Without a Hitch

by Andrew Price

  “What do you mean?” Corbin asked.

  “I mean, look at you! You’re all pale, like you’re sick. You look five years older and worn out.” She reached over and touched his forehead. “You’ve even got some gray hairs.” She brushed the back of her fingers against his cheeks. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “No, no trouble.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you sick?”

  “No. Just tired.”

  “You look more than tired. Have you seen a doctor?”

  “No, I’m fine. It’s just been stressful.”

  “What’s happening, Alex? You really don’t look good.”

  Corbin took a deep breath. “It’s just the people I’m dealing with, and my aunt’s getting sicker.” His mouth went dry. “I don’t think she’s going to make it.”

  “Oh no!”

  Corbin looked at Penny. Oddly, the more sympathetic she became, the more uncomfortable he became. His eyes shifted around. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he said, trying to defuse her sympathy.

  “Of course it is!” she protested. Penny moved her chair next to his and threw her arms around him. Corbin hugged her back, though he felt strangely detached. Indeed, his thoughts were elsewhere. He wondered what he might have to do about Molly.

  Chapter 34

  Monday morning was overcast. It remained bitterly cold, except in the courthouse, which was oppressively hot. Stepping onto the elevator, Corbin and Beckett ran straight into Paul Webb. Beckett greeted Webb, but Webb didn’t respond. Corbin and Beckett slipped in behind Webb and rode to the second floor in silence. When the door opened, they saw Russell and Morales huddled together at the end of the hallway. They were arguing. Beckett noticed Webb pause momentarily when he recognized Morales.

  As they watched Webb slip into the courtroom, avoiding Russell and Morales, Beckett whispered to Corbin: “Now there’s a man who wants to talk.”

  “Yeah, I got that feeling from the way he blew you off.”

  “Trust me, I have a feeling on this one.”

  Before Corbin could respond a reporter jumped into their path. She held a tape recorder in Beckett’s face. “Mr. Beckett, Rebecca Sturmer from Channel Nine, can I get an interview?”

  “We don’t really have anything to say,” Beckett responded, as he maneuvered around her.

  “Are you saying your client is guilty?” she asked, trying to block his path.

  “Not at all. I’m saying the facts will come out at trial. In the meantime, I hope you’ll recall that under our Constitution a defendant is presumed innocent until proven guilty.” Beckett escaped around her to the left.

  “That’s not a bad quote.”

  “You can thank Mr. Jefferson,” Beckett replied, as he and Corbin slipped into the courtroom.

  Judge Sutherlin’s bench was stacked high with files. Beaumont’s case was just one of many today. Nevertheless, they were called quickly and Beaumont was brought to the table, shackled and in his orange jumpsuit.

  “What the fuck we doing here now? When they gonna dismiss my case?” Beaumont asked loudly.

  “We’re here to talk about their experts,” Beckett replied.

  “Whenever you’re ready, counselors,” Sutherlin said.

  “Good morning, Your Honor,” Beckett began. “The defendant moves for an order requiring the prosecution to produce their fingerprint expert at trial.”

  “Wait a minute,” Sutherlin commanded, setting down his pen. “You want the state to produce an expert? Are you sure you’re looking at the right motion, Mr. Beckett?”

  “Your Honor, we understand the state attempted to fingerprint the gun and the various checkbooks, but found no fingerprints, certainly not Mr. Beaumont’s.”

  Pierce rose to his feet. “Your Honor, we never ran fingerprint tests. Our expert, Dr. Clyde, looked at the items in question and advised us it would not be possible to fingerprint those items, so we ordered no tests.”

  “But Your Honor,” Beckett retorted, “the fact they found no fingerprints is proof that may tend to exonerate Mr. Beaumont and it should be made available and should be admissible.”

  “I disagree, Mr. Beckett,” Sutherlin responded. “There is no evidence here that there were no fingerprints. There is only the fact, apparently admitted, that the state did not conduct tests. The reasoning is hardly relevant and would, in fact, tend to incriminate your client in that he used a firearm which could not be tested for fingerprints. I’m going to deny your request Mr. Beckett. . . for your own good.”

