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.