Andrew Price - Without A Hitch

“Where was the barrel of the gun pointing?”

“Down behind him.”

“Let me see if I’m following you. If he’s holding the gun like this,” Beckett said, stepping to the right of the podium, closer to the jury, and mimicking Russell’s pose, “then he would have shot behind his right leg if he’d pulled the trigger?”

“Into the floor behind his right ankle, yes sir,” Russell said.

“Ok, got it. So he was standing like this,” Beckett asked, as he turned to show his back to the jury.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Russell confirmed.

Beckett stepped back to the podium and picked up the police report. “That’s consistent with what you wrote in your report at the time?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“How did you know Beaumont would be at the apartment?” Beckett asked, changing direction.

“That’s where he lives.”

“Does he have another home?”

“No, this is it.”

“Can you describe the place?”

Russell laughed. “Yeah, it’s a hole. I mean, it’s not a nice place. . just a little apartment on 16th and Franklin, in the projects.”

“Nicely decorated?”

“Not by my taste.”

“Can you describe the decor?” Beckett asked. So far, there had been no intensity to any of the questions.

Russell made a sour face. “Dingy, brown paint peeling off the walls. Broke, ancient appliances. There’s an old couch, a mattress on the floor, a nightstand with a light on it.” Russell laid his contempt for Beaumont on thickly.

“Anything of value in the apartment?”

“No. Just the television and that looked pretty old.”

“Did you recover any money from the apartment?”

“No, just a couple dollars he had on him, that’s about it.”

Beckett’s tone suddenly sharpened. “So you found no traces of the money he allegedly stole?”

Russell froze, realizing what he’d admitted. If Beaumont had stolen as much money as they claimed, why hadn’t they found any traces of it and why did he not appear to own anything more than a rundown apartment? Russell took a deep breath and reluctantly answered: “No, Mr. Beckett, we did not.”

“Is Officer Webb still your partner?” Beckett picked up the pace of his questioning.

“No, he’s not.” From his scowl, it was obvious Russell didn’t like the question.

“You remained partners less than a year, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“Is that normal?”

“It happens.”

“Did you have a falling out?”

“No.”

“Then why aren’t you partners today?”

Russell’s face turned red and he folded his arms. “You’d have to ask him.”

“We will. I just wanted to hear your version first,” Beckett said, setting a trap for Russell. If Russell remained silent, then whatever Webb said later would be the only version presented to the jury. But if he responded, he ran the risk of opening a can of worms Webb might never have opened. Still, Beckett’s use of the word “version” left Russell little choice but to respond, as it suggested to the jury that something unusual had happened between the two officers.

“Sometimes it just happens,” Russell replied, trying to evade the question. “People don’t always get along. There ain’t nothing wrong about that.”

“Why didn’t you two get along? Is there something the jury should know?” Beckett’s tone suggested there was. This caused the jury to noticeably perk up.

“Not really, he’s just a rookie.”

“What does that mean?”

Russell saw the jury staring at him. “It means he’s a rookie, that’s it. It means he’s got a lot of lessons to learn that come with experience. That’s it, nothing bad or nothing like that.”

“Lessons to learn,” Beckett repeated. “What was the lesson that caused Officer Webb to take the unusual step of asking for another partner?”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

“All right, Sergeant, we’ll take this up with Officer Webb.” Beckett let Russell stew for a moment as he pretended to search his notes. Sure enough, Russell began shifting around uncomfortably. “You look uncomfortable, Sergeant. Is there something you want to add?”

“No.”

Beckett now had all the preliminary pieces he needed. He’d gotten Russell to admit they found no evidence of Beaumont having any money. He’d gotten a physical description of Beaumont that would come in handy later. He’d also placed a suggestion into minds of the jurors that Russell and Webb had a falling out over something relevant to this case. It was time to destroy Russell. Beckett took a quick sip of water.

“Describe for me again what happened when Officer Webb knocked on the door. Where were you?”

“I was standing behind Webb.”

“Behind him on one side or straight behind him?”

“Behind him looking over his shoulder. It’s standard procedure for a forced entry. He’s standing next to the door and I’m behind him looking over his left shoulder.”

“His left shoulder?!” Beckett exclaimed. This meant Webb needed to reach across the door to turn the door knob. Doing so would expose him to danger if Beaumont shot through the door — the most likely area a suspect would target. It also made him vulnerable if Beaumont yanked the door open and attacked.

Beckett worked through these details with Russell, who explained that because the door was at the end of a hallway and the wall was immediately to the left of the door, they had to take up positions to the right of the door, which meant Webb needed to reach across the door to turn the knob. However, Russell claimed, Webb never reached across the door because Beaumont opened it. When Beaumont then flashed his gun, they made their forced entry.

“When Beaumont opened the door, did he open it all the way?” Beckett asked.

“No, he opened it about six inches, just enough to see his face and the gun.”

“Where was Beaumont’s body when he opened the door?”

“He was up against the door, blocking it with his shoulder.” Russell moved his left shoulder forward to demonstrate for the jury.

“How do you know that?”

“Because he was leaning against the door when we forced our way in.”

“You say his left shoulder leaned against the door?”

“Yeah, his left. He wedged his left shoulder against the door and then hung his face around to look out through the crack.” Russell held his arm up to mimic bracing a door. Then he moved his head slightly to the right without moving his shoulder, as if he was trying to show his face in the crack between the door and the door frame.

“Which hand did he use to turn the doorknob?”

“His right.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he couldn’t have turned it with his left and still barred the door,” Russell answered.

“You’re sure.”

“Absolutely. When we forced the door a millisecond after we saw the gun, his arm and shoulder were already blocking the door. If he’d been turning the doorknob, we would’a pushed right through the door with no resistance.”

“And you’ve done a lot of these, so you would know?”

“Absolutely,” Russell said without hesitation.

“You’re sure the gun was in his left hand?”

“Like I said.”

“In fact, it couldn’t have been in his right hand, correct?” Beckett picked up the gun from the prosecution table. “After all, this is a big gun. It’s kind of cumbersome. He couldn’t have held it with his right hand and turned the doorknob with that hand, could he?”

“No, not likely.”

“At least not without difficulty. . and not without you noticing.”

“We would’a noticed,” Russell agreed.

“So we’ve established that he couldn’t have been holding the gun in his right hand because he couldn’t have turned the doorknob, correct?”