“The people call Officer Paul Webb, Your Honor,” Pierce proclaimed loudly.
All eyes turned to the back of the room, where the bailiff opened the door and called Webb’s name. For what seemed like an eternity, no one appeared.
Meanwhile, out in the hallway, Russell walked over to Webb, who stepped off the elevator a moment before he was called. Russell grabbed him by the shoulder. “Don’t you fuck me, Rook,” Russell spat out venomously, but quietly enough not to be overheard by the reporters waiting down the hallway.
“Get out of my way.” Webb showed no trace of being intimidated.
“What are you gonna tell ’em bastards?” Russell demanded.
“What you’re doing is acrime, Russ.”
“What are you gonna tell ’em!”
“I’m going to tell them the truth,” Webb replied, his voice drained of emotion. “I’m going to tell them I arrested Beaumont, that I searched the nightstand, and that I found the documents.”
“What if they ask where them documents came from?”
Webb shook off Russell’s hand and pushed past him. He stopped once he was clear of Russell. “If they ask me where the documents came from, I’ll tell ’em the truth. . I’ll tell ’em you put ’em there.”
Webb walked into the courtroom. He wore an ill-fitting gray checkered suit, not his uniform. The sleeves were too long and the pants a hint too short. His black tie was off center. Slowly, reluctantly, he made his way to the witness box. Corbin closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Beckett looked pale as a sheet. He looked like he might throw up. Morales too looked like she might throw up. Pierce smiled broadly.
“State your name for the record,” Pierce began in a formal tone.
“Paul William Webb.”
“You are a police officer?”
“Yes,” Webb replied with a trace of hostility, which Pierce ignored.
“Officer Webb, you’ve been on the force now for just over a year, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Were you involved in the arrest of the defendant, Mr. Beaumont, on November 21st of last year?”
Webb hesitated. “I was involved, yes.”
“What can you tell us about that arrest?”
Webb hesitated again before responding. “What do you want to know?”
“Tell us what you did,” Pierce demanded.
“I arrested Mr. Beaumont.” He said nothing else.
“Is that all?” Pierce asked testily. “Didn’t you in fact take a number of documents-”
“Objection,” Beckett interrupted. “Leading.”
“Sustained,” Sutherlin said. He wasn’t reading his file today, he was watching Webb closely.
“Did you search the apartment, Officer?”
“Not the whole thing, no.” Webb continued to resist Pierce’s questions.
“Did you search part of the apartment?”
“Yes.”
“What part or parts did you search?” Pierce asked. His frustration at Webb’s resistance was eroding his poker face.
“I was asked to search the nightstand next to Mr. Beaumont,” Webb responded.
“Did you find anything in the nightstand?”
Webb looked at Beaumont, looked at Pierce, looked at Beckett, and then looked at the jury. They watched him intently.
“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?”
