Without a Hitch

by Andrew Price

“All I meant was it would be pretty boring without you around.”

  Molly’s smirk widened. “Wanna know what I think?”

  Corbin braced himself.

  “I think you like me.”

  Molly enjoyed the drive to Philadelphia much more than Corbin did.

  Alvarez picked up the phone, but didn’t say a word. He knew it was Corbin from the caller ID. He also knew today was the day Corbin went to meet Molly. What he didn’t know was how far Corbin had gone to solve “the Molly problem.”

  “It’s ok,” Corbin said without introducing himself.

  “‘Ok’ ok, or ‘done’ ok?”

  “It’s ok. She’s going to a damn wedding.” Corbin let out a sharp laugh as he said this.

  “No interview?”

  “No interview.”

  “No trial?”

  “No trial.”

  “We’re clear with her?”

  “Yes.”

  Chapter 36

  The following morning, Corbin and Beckett sat in the now-familiar plastic chairs in the jail visitation room. Beaumont sat across from them in his orange jumpsuit and shackles. They were explaining to Beaumont what would happen at trial, which was two days away.

  “The guards will let you change into a suit at the courthouse. Did you arrange to have a suit brought to you?” Beckett asked.

  “Yeah, I got a suit,” Beaumont replied.

  “It’s not pimped out, right? You need to look respectable to the jury.” One of the lessons attorneys learn fairly quickly is that clients often have no idea how to dress for court and many show up looking exactly like what they’re accused of being.

  “Ain’t no pimp suit.”

  “It’s conservative, right? Like something you’d wear to church, right?” Beckett pressed.

  “Ain’t no fuckin’ pimp suit!”

  “They’ll keep you shackled, except when the jury is in the room. Do not, I repeat, do not do anything stupid when they unshackle you. Don’t make any sudden moves. Don’t walk away. Don’t even joke about doing anything stupid. The bailiffs will take you down without a second thought.”

  “I ain’t stupid,” Beaumont retorted.

  “We’re going to meet in the judge’s chamber before the trial begins. He’ll go over some last minute issues. Let me do all the talking,” Beckett stressed this last point.

  “I know what I’m doin’,” Beaumont said, rolling his eyes.

  “Then we’ll move to the courtroom. We’ll pick a jury and do opening statements. The state calls their witnesses first. They should start with the two cops. Then they’ll probably call the bank witnesses, their handwriting guy and their ‘victims’.”

  “What we got?” Beaumont asked.

  “It depends on who they call and what we can do with them.”

  One of the problems with trying a case is that it’s impossible to predict what will happen. Facts vanish into thin air. Others appear that neither side expected. Juries will respond to minor points which no one thought would matter, or will completely dismiss what everyone assumed would be the “smoking guns.” Witnesses are even worse. Some witnesses never show up, even though they’re subpoenaed. Others change their testimony. Some become less sure of what they saw or even recant, while others become more sure, even fanatical. There is something about sitting in the witness box, raised slightly above ground level, with dozens of eyes focused directly upon you, that turns it into a stage and which causes people to react strangely. All of this makes it difficult to explain to clients exactly what the plan is, because good attorneys know to expect the unexpected and come prepared to change their plans at a moment’s notice; only bad attorneys stick rigidly with their plans. Unfortunately, the one thing clients crave is certainty.

  “You got Saitoo?” Beaumont asked.

  “No, he’s not going to help you.”

  “What chu mean he ain’t gonna help me?”

  “He’s a liar. . . a bad liar. Pierce would have a field day making him dance, and that’s going to discredit you, so we’re not bringing him.”

  “What about my alibi?”

  “We’re going to play that by ear. Right now it doesn’t look like a good idea.”

  “Then what you gonna do to get me off?” Beaumont demanded.

  “We went over this, Beaumont. We’re going to take apart their witnesses first. Then we’ll decide what we need to put on in the way of a defense. We may just rest the case.”

  Beaumont furrowed his brow. “You mean I don’t get to testify?”

  “Probably not.”

  Beaumont was clearly dissatisfied.

