Without a Hitch (22 page)

“That’s what I
said.”

“And you don’t
have an account there either?”

“Of course not,
I never been there,” Beaumont replied condescendingly.

“The prosecutor
has a video that disagrees with you.  It shows you in First Regional.”

“Let me see the
video.”

“You’ll see the
video at trial.  I’ve seen it, and there’s no mistaking you,” Corbin lied.  He’d
only seen a description of the video at this point.

Beaumont glanced
at Beckett.  “This is all attorney-client shit, right?”

“Yes,” Beckett
responded.

“You can’t tell
nobody what I say?”

“No one.”

Beaumont folded
his arms and returned his attention to Corbin.  “I was there with a friend.”

“You’re alone on
the video,” Corbin countered.

Beaumont
shrugged.

“If you don’t
have an account at the bank and you weren’t there with a friend, why were you
there?”

“I don’t
remember.”

“Was it because
you have a fake account there in some other name?”

“No.”

“So you just
like hanging out at First Regional?” Corbin asked snidely.  When Beaumont
refused to answer, Corbin continued.  “Do you have an account at Penn Bancorp?”

“I don’t
remember.”

“You don’t
remember if you have an account there?  You know that’s an easy one to look up?”

“I ain’t got no
account.”

“Then what were
you doing there?”

Beaumont again
didn’t respond.

“Why were you at
Penn Bancorp on June 14th?” Corbin pressed him.

“I don’t know, I
forgot.”

Corbin laughed. 
“You forgot?”

“Yeah, I don’t
remember.  I’m not debatin’ wit’ chu.”

“Do you know
what the manager says?”

“I don’t know no
manager.”

Corbin flipped
over several pages in his notepad.  “That’s funny, she remembers you.  She says
you opened an account in the name of Scott Stevens.”  Stevens worked with
Corbin in the Washington office.

“I don’t know
nothin’ about that.”

“Nothing?”
Corbin asked with mock surprise.

“No, nothin’.”

“So you can’t
refute her statement then.”

“I didn’t say
that,” Beaumont blurted out.  “You putting words in my mouth!”

“Where did the
checkbooks and credit cards come from?”

“The cop planted
them—”

“Which cop?”
Corbin demanded even before Beaumont finished speaking.

“I don’t know, I
didn’t see which cop,” Beaumont answered.  He was becoming confused.  Corbin had
increased the pace of his questions, giving Beaumont less time to think.  This
was breaking down Beaumont’s prepared story.

“You told us
earlier you watched him ‘drop the evidence’ before they hauled you to the
cruiser.”

“So what?”

“So which is
it?  Did you see him ‘drop the evidence’ or did they do it after you left?”

“I saw ’em drop
it.”

“Then which cop
did it?”

“Man, I don’t
know,” Beaumont replied angrily.  He wiped the sweat from his brow against the
upper part of his sleeve; the shackles kept him from lifting his hands to his
head.

“Did they plant
the gun as well?”

“Yeah, that
ain’t my piece.  I don’t own no piece.”

“Have you ever
owned a gun?”  Corbin increased the pace of his questioning again.

“Naw, man.  I
don’t need no gun.”

Corbin flipped
to another page in his notes, and without missing a beat, asked:  “Didn’t you
make the same claim two years ago, that the cops planted a gun on you?”

“Yeah, ’cause
they did.”

“And you made
the same claim the year before that!”

When Beaumont
didn’t respond, Beckett interrupted:  “Beaumont, at trial, the judge will make
you answer these questions.”

Beaumont shot an
angry, doubtful look at Beckett.  “I don’t got to answer nothin’.  I got
constitutional rights to remain silent.”

Beckett shook his
head.  “If you choose to testify, then you need to answer all questions.  You
can’t pick and choose which ones you want to answer.”

Beaumont visibly
recoiled.

Corbin resumed
his attack in the same aggressive manner as before.  “What do you do for a
living, Beaumont?”

“I make do,”
Beaumont responded, as he glanced around the room.

“Where do you
work?”

“What do you
care?!”

“You sell drugs
for a living, don’t you.”

“No.”

Corbin’s eyes
bore into Beaumont’s.  “You were arrested five years ago for selling crack
cocaine.”

“Man, they
arrested me, but I didn’t do nothing.”

“When they
arrested you, they found $4,200 on you.”

