Without a Hitch (27 page)

Chapter 33

Nothing changed
in the Washington office in the month Corbin was gone, though it felt different
to him.  Buildings often feel differently when you haven’t been in them for a
while.  The smells change, old sights seem new, and everything seems slightly
out of place.  In this case, the walls seemed more dingy and the threadbare
carpet seemed a little more worn, the stale smell of old coffee seemed a little
more sour, and the people seemed a little more depressed and gray.

The only reason
Corbin was here now was that Kak left him an angry message demanding that
Corbin start personally handing in leave slips every two weeks rather than
mailing them in.  No reason was given for imposing this inconvenience, which was
typical for Kak.  Naturally, Kak was nowhere to be found when Corbin showed up
to hand him the leave slip, so Corbin dumped it on Kak’s desk and told Kak’s
secretary where Kak could find it.

Corbin headed
for the elevator.  As he approached the elevator, he heard the familiar squeak
of Stuart’s mail cart.  Corbin pushed the elevator button and stepped close to
the door.  The squeaking came closer.  He pushed the button two more times and
took another step closer to the door.

“Alex Corbin,” drawled
Stuart, as he rounded the corner.

“Oh, hey
Stuart.  How are things?” Corbin asked as he pressed the elevator button twice
more.

Stuart pushed
his cart right up to Corbin.  “It’s been boring around here without you. 
Everybody’s gone.  Evan left.  You’re not here.  Nobody wants to talk these
days.  I think it’s the winter.  People get upset in winter.”

“Yeah, that’s
true.”  Corbin jabbed the button again, this time holding it with his finger.

“Even Molly’s gonna
be leaving.  She’s got that interview in Philadelphia.”

The elevator
door opened, but Corbin didn’t move toward it.  He turned to face Stuart.  His
eyes narrowed.  “What interview?!”

“It’s top
secret, I’m not supposed to tell anybody.”

“‘Anybody’
doesn’t include me, Stuart.  Molly and I are friends.  You and I are friends. 
We don’t keep secrets.”

Stuart smiled
and nodded his head.  The fluorescent lights reflected off his balding head and
glasses.  “You’re right.  Friends don’t keep secrets.”

“What interview,
Stuart?”  Corbin let go of the elevator button.

“I don’t know. 
I just heard her on the phone when I was dropping off her mail the other day.”

“What did you
hear?” Corbin pressed him.

“You promise you
won’t tell.”

“Yes, I
promise.  What did you hear?”

“She’s got an interview
with some lawyers in Philadelphia.  I think it’s for a job.”

Corbin furrowed
his brow.  “Why do you think that?”

“Because she was
supposed to bring something with her, and they were talking about wearing a
suit.  That sounded like an interview to me.”

Corbin bit his tongue.

“You’re not
going to tell, right?” Stuart asked.

“No, Stuart, of
course not.”  Corbin looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. 
“Hey, between you and me, have you heard of anyone else going to Philly for an
interview or anything?”

Stuart cocked
his head to one side and scratched his forehead.  “Nobody’s said anything?”

“No big mystery
vacations or anything?”

“Why?”

“Just curious.  I
thought maybe some other people might be competing for the same job.”

“I haven’t heard
anything.”

“Ok, thanks
Stuart.”  Corbin looked around again to make sure they were still alone.  “No
other interesting news, huh?  No new hires, nobody left, no crimes or
anything?”

Stuart half-laughed
and then hiccupped.  “Crimes, ha!  No.  What kind of crimes?”

“Anything? 
Anything interesting?”

Stuart scratched
his forehead again.  “Nothin’ I can think of.”

“Oh well.  That’s
life around here, isn’t it?  Always dull.”  Corbin patted Stuart on the
shoulder.  “Listen, I’ve got to go, but it’s been good seeing you again.”  Corbin
walked past Stuart toward Molly’s office.

Molly sat at her
desk reading the paper when Corbin appeared at her door.  She wore a gray wool suit
with its jacket closed high up her neck.  No trace of Shoe Guy’s necklace was
visible, if it was there at all.  She looked tired.  Her eyes were bloodshot,
dull, glazed and puffy.

“Hey there
neighbor,” Corbin said, trying his best to sound cheerful.

“Hey,” Molly
responded.  She set the newspaper on the desk next to the plastic coffee cup bearing
her lipstick prints.  Then she leaned on the chair’s armrest so she could face
Corbin without turning her chair.  “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, I’m back
to drop off my leave slip.  Kak wants me to drop them off in person now.”

“What a jerk,”
Molly said.  “I don’t think he can make you do that?”

Corbin shrugged
his shoulders.  “I don’t mind, I’m back and forth a lot.”

“Yet, this is
the first time you deigned to drop by the office in a month?”

“I know.  I’m
sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t
cut it.  There’s no one to talk to here.  Your roomie’s gotten more boring, if
that’s even possible.”

“I take it Karen’s
not back from maternity leave yet?”  Karen was Molly’s officemate.

Molly smirked.  “It’s
only been a month and a half.  How long does it take to make babies where you
come from?”

“Point taken. 
So how are you doing?”

This was an odd
question for Corbin to ask, so Molly paused as she tried to spot any
potentially insulting angle in the question before responding.  She found
none.  “Fine.  Life’s just peachy.”

“Wish I could
say the same.”

This piqued
Molly’s curiosity.  “What’s up?”

