by Andrew Price
“It doesn’t. It means we have a bigger obligation to confess, that’s all.”
“How the hell do you figure that?”
“That should be obvious,” Beckett replied condescendingly.
“Evan, they aren’t punishing him because of what we did. They’re punishing him because of what he did. They’re punishing him because he killed three people.”
“There’s no proof of that.”
“Yes, there is!”
“No, there isn’t. Their proof is falling apart everywhere we look. It doesn’t matter anyway.”
“It does matter, Evan!” Corbin shouted. He pulled the car over to the side of the road. “You’re playing this damn game with our lives. You want to be a Goddamn martyr, but you’ve made a mistake: the man you’re trying to save is a monster who needs to be killed, not saved. You’re going to drag everyone else down if you keep this up – me, my friend, yourself, your wife, everyone.”
“I’m not going to drag anyone else down with me. If I have to confess, I won’t attempt to absolve him of his sins. If I need to confess, I’ll confess to my own crimes, nothing more.”
“You’re risking seventy-five years, Evan! Seventy-five years!”
“I know that.”
“But you’re not hearing me. This crime isn’t worth seventy-five years. This crime is a slap on the wrist crime. The only reason seventy-five years is on the table is Beaumont’s a damn monster.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. When this was two years tops, I could maybe see your point. I couldn’t agree with it, but I could see it. But now you’re talking about seventy-five years, and that’s all because Beaumont is a murdering rapist. Those extra seventy-three years end any obligation you ever had.”
“You’re wrong. They only enhance our need to do the right thing.”
“Bullshit! Seventy-five years has nothing to do with our crime. It’s not our crime anymore!”
“You’re wrong, Alex. They’re using what we did to get to him. We have an obligation to set that right, whatever the consequences,” Beckett replied angrily.
“That’s bull! If this guy wasn’t a criminal, they never would have come after him. And don’t forget he stole our documents from the mailbox. He committed his own crime. Sure, so did we, but he committed the same damn crime on top of ours. He’s the thief who stole from thieves. We’re not responsible for him. Let him do the time for his own crimes. If they catch us too, then so be it, but there’s no reason for us to put our necks into a noose to protect him from crimes he committed.”
“Without our crimes, he couldn’t have committed these crimes.”
“That’s not true! He would have just used different accounts.”
“But he didn’t.”
Corbin took a deep breath. His voice became deep and threatening. “I’m not sticking my neck into a noose he created, and I won’t let you stick my neck in there either.”
“You’re free to leave at any time.”
Each could hear the other breathing heavily. Behind Corbin’s left side, where Beckett couldn’t see, the fingers on Corbin’s left hand clawed into his palm. They sat in silence.
“I told you before, I’m not going to implicate you,” Beckett finally said. “If we get to a point where the only way to save him is for me to confess, I will confess. . . but I’ll tell them I worked alone.”
“And you don’t think they’re going to zero right in on me?”
“No, I don’t. But if you think that’s going to happen, then you need to help me save Beaumont or you need to leave right now.”
“I’m going to help, that’s why I’m here,” Corbin said. “But if you decide you’re going to confess, I need a day’s notice to get the hell out of here before you do it.”
Beckett agreed.
Corbin paced back and forth in his hotel room. He was still angry from his earlier argument with Beckett. He’d debated if he was even in the right frame of mind to call Alvarez, but ultimately made the call, though he knew he shouldn’t have. The conversation wasn’t going well.
“Tell me again why you’re investigating his old crimes?” Alvarez asked. He kept peppering Corbin with questions Corbin didn’t feel like answering.
“Because the judge won’t tell us how far he’ll let the prosecutors go in terms of using evidence of his prior crimes,” Corbin said crankily. “We need to assume they’re going to bring in everything he’s done, and we need to be ready to poke holes in all of it.”
“But I thought you couldn’t talk about prior crimes? That what everybody says.”
“You can in some circumstances,” Corbin lectured Alvarez. “If you’re proving a pattern of behavior or if you need to use the prior conduct to show something like opportunity – like access to a weapon, then you can bring it in. That’s why they included the weapons charge. They want to use it as a wedge to bring in his prior arrests.”
“How?”
“Because he was caught with a gun each time, but he denies every owning a gun. So either he pleads guilty to the weapons charge or they bring in all the evidence related to his prior arrests.”
“Wow, that sucks.”
“Yeah. The judge will instruct the jury that they can’t consider his prior arrests as proof of guilt for the current charges, but there’s no way a jury can separate that out.”
“Is he going to plead guilty to the weapons charge?”
“No, he won’t plead to anything, no matter how much it might help him. He’s playing an all or nothing game.”
Alvarez changed the topic. “You said, Beckett thinks he’s innocent?”
“Of some of it.”
“Does that change your thinking?” Alvarez sounded like he wanted assurance.
“No. I’m not doing seventy-five years for anyone. Besides, even if he didn’t commit the murders, he did most of what they’re accusing him of doing. The cops don’t just pick you out of a crowd to make you a target; you earn that kind of trouble. Don’t forget, he’s guilty of stealing this information from the mailboxes and using it to steal money. He’s not innocent.”