  Beckett continued despite Beaumont’s angry glare. “The media will be there. They’ll want to interview you. Don’t agree to that. Just stay silent and let me handle it. The last thing we need is for you to say something the prosecutor can use in court.” Beckett paused when Beaumont add a scowl to his glare. “What?”

  “How come I ain’t testifying?”

  “Because you’re an asshole and you come across like an asshole and because your story sounds fake,” Corbin interjected.

  Beckett put his hand on Corbin’s sleeve to quiet him. “If I put you on the stand, you’ll convict yourself in a matter of minutes.”

  “What if I tol’ you I wanna testify no matter wha’ chu say?”

  Beckett pursed his lips. Beaumont had a right to take the stand in his own defense. Thus, Beckett would need to let Beaumont testify if he insisted. “Do you want to take the stand?” Beckett asked coldly.

  “Shit no, I’m just testin’ ya,” Beaumont said with a smile. He turned to Corbin. “But you can fuck yo’self.”

  “All right, well, all testing aside, do you have any questions?” Beckett asked, before Corbin could start an argument.

  “Yeah. . . am I gonna win this or not?” There was fear in Beaumont’s voice.

  “I can’t say.” No reputable attorney would ever guarantee a client they will win, and Beckett was no different. There’s just too much uncertainty in trial work.

  “Gimme some idea, man,” Beaumont pleaded. “You done this before! You should know somethin’!”

  “I honestly can’t tell you. It all depends on the cops. If they do a knock-out job, then you’re in trouble. If we can take them apart, then you have a great shot at walking out the courtroom door.”

  “What they offering right now?” Beaumont asked. His hand shook slightly.

  “They still want at least twenty-five years.”

  “Shit, that ain’t no sentence for this. Murderers don’t get no twenty-five years.”

  “It’s better than the seventy-five you might get,” Corbin said.

  “I ain’t taking no twenty-five.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes. “Any other questions?” Beckett repeated.

  “Naw, man. . . let’s get this over wit’.”

  As they waited to be buzzed out the front gate, Corbin and Beckett watched the heavy, wet snow coming down outside. It wasn’t sticking to the roads yet, but it soon would.

  “That’s a different Beaumont than we’ve seen before, that’s for sure,” Corbin said.

  “Staring a trial in the face changes people.”

  “Speaking of changing, there’s nothing I need to know is there?” Corbin asked calmly. He and Beckett hadn’t spoken about Beckett’s plans for at least two weeks now.

  “No, nothing,” Beckett replied equally calmly.

  “You’re not planning to do anything unless. . .?”

  “. . . unless it becomes clear they’re going to convict him,” Beckett finished the sentence.

  “And you’re going to give me a warning?”

  “I gave my word,” Beckett replied. They never once looked at each other during the entire conversation.

  The phone call to Alvarez started simply enough. Corbin explained that the trial would begin with opening statements. These statements can only discuss the facts that are expected to be revealed at trial, no argument is allowed – tho
ugh attorneys bend this rule as far as humanly possible. The prosecution then puts on its witnesses. Corbin or Beckett can cross examine those witnesses, but can’t put on their own witnesses until the prosecution finishes its case. After some legal maneuvering, specifically the defense trying to get the case dismissed, the defense puts on their own witnesses. After that, the prosecution can call rebuttal witnesses to refute any new issues raised by the defense. Then, each side makes their closing arguments. Unlike the opening statements, these can be a mix of argument and fact. Finally, the judge will instruct the jury about the law and what they are to decide. Only then does the matter go to the jury.

  Alvarez listened quietly, but he wasn’t interested in the trial. He wanted to talk about Beckett, a topic Corbin was in no mood to discuss. Corbin already spent the entire day agonizing over how to handle Beckett and he didn’t want to repeat that now. All day he asked himself the same questions. Did he need to act now or could he risk waiting? The evidence was coming in favorably, and if Beaumont was acquitted, the whole issue would go away. Plus, even if Beaumont was convicted, any confession Beckett gave after the jury’s verdict would be meaningless. But could he trust Beckett to wait and see how the trial went? What options would he have if Beckett jumped up and tried to confess in the middle of the trial? How could he “handle” Beckett if that happened and still get away with it? And of course, the big question hung over everything: could he actually pull the trigger?