“It’s my aunt. 
She’s really sick.  That’s where I’ve been.  She lives in Philadelphia.” 
Corbin paused to give Molly an opening, but she didn’t take it.  “I’m spending
most of my time up there taking care of her.”

“I’m sure she
appreciates it.”

Molly didn’t
take the bait, so Corbin tried another angle.  From the prior summer, when
Corbin drove Molly and Beckett to a training program in Richmond, he knew she
had no car.  She lived in the District and people who live in the District
don’t need cars when their homes and offices are near Metro stations, as hers
are.  Perhaps, he reasoned, an offer of a ride to Philadelphia would loosen her
lips.  But the offer needed to be made subtly:  “I’ll tell you though, the
drive is killing me.  I must have driven back and forth between here and Philly
a dozen times in the past few weeks.”

Molly perked up
slightly.  “When are you going to Philly next?”

“Today, but like
I said, I’m back and forth all the time.  I should run some sort of taxi
service.”  Corbin saw Molly’s eyebrow rise ever so slightly.  He was close.  “Of
course, it could be worse.  Beckett used to take the train, and all he did was
complain about it. . . said it was cramped, it smelled, uncomfortable, dirty,
expensive.”

“Yeah, the train
stinks,” Molly said, tapping her thumb against her thigh.

Corbin waited. 
He didn’t want to oversell his point.

“Hey, let me ask
you something,” she finally said.

“Sure, what?”

“I need to go to
Philly in a couple weeks and I was going to take the train, but I’ve got some
things I need to take with me. . .”  She paused, and Corbin saw her bite her
lip.

“. . . and you
want a ride?” he said, finishing her sentence.  “Sure.  No problem.”  Corbin
shrugged his shoulders to indicate this wasn’t a big deal to him.

Molly smiled. 
“Thanks.”

“What’s going on
in Philly?”

“It’s hush
hush.  I can’t talk about it.”

Corbin winced,
but quickly regained his composure.  “No problem.”  Corbin grabbed a pen and a yellow
sticky pad from Molly’s desk.  “Here’s my cell phone number.  Call me as soon
as you know what day you need the ride.  That way I can plan my schedule.”

Molly took the yellow
sticky note and tossed it into her purse.  “This isn’t going to put you out, is
it?”

“No, not at
all.  I’ll be happy for the company.”  Corbin decided to add an incentive to be
sure:  “You can tell me all about your latest dating adventures.  I might even
tell you what Beckett and I were up to.”

Molly smiled. 
“I knew it!  Give me a hint!”

Corbin shook his
head and laughed.  “Nope, you have to wait.”

Molly exhaled
melodramatically and rolled her eyes.

“Hey, how are
things between you and Shoe Guy?” Corbin asked.  He wanted to change the topic
before something happened to talk Molly out of accepting a ride from him.

Molly shrugged
her shoulders and frowned.  She leaned back away from Corbin.  “I don’t know, I
guess they’re ok.  It wouldn’t surprise me if things ended pretty soon.”  She
rubbed her neck through her jacket as she spoke.  She didn’t mention he had
already dumped her.

“I’m sorry to
hear that.  Anyone else lined up?”

Molly sneered at
Corbin.  “What am I?  A bus stop?”

“That’s not what
I meant and you know it.”

“Now you need to
wait for the ride to hear more.”  She picked up her newspaper again.  “If
you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Corbin phoned
Alvarez after he left Molly’s office.  Alvarez was not happy to hear the news
Corbin gave him.

“Shit!  What are
you going to do?”

“I’ve already
done it.  I got her to ask me for a ride to Philly.”

“How does that
help?  That sounds like you’re delivering the noose to the hangman.”

“Think about
it.  When she gives me the date she needs to be in Philly, then we’ll have a
better idea if she’s coming up as a witness or if this is something innocent. 
If it’s innocent, then I just have to put up with her in the car for two
hours.  No big deal.”

“What if it
isn’t?”  His voice was jittery.

Corbin paused.  “Then
I have a two-hour drive to find out what she’s up to.”

“What if she’s
coming to testify?”

“Then I have two
hours to talk her out of going.”

“How are you
going to do that?”

“I don’t know
yet.”

“What if you
can’t?”

“We’ll cross
that bridge when the time comes.  No matter what, we need to know if the
prosecution is doing something with her.  We can’t have her come waltzing into
the courtroom unexpectedly.”

“Are you going
to tell Beckett?”

“No way. 
Telling him would only complicate this.”

Alvarez took a
deep breath.  “I hope you know what you’re doing.  I have the feeling this is
spinning out of control.”

“It only looks
that way.  Have faith.”

Corbin met Penny
for lunch.  He felt sick the moment he saw her.  She sat by herself with her
legs tightly crossed beneath her and her arms tightly folded.  She hadn’t
removed her heavy winter coat.  She even had the coat’s collar up around her
neck, buttoned to the top.  An untouched cup of coffee sat before her, but no
food.  She scowled.

“Hello,” Corbin
said, as he slid into the chair opposite her.  “Before you say anything, let me
say that I am truly sorry.”

Penny’s jaw
dropped.  “What happened to you?!  You look horrible?”  Her entire expression instantly
changed.  The angry scowl and the squinting eyes vanished.  In their place was
deep concern, soft eyes and almost-quivering lips.  This was unexpected.

“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 to 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.