“And there will be no plea bargains!” insisted Dean. “We have to send a message to all the Santiagos out there that you don’t go around killing judges and raping their wives and expect to get off with a slap on the wrist. This is a death penalty case all the way if there ever was one.” He took a breath and peered. “Think you can handle it?”
She needed no time to think about it. “Yes,” she said emphatically, in spite of the intense media scrutiny this trial was sure to generate.
He flashed a satisfied half smile. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Feel free to choose anyone on staff as your co-counsel. I’ll move people around if I have to.”
Beverly could think of only one person she wanted as second chair during the trial. Grant Nunez. They worked well together in and out of court. There had never been a problem with egos between them, though he had been at it longer than her. Furthermore, it was Grant who was the first one at the hospital to get the jump on investigating Judge Crawford’s murder. It could come in handy.
“Thanks,” she said appreciatively to her boss.
“First off,” he told her, “you’ll need to get down to Police Headquarters this afternoon. After they pick up Santiago, he’ll be placed in a lineup for Maxine to positively I.D.”
“I’ll be there,” Beverly assured him.
“Good.” Dean put his glasses back on and stood, seemingly indicating the meeting was over.
Beverly got to her feet. She wanted to say a few more words, but decided they could wait for another time. She headed for the door.
She stopped in her tracks when Dean called out her name. She faced him.
He removed his glasses again theatrically. “I thought you might be interested in knowing that I’ve recommended to the governor that Grant replace Judge Crawford on the bench.”
Beverly was stunned, if only because of the suddenness of the news and the circumstances that had brought it about. She had always known that Grant was headed in that direction and was very happy for him. Did he know he was being considered for the appointment? Had he known when he asked her to meet him at the hospital?
“That’s wonderful news!” Beverly said with a smile.
“Yes, it is.” Dean smiled back, and then frowned. “I just wish it could have been under more favorable conditions. Of course, Grant has yet to be offered the judgeship. Until he does, let’s keep this under wraps, okay?”
“I understand,” she said, while thinking, Do I?
* * *
Beverly stood before her secretary’s desk. Jean Arness was nearly sixty and had been with the D.A.’s office for twenty-five years. Beverly cringed at the thought of being in any one place that long. But then again, if it was something you loved, why not?
Jean, shaped like a Christmas tree with a gray bouffant, looked up behind glasses. “You’ve got about ten messages here,” she groaned, handing them to Beverly one by one.
“And good morning to you, too.” Beverly looked at her with an amused smile.
Jean scowled. “It’s been anything but good this morning.”
“I can see that.” Beverly glanced at the messages. “At least there’s the rest of the day to look forward to.”
Jean rolled her hazel eyes. “Yeah, I can hardly wait.” She looked at her calendar. “You’ve got an appointment at eleven with Walter McIntosh.”
Beverly recalled setting up the meeting with the investigator for the D.A.’s office. But that was before the recent developments took precedence. “I have a lineup to go to. Reschedule it for tomorrow.”
“Not a problem, for me anyway. Maybe Mr. McIntosh might beg to differ.”
“I doubt that. Usually it’s Walter whose busy plate is too much for me to keep up with,” Beverly said.
She went into her office. It was a good deal smaller than Dean Sullivan’s, but big enough for Beverly to feel as if she belonged. Her wraparound desk was in typical disarray with open file folders, closed ones, a couple of trays filled with papers, and her laptop. Law books lined the shelf on the back wall and a single file cabinet stood in one corner.
She sat in her ergonomic desk chair and glanced out the window. The view was largely of other buildings in downtown Eagles Landing, though if she stretched her neck Beverly could make out the peak of Mount Tulan surrounded by some puffy clouds.
Her thoughts turned to her father. She hated the helpless feeling of watching him decline right before her very eyes. He barely recognized her now and had no memory at all of Jaime. Her son had trouble dealing with it, choosing mostly not to deal at all.