  Alvarez drifted into the subject of Beckett slowly. “What are the chances of Beaumont cutting a deal?”

  “He’s shitting bricks. If they offered him two years, he’d jump at it. But they won’t.”

  “Will Beckett push him to take a longer deal?” Alvarez asked, already knowing the answer.

  “No.”

  “How sure are you about Beckett?” Alvarez asked in as indifferent a tone as he could muster.

  “I don’t know. He’s gotten strange,” Corbin admitted.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It sounds like he’s hoping Webb turns on Russell, but that’s not going to happen. Webb’s got too much to lose, and why should he take the fall for a shit like Beaumont?”

  Alvarez’s mouth went dry. “Can you still trust Beckett?”

  “I don’t know,” Corbin replied honestly. He spoke to himself more than Alvarez at this point. “He says he won’t do anything until it becomes clear they’ll convict Beaumont.”

  “Do you believe that?” Alvarez was losing his indifferent tone.

  “I do for now, but I don’t know how long that will last.”

  “What are you going to do?!” Alvarez’s voice cracked.

  “I’m going to hang up this phone, and I’m going to think very hard about my options.”

  “You should have gotten rid of him before this,” Alvarez suddenly growled.

  Corbin didn’t respond for some time. “I’m starting to think our best plan is to do nothing. The evidence is coming in favorably. There’s a great chance we’re going to win this. If that happens, then we don’t need to act. Acting if we don’t need to is just asking for trouble. Plus, we’ve been investigating long enough that I can explain away any confession he gives as being part of a nervous breakdown. I can explain away any evidence he produces by claiming it came from Beaumont. Beaumont will deny it, but they won’t listen to him. Besides, I have the trump card, I have the perfect alibi. Even if Beckett confesses, I can prove that I couldn’t have been in Philly when he did it.”

  “No, you can’t,” Alvarez responded angrily. “You don’t have an alibi!”

  “What are you talking about?!”

  “This is what I’ve been trying to tell you! Beckett destroyed your alibi when he took up this damn case. Your alibi only works if you can bring people from your office to tell everyone you were in D.C. But the moment they put together that you work with the same people whose identities were stolen and that you then showed up to defend the guy who did it, they’re going to know right away what happened, and they’re going to zero in on you. Beckett fucked you!”

  They sat in silence for a few moments, until Alvarez could no longer contain himself.

  “This is insane!” he yelled. “Why won’t you admit the obvious?! He fucked you, and he’s going to turn you in! You need to act now! You can’t keep risking it. You can’t wait. You’re playing Russian Roulette, and you’re running out of empty chambers!”

  “Calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down!”

  “We’re winning right now. We have evidence that blows their witnesses out of the water.”

  “God dammit! How can you be so fucking smart and still so fucking blind! He doesn’t care about the evidence. You’ve told me that yourself. He thinks Beaumont’s doomed. He wants to be a martyr. He wants to go out in a blaze of glory. He’s just waiting for the right moment, and you’re going along for the ride!”

  “Calm down,” Corbin repeated.

  “Why are you so afraid to act?! Just point the fucking thing and pull the damn trigger!”

  “Oh, is that all there is to it?!” Corbin yelled. “What makes you think it’s so easy to kill another human being?”

  “Because it’s me or him!”

  There was silence.

  Alvarez took a deep breath and continued. “I’m not doing seventy-five years because he suddenly got a conscience. If it comes down to doing seventy-five years or killing one rotten son of a bitch I don’t even like, I’m pulling the trigger!”

  “Funny, I don’t recall you volunteering to come up here and do the dirty work yourself.” Corbin picked up the gun and squeezed the grip as he spoke.

