Without a Hitch (25 page)
“We can turn it
over this afternoon,” Pierce responded.
“Is there
anything else, Mr. Beckett?”
Beckett closed
the file on his lap. “We’ve been trying to get videotape from the other banks
where Mr. Beaumont is alleged to have opened accounts, but we haven’t had any
success because they claim they didn’t keep it—”
“What do you
want from me, Mr. Beckett?” Sutherlin asked dryly. “I can’t create videotape
from whole cloth?”
“We understand
the police looked at some of those videos, and we would like those produced.”
“Your Honor, we
no longer have any such videos,” Pierce responded. “If we were unable to find
Mr. Beaumont clearly, then we returned the tapes to the banks.”
“Where,
presumably, they were destroyed. I see.” Sutherlin rubbed his chin. “Mr.
Beckett, I cannot give you what does not exist.”
“But Your Honor,
if the police had these videos, then they had an obligation to preserve the
evidence.”
“I would agree
with you, Mr. Beckett, except this is not evidence. Your client was not on the
tapes.”
“That means my
client wasn’t at those banks,” Beckett countered.
“No, Mr.
Beckett, it only means he wasn’t on the tapes. Since I don’t see how these
videos are relevant, I’m not going to grant any sort of remedy.”
“Your Honor—”
“Next motion,
Mr. Beckett.”
“That’s it, Your
Honor.”
“We have a
motion, Your Honor. We haven’t prepared it yet, but Mr. Beckett’s comments
raise an issue.” Pierce waited for Sutherlin to nod before continuing. “The
defense apparently intends to show one or more of these tapes for the purpose
of showing that Mr. Beaumont allegedly does not appear on the tape. We object
to that in light of your ruling that his failure to appear on video is not
relevant to this proceeding.”
“I don’t know
which tapes Mr. Pierce is referencing, but I believe it is entirely relevant to
show the videos that are in our possession, seeing as how the prosecution is
relying on them as proof that Mr. Beaumont supposedly opened these bank
accounts.”
The Judge
scratched his sharp, clean-shaven chin again. “I’m going to defer a ruling on
this until I can see the videotapes. File a pre-trial motion on this matter
for all tapes you want excluded, and I’ll consider it.” The Judge rose,
causing everyone else to rise as well. “If there’s nothing else, counselors?”
Sutherlin dismissed them.
Corbin leaned
against the window ledge in the restroom as Beckett ran cold water over his
face. Like Sutherlin’s office, the restroom was steaming hot and humid. This
restroom was located between the judge’s chamber and a conference room where
they were allowed to meet privately with Beaumont when he was brought to the
courthouse. The entire hallway was away from the public hallways, back behind
the main courtroom. Normally, this restroom was reserved for the judge and the
clerks only, but Judge Sutherlin gave Corbin and Beckett permission to use it
so they could avoid the media, which began hounding anyone remotely connected
to the case after Pierce’s television appearance.
“Man, it’s hot
in here,” Corbin said, examining the ancient radiator in the corner, which
burped, clanked and sizzled. It had no off switch, so Corbin tried opening the
window. He yanked at it, but it didn’t budge. “What do we do now?” Corbin
asked, turning his attention to Beaumont’s case.
“We prepare for
a bigger case than we were expecting,” Beckett said. “This is disappointing.”
“How do we fight
evidence the prosecution hasn’t even produced?”
“That’s the
question. We might have a problem if Sutherlin lets in the prior crimes evidence.”
“Can he do
that? That’s not admissible at trial, right?”
“Not generally,
but you can use it for some purposes, like refuting direct statements made by
witnesses, like ‘I’ve never owned a gun.’”
“I see,” Corbin
said sourly. “Let’s get the hell out of here, before we melt.”
“Are you talking
about the restroom or the city?” Beckett asked with a hint of accusation. He
and Corbin were not getting along well, with Corbin repeatedly suggesting they
leave Beaumont to his fate. Before Corbin could answer, however, Eddie Pierce
entered the restroom.
“Tough luck,”
Pierce said in his usual smarmy tone. “I’m sure you’ll do well though. I’ll
have the file couriered over this afternoon.” He checked his short black hair
in the mirror. “I’m glad I’m not defending your guy. . . what a turd!”
