Without a Hitch (35 page)

“Did you find
anything in the nightstand?” Pierce repeated.

“Yes,” Webb
finally said.

“What did you
find?”

Webb looked at
Beaumont again before speaking.  “I found documents. . . credit cards, checks.
. . bank statements.”

“Did these
belong to Mr. Beaumont?”

“No, they had
various names, but never Mr. Beaumont’s.”

Corbin leaned
back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw
Beckett’s hand shaking.

For the next
twenty minutes, Webb methodically went through each of the documents Pierce
showed him, identifying each as a document he found in Beaumont’s nightstand. 
The jury followed every word closely.  By the time Pierce rested, several
jurors were shooting disgusted looks at Beaumont and Beckett.  Pierce never
asked Webb about the gun, nor did he ask if Webb knew where the documents came
from.

Beckett took a
sip of water and rose to his feet.  He looked unsteady.  His hands shook. 
Corbin immediately shot out of his chair.

“Your Honor,
could we have a ten minute recess?” Corbin asked.

Sutherlin looked
curiously at Corbin and Beckett, both of whom were standing.  “Very well
counselor, ten minutes.”

“We’re not
cutting any deals,” Pierce whispered across the aisle to Beckett.

Ignoring Pierce,
Beckett hissed at Corbin:  “What are you doing?”

“You and I and
Beaumont need to talk before you do anything.”

Chapter 42

After Sutherlin
dismissed the jury, the bailiff shackled Beaumont and led him to the private
conference room.  Corbin and Beckett followed.  As they reached the back
hallway, Corbin excused himself to stop in the restroom.

“I’ll meet you
in the conference room in a minute.”

Entering the
restroom, Corbin checked each of the three stalls.  They were empty.  He jarred
open the towel dispenser and removed the gun.  He stuffed the gun into his belt
before closing his suit jacket over it.  Corbin checked himself in the mirror. 
His face was flush and his eyes burned.  His hands shook.  His mouth was dry. 
He took a deep breath.  It was time to do what had to be done.

Corbin entered
the conference room and closed the door, leaving the bailiff in the hallway. 
The door was thick enough that the bailiff couldn’t overhear them.  Corbin
turned to face Beaumont and Beckett, but didn’t move toward them.  He just
stood there with his arms folded.  Beaumont leaned against the wall in the far
corner, about ten feet away, diagonally across the room.  The conference table
stood between them.  Beckett stood at the end of the table, between Corbin and
Beaumont.  His back was mostly turned to Corbin and he was trying to calm
Beaumont, but Beaumont wasn’t listening.

“What the fuck,
man?!  That mothafucka lied through his fuckin’ teeth,” Beaumont continued his
complaint.

“Calm down,”
Beckett said.

“Don’t tell me
to fuckin’ calm down!”

“Beaumont,
listen to me!  There’s something we need to tell you.  You’re being set up.”

“Yeah, no shit
I’m being set up!  I been saying that all along!  You only believin’ me now?!”
Beaumont glared at Beckett.

“No, that’s not
what I’m saying.  What I’m saying is we know who stole those identities.”

Beaumont furrowed
his brow.  “What you talkin’ about?!”

Beckett
hesitated.

“Go ahead, Evan. 
Here’s your moment,” Corbin said acidly.

Beckett closed
his eyes.  “We did it.”

An ominous silence
followed.

Beaumont raised
an eyebrow and tried to fold his arms, though the shackles prevented that.  “What
the fuck you talkin’ about?”

“We did it,”
Beckett repeated.  “We stole the money.  You’re being framed for our crime.”

“I ain’t
laughin’,” Beaumont barked angrily.

“It’s no joke. 
When we go back into that courtroom, I’m going to confess to the crime.”

Beaumont
exploded.  “What the fuck!?” he yelled as he jerked back and forth, trying to
free himself from the shackles so he could strangle Beckett.

“I’m going to
set this right,” Beckett pleaded.

Beaumont stopped
struggling against the shackles and glared at Beckett.

“I promise,”
Beckett added.

“All right Evan,
I think you’ve said enough,” Corbin said.

“No Alex, I
haven’t said nearly enough,” Beckett replied bitterly without turning to face
Corbin.  As he did, Corbin pulled the gun from his belt.

“Fuuuuck!”
Beaumont exclaimed upon seeing the gun.  He backed into the corner.

Beckett spun
around to face Corbin and saw Corbin point the gun at him.  “Whoa!” Beckett
exclaimed.  He threw his hands up before him as if to block the bullet, even
though Corbin hadn’t yet fired.  “Put the gun down, Alex,” Beckett said as calmly
as he could manage.  His heart raced and his pulse pounded in his ears.

“Yeah, put the
gun down,” Beaumont added, as he tried to dig himself deeper into the corner.