“That ain’t no
crime.”

“Those dollars
were in fact marked, correct?”

“How would I
know?”

Corbin reached
for the file.  “I have in this file, the sworn testimony of two officers, who
state the money found in your possession had been marked as part of a drug
sales sting.”

“Look, man,”
Beaumont said, sitting up straight and trying to point at the file, though his
shackles prevented him from raising his hands more than a couple inches from
his lap.  “I had nothing to do with that!  That was some of my boys.  They
running low on cash.  They owed their street tax.  So, they sold a little dark
idol.  Ain’t no crack.  They give me some money I was owed, that’s it.  The
cops try to make me part of some conspiracy, but that ain’t true.”

“‘Dark idol’?”
Corbin asked.

“Heroin!  Man,
where you from?!”

“Do your friends
normally give you the proceeds when they sell heroin?”

“Naw, he owed me
money.  I sold him a car.”

“I thought you
said it was ‘street tax.’”

“No, it was a
car.”

“What make and
model?” Corbin demanded immediately.

“I don’t remember.”

“We can look
that up at the DMV,” Corbin said in a tone that told Beaumont he could disprove
Beaumont’s lie.  “Car sales get registered, unlike guns,” Corbin added, trying
to lead Beaumont to his next mistake.  Beaumont took the bait.

“That’s what I meant,
a gun.”

“I thought you’ve
never owned a gun.”

“Fuck, I don’t
remember what the money was for.  The cops dropped the charges.  That means it
didn’t happen.”

Corbin shook his
head at Beaumont.  “What was the name of your friend?”

“Farrouk. . .
Farrouk Winslow.”

“Was he the only
one?”

Beaumont
remained silent.

“I can look up
the arrest record if I need to.”

“David Carson. 
He gave me money too, and they busted him too.”

Corbin flipped
through his notes before beginning again.  “Do you know a CarrieFey Benz, aka
‘Santa Fey’?”

“What about
her?” Beaumont asked suspiciously.

“She called the
cops on you, didn’t she?  She told them you sold crack to her son.  He was
twelve at the time.”

“Shit, she’s the
crackhead.”

“And when the
son didn’t pay, you beat him with a lead pipe while two of your friends held
him down.”

Once again,
Beaumont remained silent.

“So why does a
big man like you need help to hold down a twelve year old kid?”

“I don’t need
nobody to hold down no twelve year old!” Beaumont blurted out before catching
himself.  He turned to Beckett.  “Look, that never happened,” he explained to
Beckett, ignoring Corbin’s stare.  “If I would’a beat a twelve year old kid
with a lead pipe, he’d be dead.  That woman, she used to deal, but she did her
own product.  When she did it, she did a lot.  That’s why they call her
Santa
Fey?  Cause Fey make it snow like Christmas.”

“If she was the
dealer, why did she call the cops on you?” Corbin countered.

Beaumont turned
to face Corbin again.  “’Cause she got in trouble with child services.  That woman
was in serious need of a exorcism.  She smacked her kid around, and they want
to take the kid away.  So she blamed me.”

“And the bruises
on the child—”

“Was caused by
her.”

“She vanished
without a trace after calling the cops,” Corbin said in a calmer tone that
implied less doubt about Beaumont’s tale.

“She disappear
when her old man come looking for her.  Left the kids and everything.”  Beaumont
matched Corbin’s calmer tone.

“Who is the old
man?” Corbin asked, continuing to soften his tone.

“Don’t know, she
used to call him Methadone Man, said he had an occasional girlfriend called
Crystal, and that made him crazy.”

“He was on
methadone or crystal meth?” Beckett interrupted.

“He done both.”

“She never gave
you a real name for Methadone Man?” Corbin asked.

“Said his name
was Roy, that’s all I know.”

“Do you know
where we can find Roy?”

Beaumont
smirked.  “Roy got sentenced by Judge Colt and his jury of six.  Shame too,
right after he busted his paper.”

“Busted his—?”

“Finished his
parole.  Then the fool got hisself shot,” Beaumont explained.

“Who killed
him?”

“I don’t know,
we weren’t that close.”

“Do you know
where he was killed?” Corbin asked.

“I ain’t got no
idea.  I never heard nothin’ about it.”

“Did they ever
arrest anyone for it?”

“I said, I don’t
know.”