“What if—”
“I’ll tell you something else,” Corbin said, cutting Alvarez off. “He could have taken the two-year offer and he wouldn’t be facing any of this! So fuck him!”
“Beckett won’t change his mind about turning himself in?”
“No, he’s more convinced than ever.”
“Can we still afford to wait?”
“For now. He agreed to give me one day’s notice. That gives us time to act,” Corbin said, though his tone was less than convincing.
“I don’t believe him. He’s too erratic. There’s nothing to keep him from confessing without telling you.”
“What do you want me to do about it?!”
“You know what I want,” Alvarez said cautiously.
A tense silence passed between them.
Alvarez continued: “You’re going to some dangerous places to interview witnesses. There’s no reason something couldn’t happen to him as you’re walking up the stairs in one of those damn tenements.” He paused. “You know what the cops would think.” He paused again. “Then we’re free, the ordeal’s over. No one could blame you if you dropped the case. Or hell, just get him convicted. Either way, we’d be clear.”
Corbin looked toward the suitcase in which his gun was hidden. He hadn’t touched the gun since arriving in Philadelphia, though he stared at the suitcase every night. “We can wait.” He hung up the phone before Alvarez could respond. He pulled up Penny’s number on his cell phone, but hesitated before hitting dial. Slowly, he closed the phone without making the call. “Not tonight.”
Chapter 31
Paul Webb sat on a wooden bench outside the courtroom. He was here to handle a series of traffic violations. As he looked over his notes, Hillary Morales walked up to him. Webb didn’t like Morales as she was rarely pleasant with him. She was particularly unlikable today.
&
nbsp; “Officer Webb,” she said abruptly.
“Assistant District Attorney,” Webb acknowledged her.
“I understand you met with Washington Beaumont’s attorneys.” She set the file she was holding down on the bench next to Webb and positioned herself so he couldn’t stand up without bumping into her.
“Did I?”
“Yes, you did,” she responded humorlessly.
Webb shook his head. “I don’t know who told you that? I haven’t met with anyone.”
“You forget, I’m the one who told you about the request for a meeting, and I personally gave you Beckett’s cell phone number.” She left no doubt this was an accusation.
“I am aware of that, but I never called him,” Webb lied.
“You never contacted him?” She frowned and folded her arms. She looked down and began kicking the heel of her boot against the tile floor, causing a sharp noise to echo throughout the already-noisy hallway. She waited for him to respond.
Webb looked around to see who could hear them. The hallway was full of attorneys engaged in their own conversations. He looked Morales straight in the eyes and spoke loudly enough for everyone in the hallway to hear: “You told me I had no obligation to meet with the defense attorney. You made it clear I was not to call him and tell him what I witnessed.”
It is unethical for attorneys to discourage witnesses from talking to opposing counsel. When Webb spoke, several of the attorneys gathered in the hallway looked his way.
Morales’ face burned bright red. “I did no such thing,” she hissed. She leaned in close to him, grabbing the back of the bench for support. “I’m telling you, Webb, I want to know what he told you and what you told him, or there’s going to be hell to pay. Do you understand me?!”
“I told you, I never met with him.”
“I don’t believe you,” she spat out menacingly.
He let out a half-laugh. “I don’t care. I never met with any of ’em.”
“Then why did Russell tell me you did?”
“I wouldn’t know. Ask Russell.”
“Don’t play games with me, Webb! If you’re holding out on me—”
Webb rose from the bench, causing Morales to step backward awkwardly. “Lady, playing games with you is the last thing I want to do. I can’t even stand talking to you.” As he walked away, down the hallway toward the courtroom, he called back over his shoulder: “You tell Russell, if he has a problem with me, he should come after me himself. Don’t send his fuckin’ lawyer.”
Corbin stood in the doorway of Beckett’s office. Beckett was on the phone, but was on hold.
“Did you call Saitoo?” Corbin asked.
“No, we can’t use him or his witnesses,” Beckett replied, rolling his eyes.
“That doesn’t give us much of a defense, does it?”
There was a voice on the line. Beckett jerked straight up in his chair. “Yes, hello. I’m trying to reach Loretta Shapiro.”
“Ms. Shapiro is out of the office. Can I help you?”
“I hope so. My name is Evan Beckett. I’m an attorney. I’m trying to find out about an old investigation performed by your office.”
“Our investigations are confidential,” replied the woman.
“I’m aware of that. I can also send over a subpoena if need be, but before I waste everyone’s time, I just want to make sure my information is right. . . I know how busy you all are,” Beckett added, trying to smooth the conversation.
After a pause, the woman said: “What’s the name?”
“The mother would be CarrieFey Benz, but I doubt she was even investigated, to tell the truth.”
“Benz? Yeah, it looks like she was investigated.”
“Does it say who got the investigation started?”
“No, this computer doesn’t do that. I’d have to pull the file.”
“Can you do that?” Beckett asked hopefully.
“I’ll need the subpoena first,” she replied.
Beckett agreed and the women told him where to send it and what details to include to get the right file. He grinned at Corbin. “Did you hear that? It looks like CarrieFey Benz was investigated. That’s another one Beaumont might be telling the truth about.”
