“No, we can’t use him or his witnesses,” Beckett replied, rolling his eyes.
“That doesn’t give us much of a defense, does it?”
There was a voice on the line. Beckett jerked straight up in his chair. “Yes, hello. I’m trying to reach Loretta Shapiro.”
“Ms. Shapiro is out of the office. Can I help you?”
“I hope so. My name is Evan Beckett. I’m an attorney. I’m trying to find out about an old investigation performed by your office.”
“Our investigations are confidential,” replied the woman.
“I’m aware of that. I can also send over a subpoena if need be, but before I waste everyone’s time, I just want to make sure my information is right. . I know how busy you all are,” Beckett added, trying to smooth the conversation.
After a pause, the woman said: “What’s the name?”
“The mother would be CarrieFey Benz, but I doubt she was even investigated, to tell the truth.”
“Benz? Yeah, it looks like she was investigated.”
“Does it say who got the investigation started?”
“No, this computer doesn’t do that. I’d have to pull the file.”
“Can you do that?” Beckett asked hopefully.
“I’ll need the subpoena first,” she replied.
Beckett agreed and the women told him where to send it and what details to include to get the right file. He grinned at Corbin. “Did you hear that? It looks like CarrieFey Benz
“We’ll see. Let’s wait until we see the report.”
The following morning, Corbin and Beckett sat on the bench outside the judge’s chamber. Hillary Morales stood silently at the other end of the hallway. None of them knew why Judge Sutherlin had summoned them. Finally, they were called into the office.
“Good morning, counselors,” Judge Sutherlin said, glancing over the top of his glasses. “I’ve been looking over the motions to dismiss filed by the defense, and I need more information. Counselor, have you had a chance to review the defendant’s motions?” he asked Morales.
“Yes, Your Honor,” she replied.
The judge pushed his glasses further up his nose and flipped through the file on his desk. “Ms. Morales, I don’t see how you’re going to prove these accounts were stolen in the first place.”
Morales looked stunned. She clutched her pen so tightly that it bent under the pressure, causing blue ink to leak out onto her blood-red pantsuit.
The judge continued: “I don’t see any witnesses on your list who can say their identities were stolen. Where are the people whose identities were used? Without testimony from those witnesses, I need to think strongly about dismissing this case. Are you planning on bringing any such witnesses?”
“Yes, Your Honor, we will bring those witnesses,” Morales assured him, though she clearly had no idea if she could keep that promise.
“I certainly hope so.”
Corbin’s face turned red with anger and he started to speak, but Beckett cut him off. Beckett looked worried. “Your Honor, could we have a five minute break?”
The judge looked at his watch. “Five minutes.”
The conference room they normally used was occupied, so Corbin and Beckett headed to the restroom next to the judge’s chamber. Inside, they found a clerk sitting on the ledge smoking. The clerk had figured out how to open the window, mercifully allowing cold outside air to offset the ultra-steamy air leaking out of the damaged radiator.
“If you’ll excuse us, we need to discuss something before we go back to see the judge,” Beckett told the clerk.
The clerk tossed the cigarette out the window, into the dumpster below, and walked out without a word. Beckett locked the door behind the clerk, as Corbin closed the window so their voices wouldn’t carry to any other open windows. It took him a few seconds to figure out how the clerk managed to get the window open and reverse it.
“That son of a bitch!” Corbin whispered angrily. “Sutherlin just told them how to try their case. He saw they couldn’t prove a necessary element of the crime and he just warned them. He told them what he wants to see!”
“Calm down.”
“I am calm,” Corbin replied tensely.
Beckett jammed his hands into his worn navy-blue suit pants and shook his head. “I don’t care about the heads up from the judge. That stinks, but that’s life. What I am concerned about is the prosecutor calling people we know as witnesses.”
Corbin froze as he grasped the meaning of Beckett’s words. To satisfy the judge’s demand for witnesses whose identities had been stolen, Morales and Pierce would need to call Corbin and Beckett’s coworkers from the Washington office as witnesses.
“How the hell do we explain that?!” Beckett asked rhetorically. “This could be bad.”
“Ya think?!” Corbin replied sarcastically. He glared at Beckett. Hate registered in his eyes, but Beckett didn’t notice.
Beckett bit his lip. “If they start calling people from the office to come testify, it would take a fool not to put two and two together and start wondering how you and I could be defending someone in another city, who just happens to be accused of stealing their identities. No one will see that as a coincidence.”
“And once they start asking questions, the prosecution’ll start asking questions. I told you this was a horrible idea!” Corbin growled. He took a deep breath. “What are our options?” he demanded. “Do we find some reason to withdraw?”
Beckett stared at the floor.
“Shit!” Corbin said to no one in particular. “Is there anything we can do to keep them from testifying?” he asked himself aloud.
Beckett snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it!”
“What?”
“We stipulate that the accounts belong to these people.”
“How does that help?”
“If we stipulate, then the fact is presumed to be true and the prosecutor doesn’t need to bring the witnesses to prove it. That means they don’t need to bring anyone from Washington. In fact, they
“Are you sure?” Corbin asked, carefully enunciating each word.
Beckett nodded his head. “Yes.”
“How do we know they won’t try to bring them anyway?”
“We don’t. But there wouldn’t be much point doing that, because they couldn’t testify. They would just be wasting money.”
“Do you think the prosecutor will agree?”
“I don’t know about Pierce, but I know Morales will, if we offer it to her right now. She looks worried. I’m betting she doesn’t want to admit to Pierce she made a huge mistake that requires him to pay for a dozen out-of- state witnesses.”
Corbin raised his hand as if to make a point, but stopped himself. “It’s your decision.”
Beckett approached Morales, who sat on the wooden bench waiting for the judge to call them back into his chamber. She was writing in a file.
“I’ve got a proposal for you.”
“I’m listening,” she replied curtly, without looking up.
“There’s no reason this trial needs to last ten days just so you can go through a parade of out-of-state witnesses who only need to say their identities were stolen. We’re willing to stipulate that these witnesses are the real people whose identities were stolen.”