  “Listen to me,” Alvarez said in a low voice. “You are wrong about him. You were wrong from the beginning, and you’re wrong now. He’s erratic. He acts on impulse and some strange moral code only he understands. You can’t predict what he’s going to do, and if you wait, you aren’t going to have any options. You need to take care of him now, before he gets into that courtroom.”

  Corbin didn’t respond.

  “Alex. . . I can’t take this risk with you anymore.” Alvarez paused. “Do it tonight or I’m gone.”

  Corbin hung up the phone. He had no other messages.

  Chapter 37

  Beckett and Pierce sat on one side of Judge Sutherlin’s desk. Sutherlin and his clerk sat on the other. Corbin and Morales sat together against the wall. Beaumont, wearing a pimpish purple suit, sat next to Beckett. His wrists and ankles were shackled. The bailiff stood nearby with his thumbs tucked into his gun belt. Beckett had voiced extreme displeasure at Beaumont’s suit, but he had too much else to deal with, so he let the matter drop.

  “All right, counselors, I’ve got some rulings for you,” Sutherlin said in his businesslike manner. His white shirt and red tie stuck out just above the short collar of his black robe. “Your request to bring a witness to testify that he did not see Mr. Beaumont at the mailbox location is denied as that’s not relevant.”

  “Why ain’t that relevant?” Beaumont demanded.

  Sutherlin looked up from his notes. “Counselor,” he warned Beckett, who put his hand on Beaumont’s arm to quiet him. Sutherlin continued: “Your request to show the entire video from either bank also is denied. Again, that’s not relevant. Obviously, I will grant your motion that Mr. Beaumont not be shackled in the presence of the jury, but instruct your client he is not to leave the defense table without my permission or I will order the bailiff to subdue him. Do you understand, Mr. Beckett?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Is there anything else we need to decide before we get started?” Sutherlin asked.

  “Our motion to dismiss remains outstanding,” Beckett stated.

  “I’m still considering that one,” Sutherlin said gruffly.

  “Your Honor,” Pierce interjected, “I noticed the defense has a number of people on the witness list whom I can’t imagine are relevant to this proceeding. I’d like a summary of their testim
ony or else I’m going to move to exclude them.” Pierce handed the list to Sutherlin and pointed to several names he had circled.

  “You’re not entitled to a summary,” Beckett responded.

  “Who are these people, Mr. Beckett?” Sutherlin asked.

  “They’re here to refute any allegations of prior crimes.”

  “I see,” Sutherlin said, eyeing the list. “I’ll make my rulings as they’re called.” Sutherlin picked up a stack of papers. “I’ve got proposed jury instructions from both parties. I’ll make my ruling on those tomorrow, and you’ll receive a written copy of the instructions I intend to give before we begin tomorrow. That should give both of you time to lodge any objections you may have.” Sutherlin looked at his watch. “They should be ready in the courtroom. If there’s nothing else, let’s pick a jury.”

  The courtroom, like so many other courtrooms, overwhelmed people when they first entered and always caused them to speak in hushed tones. The judge’s bench dominated the front of the room and caused everyone to look up at the judge. To the judge’s left sat the witness box and then the jury box. Before the judge sat the court reporter and before the court reporter stood the podium where the attorneys would address the jury and the witnesses. The podium stood at an angle, pointed at the witness box. Court rules did not allow the attorneys to leave the podium without permission. The defense table and the prosecution table stood side-by-side, parallel to the judge’s bench, just after the podium. The defense table stood closer to the jury box, which ran perpendicular to the defense table and the judge’s bench. A small walkway was left between the jury box and the defense table and witness box so witnesses could get to the witness box to testify. Both the jury box and the witness box were elevated and were surrounded by three-foot-high wooden walls. The jury box contained two rows of eight chairs, with the back row elevated higher than the front row. Behind the prosecution and defense tables, another three-foot-high wooden wall ran the length of the room. A gate in the middle of that wall led to an aisle which ran to the main entrance, which consisted of two enormous doors approximately ten feet in height. To either side of the aisle were several row of wooden pews. All the wood was strong, dark mahogany, and hovering above everything, a decorative tin ceiling made the room feel cathedral-like.