But she had to. Alberto Elizondo was still her father and Beverly owed it to him to do what she could to make him feel as comfortable as possible and know that he did have a family out there who cared about him.
Beverly made a few phone calls thanking those who had lent their support, expertise, or testimony in her last case. Aside from a common courtesy, she was also networking; well aware that it never hurt to maintain ties with people you might have to work with again.
Afterwards Beverly focused her attention on Rafael Santiago and Maxine Crawford. The two were about to form the centerpiece of her professional life and preoccupation. She accepted the challenge. She never liked to lose a case, especially one involving such violence and a high profile victim. But she was careful not to take anything for granted, knowing that surprises seemed to always wait in the wings, ready to potentially burst forth and jeopardize a trial at any time.
The mere notion left Beverly just slightly on edge.
CHAPTER TEN
The car—a shiny, new cream Chevy Cobalt—sat unlocked in the parking lot, as if the owner had every intention of coming back to it, but never made it. At least that was what Stone imagined, surveying the vehicle, careful not to touch anything. From all indications, there was no sign that it had been broken into or vandalized.
But the fact that the car had apparently been there all night did not bode well for Adrienne Murray. Had she gone running after work? Stone stared across the lot at Belle Park, a popular park for runners and non-runners alike, narrowing his eyes to block out the sunlight.
Someone could have been stalking her, Stone mused, waiting in the park for her expected run. Then what? Had she been abducted? Left for dead somewhere?
He had to consider the possibility that Adrienne Murray could already be a victim of foul play. Were this the case, Stone had to first look back at the husband, knowing that in spite of his apparent concern, most adult female murder victims were slain by their romantic partners.
So what type of relationship did the Murrays have? Had Chuck Murray actually done away with his wife?
Stone walked back to his car and got on the radio. “Gordon,” he spoke calmly to the detective roaming the park, “you see anything suspicious in there?”
“Not yet, Stone,” he responded. “Just the usual litter, some kids necking, people swimming, hanging out—”
“Well, keep at it.”
It occurred to Stone that in some rare cases people had been known to disappear completely and voluntarily from one life to start another. Sometimes they were even declared officially dead. Only to find out later they were alive and well, having staged their own disappearance.
That didn’t seem to be the case here. It didn’t figure that a person would walk away from a brand new car as part of an elaborate plan to disappear into the woodwork.
Where the hell was she? Stone was growing worried that there was more than a misunderstanding or vanishing act here to account for Adrienne Murray’s whereabouts.
He went inside the building that housed the telemarketing firm where Adrienne Murray was last seen, according to the husband. Looking at the business index board, Stone spied a variety of businesses sharing the space including a realty company, janitorial service, investment firm, and ELNC Systems, Inc.—Adrienne Murray’s place of employment.
He took the elevator up to the fifth floor and walked down a thin corridor till coming to the ELNC Systems office.
A pretty, young receptionist greeted him inside.
“May I help you?” She brushed away thick blonde bangs obscuring her vision.
He flashed his I.D. “Detective Stone Palmer of the Sheriff’s Department. I’m following up on the disappearance of one of your employees...Adrienne Murray—”
She frowned. “I’d heard that Adrienne was missing. I hope nothing bad happened to her—” Color filled her pale face. “You should probably to talk to our manager.”
Stone nodded. “Good idea.”
He followed her to the manager’s office where a Latina woman met him. She was in her early thirties and wearing way too much makeup on a sallow face. Her blonde bob somehow did not seem to go with the rest of her.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Claudia Sosa.”
The receptionist identified him before Stone could, and the purpose of his visit, leaving them alone.
“I last saw Adrienne yesterday just after six,” Claudia explained calmly. “She seemed perfectly fine then.”
Stone jotted this down. “Do you know if she went jogging in the park after she left?”
“Yes, I think she did, actually. Adrienne ran about three times a week, changing clothes in the bathroom.”
“Does she ever go jogging with anyone?” Stone looked at her intently.