“At least I’m
defending the truth on this one,” Beckett replied.
This began a
verbal exchange between Pierce and Beckett, with each trying to outdo the
other. As they parried back and forth, Corbin looked out the window at the
alley below. There was a dumpster about ten feet directly beneath the window.
Wet gray snow was falling in the alley. It looked cold. This was turning into
a miserable winter.
Hillary Morales
studied Sgt. Russell’s crooked face. She didn’t like Russell, and this meeting
wouldn’t improve her opinion. Russell asked to meet with her, but refused to
say why over the phone. That could only mean he wasn’t bringing good news.
Morales sat at her desk with her arms folded.
“What’s so
important, Sergeant?” she asked, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
“I’m concerned
about my partner—”
“Why?!” she snarled,
cutting him off.
“He might go a
little weak on this one,” Russell responded carefully.
“Is there some
reason for him to ‘go weak’?”
“Let’s just say
we might not a’ crossed all our ‘I’s and crossed all the ‘T’s.”
“What is that
supposed to mean?” Morales demanded. “Wait!” she barked, throwing her hand up
to silence him. “I don’t want to know. I do not want to know what you two
jokers did. This case is very important to the D.A. Do you understand me,
Sergeant?
Very important
.”
Russell nodded
his head.
“
You
,”
Morales pointed at Russell, “are going to make sure your partner doesn’t blow
this! Do you understand me?”
Russell nodded.
“Say it!”
“Yeah, I
understand.”
“If you get the
slightest hint something is wrong, then you take care of it.” Morales rose and
walked toward her door. “I want updates, but officially I don’t want to know
anything. Do you get me?”
“Yeah, and you
don’t want to know what happened at the—”
“Listen to me,”
she interrupted him. “I don’t care what you two idiots did. I just want this
situation fixed. It would be very, very bad for you if I had to suddenly
discover what really happened.” She opened the door. “Now get out,” she spat
out.
Russell muttered
a profanity under his breath as he left.
Alvarez sounded
despondent. “The judge denied everything?”
“Yes,” Corbin confirmed.
“But I thought
you had a really good case? I thought the law was on your side on all this
stuff?”
“It is. . . it’s
complicated. Just because you’re right about the law doesn’t mean the judge
needs to agree with you. He can make his decisions any way he wants. If we
think he’s wrong, then we need to appeal to prove it.”
“Are you going
to appeal?”
“We can’t appeal
until after the trial. There are only a couple states where you can appeal
during the trial and this isn’t one of them. And with Beckett threatening to
turn himself in, appealing just isn’t an option. So we’re gonna play the hand
we’ve been dealt.”
“Does that mean
it’s hopeless?”
“No, not at
all. We had a chance to toss out some of the charges and some of the evidence,
but the judge didn’t buy it. That’s all. So we move on.”
“That’s ok, I
guess,” Alvarez said, still trying to figure out how this changed their odds of
success.
“But that’s not
the real problem.” Corbin paused before deliver the bad news. “They’ve added
more charges. Beaumont’s now facing seventy-five years.”
“What?!
Seventy-five years?!” Alvarez exclaimed. “Holy shit! Seventy-five years?!
What the fuck!”
“Calm down”
“Don’t tell me
to calm down, this is a fucking disaster!” Alvarez yelled into the phone. “Two
years, that wasn’t a big deal. I could see a guy like Beaumont taking a deal for
two years and this whole thing coming to an end. But there’s no way anyone can
reach a deal if they want seventy-five years! Shit! Our risk just shot
through the roof! We can’t wait anymore for Beckett to make his move. He
could really fuck us now!”
“Calm down,”
Corbin repeated.
“You need to act
now!” Alvarez continued in the same panicked tone. He either didn’t hear or
chose to ignore Corbin’s attempts to calm him. “You need to do something!”
“We can’t take that
chance yet.”
“Can’t take a
chance?” Alvarez let out a disbelieving laugh. “I don’t. . . I don’t buy
that. I’m sorry, but I don’t buy that. I’ve been thinking about this. I
don’t see why it matters if he has the wallet. You’ve been investigating long
enough that he could have gotten it from Beaumont for all anybody knows. There’s
no way they could use the wallet to say we’re involved, no way!”