“Where is David
Carson today?” Corbin asked.

Beaumont froze
for a second.  “I don’t know.”

“Isn’t he in
prison in Tennessee?” Corbin asked, pulling a court record from Tennessee from
the file.  It indicated that David Carson was convicted of the murder of Roy
Jackson and an unidentified woman during, what Carson claimed, was a drug deal
gone wrong.

“How would I
know?!” he blurted out, stumbling over the words.  He looked shocked.

“You said he was
your friend.”

“No, I said he
owed me money!”

“Do you know the
name of the child services agent?”

“The what?!”
Beaumont asked, completely surprised.

“What was the
name of the child services agent who investigated CarrieFey?”  Corbin sharpened
his tone.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s easy
enough to find out.”  Corbin wrote something on his legal pad.

Beaumont’s face
flushed.  “They ain’t gonna remember,” he stammered.

“Child services
keeps a record of all investigations,” Corbin said matter-of-factly, as he
nonchalantly flipped through his notes.

“She might’a
been lying.”

Corbin looked
up.  “Excuse me?!”

“When she said
she was being investigated, she could’a been lying.”

“Let’s move on,”
Corbin said, frowning and shaking his head.  He paused to look at his notes,
letting Beaumont sweat.  It took about five seconds for Beaumont to break.

“Hold on, hold
on!  If that bitch lie to me, I don’t want you thinkin’ I did nothin’.”

“Are you telling
me you want to change your story?” Corbin feigned surprise.

Beaumont looked
around nervously, but remained silent.  He bit his lip.  Corbin took advantage
of Beaumont’s nervousness to press harder.

“Tell me about
Letricia Gittner.”

“What about
her?”

“Oh, I don’t
know. . . tell me why you raped her and killed her?”

Beaumont almost
jumped out of his chair, but the shackles yanked him back down.  “I ain’t never
raped nobody, and I didn’t kill her!”

“Then I take it
you didn’t shoot your girlfriend Mona Hampton either?”

“I ain’t never
shot or raped nobody!”

Corbin laughed. 
“Do you know your accent changes when you get angry?”

“Fuck you, man!”

Beckett started
to interrupt, but Corbin cut him off.  “Ok, you didn’t kill her.  Tell me what
happened?”

“What do you
want to know?!” Beaumont barked.

“Do you deny
being at the scene?”

“No.”

“Then tell us
what happened.  It’s a simple question.”  Corbin stared unwaveringly into
Beaumont’s eyes.

Beaumont
breathed heavily.  Sweat visibly soaked his shirt.  His eyes shifted around the
room.  “I got a text.  It was Letricia.  Me and her been going at it behind my
girl Mona’s back.  Letricia tells me, she wants $10,000 or she’s gonna tell
Mona.  I agreed to meet her.”  Beaumont paused, waiting to see if Corbin would
interrupt; he didn’t.  “When I get there, she tells me she don’t care about the
money, she just wants me.”

“Was Mona
present?” Beckett asked.

“No.  Not at
first.”  Beaumont eased back into his chair and relaxed his shoulders.  “I
start thinking, I can keep a good thin’ going.  So I start talkin’ to her like
we still lovers.  Soon we’re gettin’ down.”

“Where did you
do it?” Corbin asked.

“Right there on
the floor.”

“Not on the
bed?”

“Naw, she’s
freaky like that.”  Beaumont glanced at Beckett before continuing.  “When I’m
getting dressed, Mona shows up.  She’s pissed.  She read the text and she
followed me.  She’s got a gun. . .  big fuckin’ cannon.  She starts rantin’ and
shit.  Next thing I know, she puts the gun to Letricia’s head and pulls the
trigger.  Bam!  I’m across the room, but I get covered in blood and shit.  I’m
thinking, ‘Fuck, this bitch gonna do me next,’ so I doved behind the
television.”  He glanced at Beckett again.

“And?” Corbin
prodded him.

“Next thing I
know she starts screamin’ and cryin’.  I look up and see her blow her own
brains out.”

“Mona shot
Letricia and then turned the gun on herself?” Corbin repeated skeptically.

“It’s true man.”

“And what did
you do next?”

“I ran like a
motherfucker.  Man, I know the cops.  They were gonna pin this on me, so I took
off.”

“Where did you
run?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where did the
police find you?”

“At home.”

“So you went
straight home?”