Claudia rolled her eyes. “Not from this office. It’s an all female office and, aside from Adrienne, none of us are exactly into working out, if you know what I mean?”
“I think I understand,” he said uneasily. “Has anyone ever come here to visit Adrienne that you know of?”
“Yes. Her husband. He probably stopped by more than he should, given that this is a business we’re running.”
Stone took that down. “No one else?”
“No one that I can recall.”
Meaning maybe someone other than the husband could have visited Adrienne. Stone was looking for even the slightest lead.
“Could you show me where Adrienne worked?”
Claudia blinked. “Sure.”
Stone was taken to a partitioned cubicle, similar to maybe two dozen others. Each had a small desk, computer, and phone.
There was nothing particularly suspicious about this cubicle. It was orderly and showed no signs of friction. Stone used a pencil to nudge open a desk drawer at random. Inside was a purse that he pulled out.
“Is this Adrienne’s?” he asked Claudia.
“Yes,” she identified it. “She usually leaves it there when jogging.”
Stone took a cursory look inside, not wanting to contaminate potential evidence of a crime. There were the usual things: wallet, keys, makeup case, checkbook. Again, no sign that anything was missing.
Just Adrienne Murray.
She had obviously gone to the park, but had not come back.
They both looked up as Detective Gordon Chang, a ten-year veteran of the department, came barreling towards them like an out of control freight train. He was thirty-four, with short black hair, and a stocky frame.
“Found something out there,” he said, his java eyes dilated.
“Will you excuse us for a moment?” Stone asked Claudia. Reluctantly, she moved away.
In a conspiratorial low tone, Chang said, “Saw what appears to be blood, not far from the lake.”
In spite of his first instinct, Stone took a low-key approach to this news. “Maybe it wasn’t blood,” he suggested. “At least not human blood. It could have belonged to an animal.” He knew for a fact that there were always dogs running loose in that park—and some had been hurt through owner neglect or deliberate actions on the part of others. Even rabbits and deer managed to find their way through the park in search of food.
“I doubt this came from an animal,” Chang said with a sniffle. He removed a plastic bag from his pocket. There was a piece of aqua fabric in it, about three by three inches. It appeared to be nylon and its ragged nature suggested it might have been ripped from a garment. Holding it up, he said, “This was found near the blood. Looks to me like part of a—”
“Running suit,” Stone finished bleakly. He had one himself with the same texture. Still wasn’t proof that Adrienne had run into harm’s way. But things were not looking good. He called Claudia back over to them. “Do you know what color clothing Adrienne wore when she went running?”
Claudia scratched her head. “I’m not really sure—sorry.”
He showed her the material in the bag. “Does this look familiar?”
Claudia’s eyes widened. “It might...” Her voice dropped. “Do you think it’s from Adrienne’s clothes?”
Stone tossed her an austere look. “That’s what we were hoping you could tell us.”
She was suddenly shaking. “The color looks right,” she gasped. “But Adrienne has a couple of jogging suits she likes to wear. Maybe she was wearing the other one—”
Something tells me she wasn’t. Stone realized that denial seemed to be the way most people coped with a possible tragedy. Including cops. Till the facts spoke for themselves.
“Thanks for your help,” Stone told the manager, though unsure just how helpful she’d been. He declared Adrienne’s cubicle an unofficial crime scene, meaning nothing was to be removed or touched pending further investigation.
Outside Stone directed Chang to get a search team out to comb the park. He also wanted to get the name of every person who worked in that building; especially those who were at work yesterday. Maybe someone saw something. Or knew something.
Or someone.
Could even be that Adrienne’s disappearance was directly attributable to another employee in her place of employ, Stone considered, if a long shot.
“I think I’ll go pay the husband a little visit,” he said to Chang. “Maybe Murray will be able to shed more light on a situation that’s looking dimmer with each passing moment—”
* * *
Stone drove to an old Victorian house on Rosewood Avenue in Wilameta County. A black extended cab pickup truck was parked in the driveway.
