Without A Hitch

“Good to see you again, Beaumont,” Beckett said to the black man.

“Who’s this,” Beaumont demanded, trying to point at Corbin, though the shackles kept him from raising his hands above his waist.

“This is the guy I told you about. He’s going to help. Alex, let me introduce Washington Beaumont. Beaumont, Alex Corbin.”

Corbin nodded, but Beaumont eyed him suspiciously. By the time Beckett first read about Beaumont’s case, Beaumont was already assigned a public defender. To convince Beaumont to drop the public defender and let Beckett represent him instead — and to explain why he wouldn’t charge Beaumont — Beckett told Beaumont that he works for a foundation which represents people who are unfairly targeted by the police. Beaumont accepted the explanation, primarily because his long association with the criminal justice system taught to distrust public defenders, but he remained suspicious, as he’d never heard of the foundation. He was particularly suspicious of Corbin, who dressed much more sharply than Beckett or the other people who normally worked for public interest organizations. Indeed, Corbin’s well-tailored, single-breasted, black suit, with his starched, French-blue, pure-cotton dress shirt, his dark-red designer tie, and his perfectly shined shoes, stood in stark contrast to Beckett’s dated and ill-fitting gray suit, his frayed, white, polyester shirt and paisley tie, and his un-shined shoes, which were breaking along the creases which appeared after years of hard use. Compared to Corbin, who looked like a professional, Beckett came across like a struggling solo-practitioner, who may or may not be living in his car.

Before Beaumont could quiz Corbin, Morales tossed a file onto the defense table. She didn’t say a word. Beckett picked up the file and flipped through it.

“Mr. Beaumont, welcome back,” Judge D’Amato called from the bench.

“Thanks Judge, can’t say I want to be here.”

“I can understand that, Mr. Beaumont, I can understand that,” the judge replied absently, as she flipped though the file. “Mr. Beckett, are you ready?”

“Yes, Your Honor, though I’ve only just received the prosecution’s file, so I really don’t know yet what my client has been charged with or why.” Beckett held up the thick file to emphasize his point.

“Are you ready to enter a plea?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Beckett motioned Beaumont to stand up.

“How do you plead to the charges made against you,” the judge asked, without looking up from her file.

“Not fucking guilty.”

“‘Not guilty’ is enough, Mr. Beaumont. Let the record reflect the defendant entered a plea of not guilty. I’m going to hold the defendant over for trial. Do I hear any motions regarding bail?”

Morales marched up to the podium. “The people ask that bail be denied as Mr. Beaumont is a flight risk. Additionally, given the number of people hurt, the prospects of continued future harm if he’s released, and his prior history-”

“Your Honor, I object!” Beckett exclaimed, shooting out of his chair. “Mr. Beaumont has no prior convictions. Innocent until proven guilty, Your Honor.”

“You are correct, Mr. Beckett, and you may appeal my ruling if you wish,” the judge said in the same measured tone she used from the moment Corbin and Beckett arrived. “I’m going to deny bail. Get out your calendars, counselors. This case will be heard by Judge Sutherlin. Trial will be February 1. Pre-Trial is set for January 30. Expert disclosures no later than thirty days prior. Judge Sutherlin will send out an order identifying all other dates. Any questions?”

“Your Honor, there is another matter,” Beckett replied, signaling Corbin to rise.

“Ah yes, your pro hac vice motion. Granted. Is there anything else?”

“No, Your Honor,” both Beckett and Morales said.

“Next case: People v. Sterling.” The entire proceeding took less than a minute.

As Corbin and Beckett gathered the file from the table, the two deputies replaced Beaumont with another orange-jumpsuited suspect and a new defense attorney appeared behind Corbin and Beckett, ready to take over the table. Before Beaumont left, Beckett promised to visit him that day or the next.

Neither Corbin nor Beckett spoke until they were a little over a block from the courthouse, too far to be heard through any open windows.

“February?” Corbin blurted out. “Whatever happened to speedy trials?”

“Beaumont waived his right to a speedy trial at the arraignment.”

“I thought that was the arraignment?”

“He was officially arraigned twelve hours after his arrest, he just didn’t enter a plea at that time. That’s why we had to go back today.” Beckett pulled the file from his briefcase. “Can you work your magic on this?” He handed the file to Corbin.

“Yes, but you and I need an understanding.” They stopped walking. “I need your assurance you won’t do anything without telling me first.”

Beckett looked at Corbin strangely, as if he didn’t quite grasp Corbin’s meaning.

“I’m serious, Evan. I need to know that I can trust you.”

“What are you getting at?” Beckett sounded confused, hurt and somewhat offended.

“What do you think I’m getting at? You call me from out of the blue to tell me about this,” Corbin said testily, waving the file in Beckett’s face, “and that you signed up to represent this guy without ever consulting me? Then you tell me you’re planning to turn yourself in?!”

“I won’t turn you in,” Beckett interrupted. “You have my word. If I have to turn myself in, I’ll go down alone.”

“I don’t think that’s possible, Evan. If you turn yourself in, you’ll implicate me as well.”

“I won’t.”

“I want to be told before you do anything.”

“Of course, I’ll tell you,” Beckett said sincerely.

“Anything,” Corbin stressed.

Beckett nodded his head. “I will, I swear.”

Corbin stared into Beckett’s eyes, trying to assess his veracity. Beckett shrugged, as if to say he had nothing else to offer, and he awaited Corbin’s response.

“All right,” Corbin finally replied. “But I want to see the wallet. I want to make sure it doesn’t have anything that can lead back to me.”

“What wallet?”

“The wallet, the one you took.”

Beckett shrugged his shoulders and wrinkled his brow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about? I never took a wallet.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t keep one of the wallets?”

Suddenly, Beckett’s jaw dropped and his eyes became huge. “From Philly?” he gasped. “Those wallets? I didn’t keep anything, I swear.”

“Then where did it go?!”

“I don’t know, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t have any wallet. I never kept anything.”

“So if you turn yourself in, you’re just going to confess? That’s what you’re telling me?”

“Yes. What did you think I was going to do?”

“You’re not holding any evidence you plan to offer to back up your story?”

“I don’t have any evidence,” Beckett replied. His eyes looked at the ground. “I don’t even have the money anymore.”

Corbin recoiled. “What happened to the money?!” he all but screamed.

“I gave it away.”

“To who?!”

“It doesn’t really matter. It’s gone.”

Corbin ground his teeth and his eyes burned a hole into Beckett’s skull.

“I couldn’t keep it,” Beckett admitted. “It was tearing me apart. It was. . it was wrong.”

“Is there anything else I need to know?!” Corbin asked through gritted teeth. His fists clenched.

“I’ve told you everything.”