  “Very well, Your Honor. I also need to notify the prosecution that the defense intends to argue that the documents and the gun were planted.”

  Pierce pounded the table. “Outrageous! What’s your basis for this slanderous assertion?!”

  “I have no obligation to tell you, just to notify you of the defense,” Beckett replied coolly.

  Sutherlin looked over his glasses at Beckett. “You are standing on very thin ice, Mr. Beckett. Make sure you know what you’re doing. I will not grant you any leeway to go on any fishing expeditions, nor will I allow unsupported assertions of that type to be made in my courtroom. Do you hear me, Mr. Beckett?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Beckett said unmoved.

  Corbin and Beckett rode down alone in the elevator. Beaumont was safely back in the holding cell in the private corridor.

  “Are we really going with the set up theory?” Corbin asked.

  “No, there’s no evidence to support it.”

  “Then why mention it? I thought Sutherlin was gonna shit himself.”

  “It was aimed at Webb. If I read my players right, Pierce will send Morales to lean on Webb to find out what we know. That might be exactly what we need to shake him up.”

  “High risk.”

  “Calculated risk,” Beckett countered.

  “Since we can’t get their expert to testify, are we going to ask for the gun and checkbooks to have our own expert run fingerprint tests?”

  “No. We can’t be sure there aren’t fingerprints, and I don’t want to open that can of worms. I was hoping Sutherlin would give us an easy victory, but he didn’t fall for it.”

  “So we let the issue drop?”

  “Pretty much.”

  The smell of diesel exhaust filled the bus. Corbin and Beckett nearly flew out of their seats as the bus slammed into a pothole. The Southeastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority, “SEPTA” or “Septic” as the locals called it, was bad, but the streets were worse. Corbin and Beckett were returning from their latest visit with Beaumont. Because of the new charges Pierce added, Pierce now upped his demand, insisting that Beaumont agree to serve at least twenty-five years as part of any plea deal. Beaumont shot this down angrily, as predicted. He would agree to serve two years, but no more. Pierce would never accept that, so Corbin and Beckett resigned themselves to getting ready for trial, which was just over a week away. Consequently, they were spending a lot of time with Beaumont, who finally understood the danger to himself. This made him angrier, but it also made him more cooperative, because it was dawning on him just how much he needed Corbin and Beckett’s help. Nevertheless, Beaumont and Corbin still could not get along.

  “By the way,” Beckett said between bounces, “we’re about to get a huge break.” Beckett’s tone reflected the current truce in their relationship, a truce which allowed them to work together to prepare for trial, but which left no doubt things were not well between them.

  “Been calling the psychic hotline?”

  “Webb called my cell last night.”

  Corbin perked up considerably. “What’d he say?”

  “He didn’t. He called once and hung up with only one ring. Then he called a second time about twenty minutes later. He waited for it to start recording before he hung up.”

  “And you think this means what?”

  “It means he’s about to break. I think his conscience is wearing on him and he needs t
o talk.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Only time will tell. But maybe, just maybe, we can give him a push.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “I have an idea.”

  Both men braced for another bump.

  Paul Webb stood at the convenience store’s “coffee bar.” His radio crackled at his belt. He had to meet his new partner in a few minutes, but as he stirred the last of the creamer into his coffee, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

  “I want you to listen to me, that’s all,” Beckett said. “You don’t need to say a word, just listen.”

  Webb turned to face Beckett. “I got nothing to say to you.”

  “You don’t need to say anything. I just want you to listen,” Beckett repeated.

  “How did you find me?” Webb was annoyed.

  “Pure accident. I saw you walking into the store as I was on my way to the office. I thought this would be a good chance to talk.” Beckett didn’t tell Webb that he and Corbin followed Webb from the station. Corbin waited outside in the car.

  Webb stirred his coffee several times before responding. “I walked out that door a minute ago, you understand? You never saw me here.”