“You couldn’t
leave well enough alone, could you, Evan?” Corbin hissed.  His rage was
obvious.  His eyes became small and narrow and tore into Beckett’s.  His nose
flared, his lips curled into a snarl, exposing his teeth, and his left eye
twitched.  Yet, there was a strange calmness about Corbin, almost a
detachment.  He moved smoothly, almost mechanically, he spoke effortlessly, his
breathing wasn’t labored, and even his hands had stopped shaking.

“You don’t have
to do this, Alex.”

“You’ve left me
no choice.”

“You’re better
than this, Alex.”

“I’ll get over
it.”

“You won’t get
away, Alex.”

“I will.”

“Alex, give me
the gun,” Beckett said slowly, carefully.  He began to lower his hands.

“We’re way past
that point, Evan.  You just wouldn’t listen, would you?”  Corbin sounded
disgusted.  He shook his head as he spoke.  “Do you have any idea what you’ve
put me through?  Do you have any idea what I had to give up because of you?”

Beaumont took two
steps along the wall, away from Beckett.  “Whatever this is, it’s between you
two and—”

“Shut up and
stay calm, Beaumont,” Beckett said.

“No Beaumont,
don’t shut up,” Corbin countered.  “Why don’t you tell our naive friend here
who really killed Mona Hampton.”

“I ain’t killed
nobody,” Beaumont insisted.  He took another step away from the corner and away
from Beckett.

“I’m not playing
around with you,” Corbin said.  His eye twitched again.

Beaumont
suddenly stood up straight.  His lips curled into a half-smirk, half-snarl. 
“Shit.  You know what?  I seen people get shot and I seen people’s eyes before
they shot somebody.  I know what it takes to kill somebody, and you,” Beaumont
said, trying to point at Corbin, “you, ain’t got it.”  He took another step along
the wall.

“Nice try,
Beaumont,” Corbin said dismissively.  “If you want to be the first to die, then
so be it.”  In one swift motion, he turned the gun on Beaumont and jerked it
slightly as if he’d pulled the trigger.

Beaumont,
expecting a bullet, immediately dropped to the floor, trying to cover his face
with his hands.  “Shit, don’t shoot!” he screamed.

“Then tell him,
Beaumont, or the shooting starts!”  Corbin now stood with both hands on the
gun, which pointed directly at Beaumont.  He took a step back to give himself a
better field of vision on both Beckett and Beaumont.  “There’s no reason you
can’t walk out of here.  All I want from you is the truth.”

Beaumont looked
out from behind his arm, which blocked his face.  “Wh. . . what?”  His voice
cracked.

“The truth
Beaumont!”

“You ain’t gonna
shoot me?”

“Now!”

Beaumont looked
at Corbin, then he looked at Beckett, who was fixated on Corbin.  A smile
crossed his lips.  “A’right.  You want the truth?!  I killed that bitch.  I
shot her dead.”

“And the rest?!”

“Yeah.  I killed
Letricia too, and that fucking ’spic, and a half dozen other people too they
ain’t never gonna prove.”  Beaumont stood back up, most of his fear having dissipated. 
Indeed, he seemed strangely proud of his confession.

Beckett looked
at Beaumont, confusion registering on his face.  “You said—?”

“Fuck, I lied!”
Beaumont interrupted him.  “You didn’t really believe me, did you?  What kind’a
lawyer are you?!”  Each word was bathed in contempt for Beckett.

Corbin pointed
the gun at Beckett again.  “This is the guy you want to die for?”

Beckett shook
his head.  “It’s not about him, Alex, it’s about right and wrong.”  Beckett took
a deep breath.  He stared at the gun.  “They’re going to execute you if you
pull that trigger. . . do you really want to die for money?”

“It’s not about
money, Evan.  It’s about freedom.”

“No Alex, if it
was about freedom, you would have left last night.”  Beckett took a step toward
Corbin and reached his hand out as if to take the gun.  “Give me the gun, Alex.”

“You brought
this on yourself.”  Two shots rang out.  Followed by two more.

Epilogue

Molly stared at
the cookie.  She’d been thinking about this cookie for several days now, but
she would pass on it once again.  In her right hand, she held the coffee she
just purchased from the new coffee shop.  Their cookies didn’t look
particularly good, which is why she found herself here again.  In her left
hand, she held the
Herald
, a paper she almost never read.  But today
they had a headline which interested her, so she decided to buy it instead of
the
Post
.  Just below the article she wanted to read was a small article
about an attorney, who, after becoming obsessed with freeing his client,
smuggled a gun into a Philadelphia courthouse in an apparent attempt to break
his client out.  A struggle ensued between the attorney and his client, which
ended in both men killing each other with the same gun.  At least, so said the
sole witness, an attorney. . . an attorney she knew.

Thank you for reading
Without
A Hitch
.  I hope you enjoyed it!

Please visit my website (
http://andrewmprice.blogspot.com/
),
this book’s website (
http://andrewpricewithoutahitch.blogspot.com/
),
or my Amazon page for more information about me, this book, or my other books! 
And feel free to e-mail me any questions or comments you have at: 
[email protected]
.

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