a lot about various poisons, their prevalence, legalities, histories, and effects on human bodies. He claimed that thallium was not that difficult to find. At some hazy point in the early hours of Saturday, a bag of pills hit the table and was passed around. Bennies, Mollies, mud, cubes, who knew what else? There was also cocaine, and someone said something like “Gee, hope it’s not thallium we’re snorting.” As the hell-raisers began passing out, someone heard the guy say, “I promise you that lawyer didn’t poison the old gal,” or something to that effect.

  Around noon Saturday, as they staggered forth in their stupors, they realized the guy had already left. They could not imagine him leaving in his condition, and they spent an hour or so chugging coffee and talking about some of the things he had said.

  Loretta was quick to acknowledge that most of her information was secondhand at best, but she believed it anyway. Why, other than being drunk, would the guy know so much? Her source was the ER nurse, a trustworthy pal she had known for about five years. He was bothered by some of the things the guy said, at least as much as he could remember.

  At work the following Monday, the guy kept away from his drinking buddies and fell into his usual routine of saying little and acting detached. The ER nurse described him as being “downright weird.”

  His name was Oscar Kofie. Simon remembered meeting him in Eleanor’s room not long after she was admitted. He and another technician were in the process of returning her after more X-rays. She had referred to them—Bill and Oscar—as her new friends. Oscar Kofie, an unusual name, and one that Simon had run across digging through the hospital’s records.

  As lawyers, Simon and Raymond immediately recognized the potential danger facing Loretta and her story. If it led to the investigation and, hopefully, conviction of Kofie, the hospital would be liable for the death of Eleanor Barnett.