“Will you calm
down! There’s no reason for us to take any chances yet.”
“There are
seventy-five reasons—”
“Stop
panicking! There’s no reason to take any chances yet,” Corbin repeated.
“Yes, there is,”
Alvarez started again. “We need to act!
You
need to act!”
“Calm down,”
Corbin growled.
“We need to act
now—”
“Shut up!”
Corbin finally ordered. Corbin’s words hit Alvarez like a slap across the face
and he stopped talking. “I will take care of this one way or another. I’ll do
what needs to be done, when it needs to be done, not before.”
Almost half a minute
of silence passed before Alvarez spoke again. When he spoke, he spoke more
calmly. “Can we even trust Beckett to wait until the trial is over?”
“What do you
mean?”
“Who’s to say he
waits until the jury gives their verdict before he does something? What if he
stands up right after they say ‘guilty,’ and he says, ‘I want to confess’? What
can you do about it then? Are you gonna shoot him in the courtroom? What if
he stands up on day one of the trial and announces he did it? I say something
needs to be done now because you can’t predict what this guy will do.”
Corbin took
several deep breaths before responding. “I’m not convinced yet that he’ll turn
himself in. We have time. We have time to see if there’s a settlement. We
have time to see if the prosecution makes a mistake. We have time to see if
Beckett changes his mind. We have time to see how everything plays out.”
Corbin rubbed his temples. “There will come a point during the trial when it
becomes clear the jury will convict Beaumont. If Beckett waits until that
point to confess, then our problem solves itself. Anything he says after that
will sound like the rantings of a depressed defense attorney who will say
anything to save his client. Everyone’ll ask why he never came forward before
things went wrong at trial, and they’ll discount any evidence he produces
because they’ll assume he got it from Beaumont. I’ll back that up with stories
of Beckett becoming despondent and ranting about doing whatever it takes to
save Beaumont.”
“But what if the
prosecution believes him?”
“They won’t.
They want Beaumont, not Beckett. They’ve gone so far as to frame him to get
him. They’re not going to ruin that by taking Beckett’s crazy bait.”
“But—”
Corbin cut him
off. “
BUT
, let me assure you,” Corbin said in a tone so cold it made
Alvarez shiver, “if things start to go wrong. . . if it becomes apparent he’s
going to turn himself in before that point, or if it becomes clear he’s got
more evidence that we’re not aware of. . . I’ll put an end to this.”
“Don’t wait too
long.”
The row house
smelled like cat urine and cigarettes. The thick curtains kept out the
sunlight. The small television blared out game shows. Retired police officer
Richard Forte lit a cigarette. He looked at Beckett and coughed.
“I don’t
remember much from back then, you gotta look at my report.” He knocked ash
from his cigarette into an overly-full ashtray.
“I’m not looking
for precise details, I just have some general questions,” Beckett replied.
Forte shrugged
his shoulder. “Ok. Shoot, counselor.”
“Did anyone ever
try to verify Beaumont’s story?”
“Naw, it was
obvious he did it.”
“What makes you
say that?”
Forte leaned
forward. “By the time we found him, he washed his hands with ammonia and got
rid of his clothes.” He jabbed his cigarette at Beckett to emphasize his words
as he spoke. This caused the bright tip of the cigarette to appear to dance in
the semi-darkness.
“Why is ammonia
significant?”
“’Cause he used the
ammonia to get rid of the gunpowder traces. That’s how he tried to hide he was
shooting a gun.”
“So no one
investigated because. . .,” Beckett let his sentence drop off, hoping Forte
would finish it; Forte didn’t disappoint.
“Because it was
obvious he did it,” he said, followed by a series of coughs. “Why else would
he leave the scene and go wash in ammonia? To get rid of the gunpowder, that’s
why.”
“Did anyone test
him for gunpowder? Maybe he missed something when he was cleaning?”
“Naw, we didn’t
waste our time.”
“Did anyone hire
a blood splatter expert to look at the scene?”
