“My mind is made up.”
“Don’t do this, Evan,” Corbin warned him.
Beckett turned away to avoid Corbin’s stare. He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, picked up the divorce papers his wife’s attorney had sent the day before, and pushed past Corbin. He stopped at the door to the office. “You don’t need to show up tomorrow,” he said, without looking at Corbin. He looked sad and he looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t.
Russell pinned Webb against the wall. Hillary Morales stood behind Russell. They were in an interrogation room at the station.
“Let him go, Sergeant,” Morales ordered. “I just want to talk to him. There’s no need for violence.” Morales offered Webb a chair, but he refused. She leaned against the edge of the table. “Officer Webb, you made an arrest-”
“I’m not lying for you or
“Let me finish, Officer,” Morales commanded. “You work for this department, and you are obligated to testify when called. In the process of exercising your duties,
Webb folded his arms.
“The choice is yours. Are you going to stand by the statement you made in your official capacity or are you going to admit you lied on official documents?” She waited for a response, but he remained silent. “We’re not leaving here until I get an answer from you.”
Webb still didn’t speak.
“Are we leaving here with an understanding or are you leaving here in cuffs?” she asked.
They stood there in silence. After what seemed like an eternity, Webb laughed. He stepped away from the wall. “You want to call me, that’s fine. I’ll back up the report to the letter, but nothing further.” He pushed past Russell and stormed out of the interrogation room. Russell followed him into the hallway.
“What the heck does that mean?!” Russell shouted.
Webb stopped. “It means I’ll tell the truth and nothing more.”
Corbin sat on the edge of his bed in the dark. Sleet hit the window. It was 6:04 am. He held the gun in his hand. Could he do it? He tried calling Beckett the night before to give him one last chance to change his mind, but Beckett had checked out and Corbin had no idea where he was. . though he knew where Beckett would be in a couple hours. Corbin squeezed the gun tightly. His face contorted into a twisted mess. He felt a throbbing pain behind his left eye.
“Fuck!”
He set the gun down on the bed. He leaned forward, with his elbows on his knees and his head resting in his hand. He rubbed his eyes with his thumbs. He stood up and paced back and forth across the room. Finally, he stopped. He stood above the gun, staring at it, grinding his teeth.
“Fuck you, Evan, fuck you,” Corbin hissed.
Corbin walked to the closet and removed a hanger from one of his dry-cleaned shirts. Returning to the bed, he grabbed some packaging tape from the top of the television and a small white towel. He wrapped the gun in the towel, forming a triangular package. Then he took the clothes hanger and bent it to match the size of the triangular package. He taped the hanger to the package, leaving the hook sticking out beyond the edge of the package, and then sealed the package with the tape.
Corbin walked into the alley outside the courthouse. It was still dark and sleeting. He walked over to the dumpster which sat just one floor beneath the restroom window. Corbin looked both ways to make sure the alley was empty and he scanned the windows to make sure he wasn’t being observed. He was alone. He pulled the towel-package from his coat and carefully placed it into the dumpster, wedging it between two garbage bags so the hook from the clothes hanger stood upright, as if it were hanging in a closet.
With the gun placed in the dumpster, Corbin entered the building. As usual, he emptied his pockets to walk through the metal detector. The guards thought nothing of the ball of string in his bag or the dry cleaning he carried. As he entered the courtroom, Corbin found the bailiff already there. He asked for permission to use the restroom in the private hallway to change his shirt. The bailiff agreed.
Corbin entered the restroom, locking the door behind him. Despite the early hour, the radiator rattled away, causing the window to fog up. He removed the clothes hanger from his dry cleaning and stuffed the shirt into his bag. He took the ball of string from his bag and tied it around the clothes hanger. Using the trick he’d learned from the clerk, he opened the window and scanned the deserted alley below. The alley was deserted. Slowly, Corbin lowered the clothes hanger on the string until it hooked onto the package in the dumpster, about ten feet below. He carefully pulled the package up, grabbing it when it got close enough. He unwrapped the gun, before dropping the towel and the clothes hanger into the dumpster. After closing the window, Corbin hid the gun in the hand-towel dispenser and returned to the courtroom. He was ready.
Beckett paused at the door to the courtroom. The room was empty except for two people sitting together near the back and Corbin, who sat at the defense table. Beckett walked over to Corbin. “I didn’t expect to find you here,” he said, as he brushed snowflakes from the sleeves of his navy-blue suit.
“There’s a good chance Webb won’t show up,” Corbin said, without looking at Beckett. He sounded unconvinced. He looked tired, with dark bags beneath his eyes. He also hadn’t changed his suit, though he did change his tie. “Even if he does show up, I want one last chance to talk to you.”
“My mind’s made up.”
“Hear me out,” Corbin commanded. He stared right into Beckett’s bloodshot eyes. “Before you do
Corbin was right, but Beckett didn’t acknowledge it. Beaumont had a right to make the decision on whether or not he wanted Beckett to offer this confession, which would essentially be evidence and likely would cause a mistrial, or whether he felt the trial was going well enough that he wanted it withheld.
“Before you say anything, you owe it to Beaumont to explain to him what happened and what you’re about to do,” Corbin repeated.
Beckett shook his head.
“This isn’t your decision,” Corbin said coldly. He turned his attention to his notepad and left Beckett to consider his words.
Corbin and Beckett sat in silence for almost an hour as people drifted into the courtroom. The jury remained out of sight, as did the judge. Morales sat at the prosecution table, waiting nervously for any sign of Webb. Pierce was in the hallway, talking to the press.
“I’m confident we’ll get this conviction,” he told two reporters.
“But it sounds as if the defense has blown your case apart?” asked one of the reporters.
“Oh, nonsense!” Pierce laughed. “Trials are about surprises. Things happen you never expect. Some witnesses come through, others don’t. It doesn’t mean the defendant isn’t guilty. It just means that sometimes witnesses get confused on the stand and make mistakes. When the jury hears all the evidence, they’ll see clearly that Beaumont is guilty of these crimes, and I’m confident they’ll convict him.”
“What additional evidence are you planning to introduce?” asked the other reporter.
“You’ll have to wait and see,” Pierce said, giving a little laugh as he spoke.
“Would you be willing to give an on-camera interview for our lunch hour?”
“Certainly.” Pierce looked at his watch. “I need to get ready, but I’ll be happy to speak with you during the lunch break. I think you’ll see a very different case by then.”
As they entered the jury box that morning, several jurors eyed Eddie Pierce skeptically. He ignored their looks and continued to project an air of extreme confidence, with his wide smile and easy manner. Morales, however, looked ill. She hadn’t slept, though her brown suit looked like she’d slept in it. Beaumont hadn’t slept either. He looked angry, like he always did. Today’s pimp suit was metallic silver. Neither Beckett nor Corbin slept either. They showed no emotions at all.
Judge Sutherlin immediately turned to Pierce. “Call your witness, Mr. Pierce.”