  “I understand,” Beckett assured him.

  “In two minutes, I’m gone.”

  “All right, we know your partner framed Beaumont.”

  Webb’s lips instantly curled into a snarl and he started to walk off.

  “Hold on, hold on,” Beckett said to him. “Hear me out.”

  Webb stopped. He stirred his coffee again and tried to look indifferent, though he came across more as pensive and torn.

  “I’m sure he told you this was ok because Beaumont’s a bad guy. He probably told you Beaumont killed two women, one named Letricia Gittner and the other named Mona Hampton. He probably told you how Beaumont beat the rap on both murders.”

  Webb didn’t move.

  “I’m not saying Russell lied, but he is mistaken. Look at the splatter pattern and compare it to the final report. You’ll see Beaumont was sitting on the couch when the first shot was fired. That was the shot that killed Letricia Gittner. Beaumont couldn’t have fired that shot. It had to be Mona Hampton. You’ll also see the second shot, the one that killed Hampton, came from below. She was on her knees by the body. She pointed the gun at herself in an upward position and pulled the trigger herself. Beaumont may be an asshole, but he’s no killer.”

  Webb rolled his eyes without moving his head.

  “It’s one thing to frame a guilty man, something I’m sure you’re not happy about in the first place, but it’s quite another to set up an innocent man.”

  Webb looked at his watch. Without a word, he walked to the counter, paid for his drink, and left. He never looked back.

  Chapter 35

  With three days left before the trial, Corbin found himself in Washington, standing on the doorstep of Molly’s apartment. It’s never wise to take time off right before a trial, but Corbin had no choice. Molly chose today as the day she needed the ride, and her timing was suspicious. Moreover, something about her claim that she would be staying with relatives in Trenton during the week simply didn’t ring true to Corbin. It sounded to him like the prosecutor was putting her up in a hotel. Originally, Corbin hoped to distract Molly from finishing the journey. He considered pretending to run out of gas near Baltimore or stopping at a mall or restaurant and wasting so much time that she would decide against continuing on to Philadelphia. But he realized those were ill-conceived and unworkable plans, so he weighed darker options.

  Corbin knocked on Molly’s door. He felt the gun tucked into the pocket of his leather jacket. His car was parked outside the low-rise apartment complex, about a dozen feet away.

  A few moments later, Molly opened the door. She wore a light-blue sweater and a gray hounds-tooth skirt. Except for her stockings, she was barefoot and she wore no jewelry. “Hey, come on in. I’m almost ready,” Molly said, as she walked to her bedroom. “I’ll be back in a minute. You just stand there looking pretty.”

  Corbin stepped into the one-bedroom apartment and closed the door. It was somewhat dark with a curtain drawn over the glass door that led to a patio. The patio was to Corbin’s right, past a television and a tan sofa. The kitchen was behind an island to his left. Molly’s bedroom was straight ahead, behind a partially closed door. On the kitchen counter lay fruit, a cell phone and photographs of several children. Presumably, these were the nieces and nephews Molly occasionally mentioned. On the wall above the television hung a large print of a sailboat. Corbin hadn’t expected that, as she’d never mentioned any affinity for water. The other wall was bare. An end table stood next to the sofa. On it sat a bulging black purse about the height and length of a newspaper. Corbin remembered seeing her carry it on her shoulder at the office. A carry-on suitcase stood next to the table, which presumably contained her clothes for the week. A wicker chair sat in the corner by the glass door. The smell of her perfume was everywhere.

  Corbin checked the patio door to see what view the neighbors had. When he turned back to the room, he could see into her bedroom. Like the living room, it appeared sparsely decorated. Molly stood before a mirror, attaching an earring.

  “If you want a beer or something, there’s some in the fridge,” she called out.

  His mouth was dry. “No thanks. I’m driving, remember?”

  She didn’t respond.

  Corbin returned to the kitchen counter. A pizza box leaned against the garbage can.