“Naw, like I
said, it was obvious he did it.” Forte coughed again. “But I got training in
that and what I saw fit what happened. Sorry, counselor,” Forte laughed, “your
client’s story was bullshit.”
Beckett removed
a folder from his bag. From the folder, he pulled a handful of enlarged
photographs. “I’m not an expert when it comes to blood or crime scenes. Can
you show me what you’re talking about on these photos?”
Forte set down
his cigarette and stuck out his hand. “What you got?”
“The crime scene
photos,” Beckett said, shuffling the photos. “This one,” he handed one of the
photos to Forte, “looks to me like somebody was sitting on the couch, when
somebody else got shot in the middle of the room.”
Forte looked at
the photo. “Yeah, that’s the girlfriend. She was sittin’ on the couch when he
shot the other one. The blood covered the walls to her left and traces of it
covered her and the couch. You can see from the clear spot in the middle of
the couch somebody was sitting there when the blood splattered.”
“How do you know
that wasn’t Beaumont on the couch?”
“’Cause he was
busy shooting the other woman.” Forte laughed.
Beckett handed
Forte another photo. “This looks like somebody got shot in the middle of the
room.”
“Right. That’s
where he shot the first girl.”
It was obvious from
the spray pattern the shot had been upwards, but Beckett didn’t want Forte
anticipating where Beckett was headed with the questioning, so he pretended to
believe the shot had been downwards.
“No,” Forte interrupted
Beckett impatiently. “Look at the spray pattern. See how there’s more higher
up? He shot upwards.”
“Upwards? He’s
fairly tall isn’t he? If she was on her knees—”
“He was on his
knees too,” Forte concluded.
“How do you know?”
“When you shoot
somebody, you get blow back in your direction. See how there’s blood to the
left and right but not in the center? That means somebody was blocking that
patch of rug. You can’t block a patch like that by standing there cause your
legs ain’t thick enough to block all that blood and make such a big clear
patch. That means he had to be kneeling or sitting in that spot. So he was on
his knees when he shot her.” Forte took another photo from Beckett’s hand.
“See here, see how the blood forms a kind of ‘V’ shape on the ceiling? That
means he shot upwards.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I ain’t
stupid. It’s obvious. Your client was on his knees or his ass. He put the
gun in her face, pointed up, and pulled the trigger. If you check my report,
you’ll see that. I put it all in my report. Do you got my report?”
“We do, yes,”
Beckett responded.
“Let me see it,
I’ll show you.”
“I didn’t bring
it,” Beckett lied.
“Oh well.”
Forte picked up his cigarette and put it out in the tray. He smiled. “Sorry I
couldn’t help you counselor, but your client did it.”
“I guess you’re
right,” Beckett said dejectedly. “I can’t see us calling you at trial, but we
may need to subpoena you anyway just to make sure we’ve covered all our bases.”
“You go right
ahead, counselor,” Forte laughed. “I ain’t changing my story.”
After thanking
Forte, Corbin and Beckett returned to the car.
“Why didn’t you
show him the report?” Corbin asked.
“No reason to
clue him in yet,” Beckett said, pulling the report from the folder. “I don’t
want to give him time to rethink his story. ‘Spray pattern on victim one indicates
suspect Beaumont stood above victim one and shot her as she kneeled before
him.’,” Beckett read from Forte’s report. “‘He then dragged victim two from
the couch, shooting her in the face, before dumping the body of victim two on
top of victim one.’” Beckett returned the report to the folder. “Do you know
what this means?”
“What?”
“It means
Beaumont’s telling the truth. He was sitting on the couch as his girlfriend
shot Letricia, before she turned the gun on herself.”
“
Maybe
,”
Corbin stressed the word.
“What do you
mean ‘maybe’? Forte just laid out the blood spray pattern. What he said fits
Beaumont’s version and completely contradicts the story put together by the
police at the time.”
“There could be
other explanations,” Corbin cautioned Beckett.
“I don’t see
how.”
They drove in
silence for a few blocks, before Corbin broached the topic that always lay just
beneath the surface with them these days. “Listen, now that they’re talking
about seventy-five years—”
“It doesn’t make
any difference,” Beckett said, cutting him off.
Corbin shook his
head. “It makes a
huge
difference.”
“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.”