Before Stone could get to the porch, the door opened and Chuck Murray came out. His face was contorted. “Is my wife dead?” he asked in a slurred voice.
“We’re not certain—” Stone wondered if his obvious drinking was in preparation for bad news. Or was it to mask what he already knew? “Mind if I come in?”
“Yeah, sure,” Chuck muttered, as if forgetting his manners.
The interior of the house was stuffy, but well kept. Stone noted the simple contemporary furnishings in the living room. He spied framed pictures of Adrienne and her husband on the mantel.
“Can I get you a drink or something?” asked Chuck, looking flustered and disoriented as he picked up a glass and took a sip.
“No thanks. Can’t drink on duty.” Stone gazed into his bloodshot eyes. “Besides, looks as if you’ve already had enough for the both of us.”
Chuck made no attempts to deny it. “Can you blame me, man?” His mouth hung open like it was being pulled down. “The woman I love is missing...probably dead and buried—”
Having never experienced the feeling of his own wife missing, Stone knew he couldn’t exactly relate. Yet he could relate to some degree as a detective who had been there, done that, with unfortunate results. His concern here was that Chuck Murray was acting more like a man who knew his wife was not coming back, rather than hoped she would. Why was that?
“I guess I can understand why you might feel the need to get drunk,” Stone said, hoping it might keep the man talking.
“It’s helping me cope,” said Chuck, licking his lips. “You know?”
Not really, but maybe you’ll enlighten me. Stone casually walked to the mantel and lifted an eleven by fourteen photograph of Adrienne Murray. “You take this?”
“Yeah.” Chuck was boastful. “I like to take pictures in my spare time. Call it a hobby.”
Not a bad hobby, Stone had to admit. Taken fairly recently, Adrienne was all smiles and teeth and seemingly happy. He wondered h
ow often Chuck had photographed his wife. And under what circumstances? He put the picture back and faced the husband.
“So what did you find out?” Chuck asked nervously.
Stone approached him. “Well, for one, your wife did go jogging after work...” he began sorrowfully, “and apparently never came back to pick up her car—”
Chuck buried large hands in his face, as if sensing the worst. “I knew I shouldn’t have allowed her to run in that damned park! Especially at night with all those winos and gang bangers hanging out there.”
Stone peered at him. “Do you know what color running suit your wife brought to work to wear when she went jogging?”
“I think it was blue-green,” he said matter-of-factly. “I bought that one for Adrienne myself. Why?”
Stone took out the plastic bag with the torn fabric in it. “Does this look like the material from her jacket?”
Chuck studied the fabric for only an instant before squeezing his eyes shut. “Yes—” he groaned. “That looks exactly like a piece of her running suit.”
Stone feared he would say that and probably with good reason. But at this point, he still wasn’t sure if they were dealing with a dead wife or not. And, if so, was her death a homicide? Suicide? Accident? Maybe the husband knows more about the circumstances of her disappearance than he was letting on.
“Why don’t we wait until it’s confirmed before we jump to any of the wrong conclusions,” Stone suggested. Unfortunately, he had already reached some probable conclusions, and they weren’t very pretty.
Chuck ran a hand through his hair, as if searching for something. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “She has to be okay. I don’t even want to think about life without Adrienne...”
You just might have to. “I could use your help, Chuck,” Stone said gingerly, “trying to find your wife.”
“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he promised.
“Was Adrienne wearing any jewelry when she went to work yesterday—including a watch or rings?”
Chuck tasted more of his drink. “My wife wasn’t much for jewelry. Thought it was too showy. Except for her wedding and engagements rings,” he said almost as an afterthought. “She never took them off. Wore a watch every day, too. One of them two-tone Seikos—” He walked to the mantel and lifted a photograph. It was a close-up of Adrienne, posing with her hands under her chin. Her rings and watch were clearly visible. He extended his arm towards Stone. “Take it.”
State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller Page 6