  “I hope your car is big enough,” Molly said, as she emerged from the bedroom behind Corbin. She had added a heavy black overcoat, black loafers and earrings to her outfit, but no necklace. Draped over her shoulder, she carried a bag almost as long as she was tall. It was shaped like a dry cleaner’s bag, only larger and opaque, with what appeared to be a separate compartment at the bottom.

  “What’s in the bag?” Corbin asked.

  “The world’s ugliest dress.” She laid the bag over the sofa and reached for her purse.

  Corbin furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

  “The world’s ugliest dress,” she repeated. She pulled lipstick and a mirror from her purse.

  “What’s the dress for?”

  “Wearing.”

  “Yeah, I got that, but why?”

  “Top secret.” She began applying the lipstick.

  Corbin’s breathing became shallow. It took everything he had to remain calm and not demand answers, even though he knew she would eventually get there on her own as she had proved incapable of keeping secrets. “Guess I’ll never know then,” he said, trying to sound hurt, but actually sounding annoyed.

  “Want to see something?”

  Corbin shrugged his shoulders.

  Molly put away the lipstick and moved to the front of the sofa. She unzipped the separate compartment at the bottom of the bag and fumbled around inside. A moment later, her hands emerged from the bag holding a garish, gold-colored shoe with numerous straps and a massive heel that would make her a little taller than Corbin.

  “Aren’t they awful?” she asked, scrunching her nose.

  “I assume they match the dress?”

  “Gold taffeta with puffy sleeves and a big honkin’ bow on the butt.”

  “Sounds like a match. But if you hate these things so much, why buy them?”

  Molly rolled her eyes. “Because that’s what you do when you’re invited to a wedding.”

  Corbin’s jaw dropped. “You’re going to Philadelphia for a wedding?!”

  “Yeah, what did you think I was doing?”

  “I don’t know, you didn’t tell me. . . what about the ‘interview’?!” Corbin blurted out.

  “Who told you that? It was Stuart wasn’t it? That little eavesdropper.” Molly returned the shoe to the bag.

  “So there is an interview?!” Corbin stopped breathing and his eye twitched.

  “No. My girlfriend, the one getting married, had an interview this week. S
he wanted me to wait to come up until after her interview.” She stood up again. “Seriously, you listen to Stuart?”

  Corbin shook his head. He still hadn’t breathed. “Wait a minute! Why was the wedding such a big secret?”

  Molly frowned. “I don’t know. I just didn’t feel like telling anyone. Besides, who needs to put up with all that ‘always a bridesmaid’ crap. Then everyone will want to see the pictures. Do you know how tall these shoes are going to make me? Between that and the awful gold dress, I’m going to be the Jolly Gold Giant. I don’t need to deal with that at work.”

  Suddenly, it all made sense to Corbin and the tension immediately left his entire body, nearly causing him to collapse to the floor. He began laughing uncontrollably as he struggled to remain standing.

  “What?” Molly asked.

  Corbin was bent over at the waist, laughing so hard tears appeared.

  “Stop it! It’s not funny,” Molly said in a wavering voice that indicated growing insecurity. She had no idea why Corbin was laughing, but clearly she assumed he meant some insult.

  “I’m sorry,” Corbin said between gasps.

  “Seriously, stop it!” She now sounded hurt.

  Corbin gasped for air. “I’m sorry. . . I’m not laughing at you. . . I swear.” He took two steps toward Molly and suddenly hugged her.

  “Hey!” Molly protested, though she didn’t try to push him away.

  “You have no idea how happy you just made me,” Corbin said without thinking.

  When Corbin regained his composure, he let her go. She was staring at him with a huge smirk on her face.

  “‘How happy I made you’?” she repeated.

  Corbin only now realized what he’d said. He stared at her, trying to come up with some plausible explanation.

  “We’re not going anywhere until you explain that,” she insisted.

  Corbin bit his lip. “I just meant I’m glad you’re not leaving the office.”

  “Uh huh,” she said, as she rolled her hand in the air, indicating she wanted him to continue. “Keep talking.”