Without a Hitch (28 page)
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. She 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.”
“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.”
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 – though 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.