“We’ll see. Let’s wait until we see the report.”
The following morning, Corbin and Beckett sat on the bench outside the judge’s chamber. Hillary Morales stood silently at the other end of the hallway. None of them knew why Judge Sutherlin had summoned them. Finally, they were called into the office.
“Good morning, counselors,” Judge Sutherlin said, glancing over the top of his glasses. “I’ve been looking over the motions to dismiss filed by the defense, and I need more information. Counselor, have you had a chance to review the defendant’s motions?” he asked Morales.
“Yes, Your Honor,” she replied.
The judge pushed his glasses further up his nose and flipped through the file on his desk. “Ms. Morales, I don’t see how you’re going to prove these accounts were stolen in the first place.”
Morales looked stunned. She clutched her pen so tightly that it bent under the pressure, causing blue ink to leak out onto her blood-red pantsuit.
The judge continued: “I don’t see any witnesses on your list who can say their identities were stolen. Where are the people whose identities were used? Without testimony from those witnesses, I need to think strongly about dismissing this case. Are you planning on bringing any such witnesses?”
“Yes, Your Honor, we will bring those witnesses,” Morales assured him, though she clearly had no idea if she could keep that promise.
“I certainly hope so.”
Corbin’s face turned red with anger and he started to speak, but Beckett cut him off. Beckett looked worried. “Your Honor, could we have a five minute break?”
The judge looked at his watch. “Five minutes.”
The conference room they normally used was occupied, so Corbin and Beckett headed to the restroom next to the judge’s chamber. Inside, they found a clerk sitting on the ledge smoking. The clerk had figured out how to open the window, mercifully allowing cold outside air to offset the ultra-steamy air leaking out of the damaged radiator.
“If you’ll excuse us, we need to discuss something before we go back to see the judge,” Beckett told the clerk.
The clerk tossed the cigarette out the window, into the dumpster below, and walked out without a word. Beckett locked the door behind the clerk, as Corbin closed the window so their voices wouldn’t carry to any other open windows. It took him a few seconds to figure out how the clerk managed to get the window open and reverse it.
“That son of a bitch!” Corbin whispered angrily. “Sutherlin just told them how to try their case. He saw they couldn’t prove a necessary element of the crime and he just warned them. He told them what he wants to see!”
“Calm down.”
“I am calm,” Corbin replied tensely.
Beckett jammed his hands into his worn navy-blue suit pants and shook his head. “I don’t care about the heads up from the judge. That stinks, but that’s life. What I am concerned about is the prosecutor calling people we know as witnesses.”
Corbin froze as he grasped the meaning of Beckett’s words. To satisfy the judge’s demand for witnesses whose identities had been stolen, Morales and Pierce would need to call Corbin and Beckett’s coworkers from the Washington office as witnesses.
“How the hell do we explain that?!” Beckett asked rhetorically. “This could be bad.”
“Ya think?!” Corbin replied sarcastically. He glared at Beckett. Hate registered in his eyes, but Beckett didn’t notice.
Beckett bit his lip. “If they start calling people from the office to come testify, it would take a fool not to put two and two together and start wondering how you and I could be defending someone in another city, who just happens to be accused of stealing their identities. No one will see that as a coincidence.”
“And once they start asking questions
, the prosecution’ll start asking questions. I told you this was a horrible idea!” Corbin growled. He took a deep breath. “What are our options?” he demanded. “Do we find some reason to withdraw?”
Beckett stared at the floor.
“Shit!” Corbin said to no one in particular. “Is there anything we can do to keep them from testifying?” he asked himself aloud.
Beckett snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it!”
“What?”
“We stipulate that the accounts belong to these people.”
“How does that help?”
“If we stipulate, then the fact is presumed to be true and the prosecutor doesn’t need to bring the witnesses to prove it. That means they don’t need to bring anyone from Washington. In fact, they can’t bring them or we could object that their testimony is unnecessarily cumulative.”
“Are you sure?” Corbin asked, carefully enunciating each word.
Beckett nodded his head. “Yes.”
“How do we know they won’t try to bring them anyway?”
“We don’t. But there wouldn’t be much point doing that, because they couldn’t testify. They would just be wasting money.”
“Do you think the prosecutor will agree?”
“I don’t know about Pierce, but I know Morales will, if we offer it to her right now. She looks worried. I’m betting she doesn’t want to admit to Pierce she made a huge mistake that requires him to pay for a dozen out-of-state witnesses.”
Corbin raised his hand as if to make a point, but stopped himself. “It’s your decision.”
Beckett approached Morales, who sat on the wooden bench waiting for the judge to call them back into his chamber. She was writing in a file.
“I’ve got a proposal for you.”
“I’m listening,” she replied curtly, without looking up.
“There’s no reason this trial needs to last ten days just so you can go through a parade of out-of-state witnesses who only need to say their identities were stolen. We’re willing to stipulate that these witnesses are the real people whose identities were stolen.”
Morales flipped through her file trying to give the impression she was reluctant to accept the offer, but her nervous foot tapping gave away her real mindset. “All right, but I’m not offering anything in return,” she said, although her tone suggested she would listen to any reasonable counteroffer.