State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller

by Flowers, R. Barri

  Ortega shook his head, smiling grimly. “Give me some slack, Beverly. I like second degree murder and second degree sexual battery, dropping the other charges. This will put Santiago away for a good while and give him the chance for a life afterwards.”

  A laugh escaped Beverly before she could bring it under control. “You’re really good, Ortega. Maybe Santiago should have thought about getting a life before he took away someone else’s and damaged another in ways he cannot imagine. To suggest such a plea bargain with such a straight face is outrageous.”

  Ortega bristled. “Frankly, it’s the best I would even offer the man,” he said unapologetically, “considering I believe my client’s being railroaded.”

  “By whom?” she asked peevishly. “Definitely not me! The facts speak for themselves.” Beverly shot him a hard look. “My advice to you, Counselor, is if you believe your client is truly innocent, then prove it in court. No deals from my office!”

  Indignation spread across Ortega’s puffy face like a rash. “If that’s the way you want to play it—”

  “It’s not a game and definitely not play,” Beverly made clear. “It’s the way the system works when someone commits a shocking and despicable crime and there’s an airtight case.” Now she only hoped she didn’t have to eat her words.

  Their sandwiches came. But by then they both seemed to have lost their appetites.

  * * *

  On Saturday, Beverly spent some quality time with Jaime. She had resolved to make sure her career never caused her to lose sight of the most important things in life. Jaime was at the top of that list. Followed by her father.

  And Grant was not too far behind. It seemed that he had left quite an impression on Jaime, though her son hadn’t come right out and admitted it. Now she hoped to build upon it, for all their sakes.

  After going to see a movie in the afternoon, they went to a Barnes & Noble bookstore. Beverly had always been an avid reader. She had managed to instill a love for books in Jaime at an early age. He picked out several of his favorite mysteries, while she chose some nonfiction hardcover titles.

  On the way home, they stopped at Burger King. It wasn’t exactly Beverly’s first choice, but it was Jaime’s turn to decide where they ate out so she didn’t complain.

  While nibbling on a salad, Beverly couldn’t help but notice the Hispanic man seated at the table near the window. He looked strangely familiar. When he glanced her way, she quickly shifted her eyes elsewhere.

  Now where have I seen that face?

  Then it came to her with alarming clarity. He bore a striking resemblance to Rafael Santiago! So much so that the man could have been his brother. He may have been a trifle shorter and a few pounds heavier, if that, but if Beverly hadn’t known better she would have sworn that they were one and the same.

  But how was that possible?

  Santiago’s background file showed that he was an only child. Could the records have been mistaken?

  Beverly glanced at the man again. This time he was already looking her way, as if he knew exactly who she was and wanted her to know it. Uneasiness swept over Beverly like a bad cold.

  Could he possibly be the man who murdered Judge Crawford? The same man who then viciously sexually assaulted his wife?

  Had Maxine identified the wrong man, as Conrad Ortega had insinuated?

  Was he mocking her as he chewed on a double cheeseburger?

  Beverly took a deep breath and turned to Jaime. He was too preoccupied with his ketchup coated fries and Whopper to notice much of anything else.

  When she turned again to look at the man, he was gone. Vanished like a thief in the night.

  Now she wondered if he had really been there.

  And, if so, had he really looked as much like Rafael Santiago as she had imagined? Or had she unintentionally prejudged him as a Latino male around the same age and build?

  Could Maxine have done the same thing? Fingered an innocent man?

  Stop it! Beverly ordered herself, wiping her lips with a napkin. Have you lost your mind?

  Of course they had the right man in jail. Maxine had identified him twice. He also fit the part as an ex-con who had once threatened the judge’s life. Even the DNA evidence they had thus far pointed squarely to Rafael Santiago as being at the scene of the crime. There was simply no room now for doubts.

  Was there?

  She finished off the salad, washing it down with coffee; then waited for Jaime to finish his meal.

  “This is so cool,” Jaime said when they were in the car. He was listening to a collection of Latin hip-hop artists. “Wait till Paco hears this. He’s gonna go wild!”

  Beverly laughed. “Let’s hope not too wild.” It was good to see Jaime happy again. She hoped it was a sign that he was starting to accept life for what it was and make the most of it.

  She checked the rear view mirror. It seemed as if the same car had been trailing them from the restaurant. Was it her imagination working overtime again? Or was it the assistant district attorney in her sensing danger like a deer?

  When Beverly looked again, the car was gone, replaced by another. She breathed a sigh of relief. Guess my mind was playing tricks on me. Get a grip, girl!

  “Do you think you’ll marry Grant someday?” Jaime inquired out of the blue, snapping Beverly from her reverie.

  She elevated a brow, surprised to hear him ask since he was just coming to terms with her dating Grant. Where did that come from?

  “We’re a long ways from going down that road,” she prefaced. Grant and I really like each other, but we haven’t really talked about the future. Right now, we’re just taking things one day at a time.”

  Still, the mere subject of marriage got Beverly to thinking. She certainly wasn’t opposed to marrying again if both parties loved each other and wanted to commit to a lifetime together. But the idea of such a commitment as a single Mom and thriving attorney scared her. Then there was the reality that Grant had not even told her he loved her, much less indicated he had any desire to tie the knot again himself. So did that mean they both had cold feet? Or that they simply weren’t ready to go down that road yet in their relationship?

  “Do you think he’d make a good father?” asked Jaime.

  “Yes, I think so,” answered Beverly, as though being tested before Jaime gave his blessing for such a possibility. As it was, Grant did seem like good father material, even without direct experience. She supposed that some things came natural. You either had what it took or your didn’t.

  “Not like my real father,” fumed Jaime as if he could read her mind. “Why’d he have to be such a jerk?”

  Beverly eyed her son sadly. “If I knew the answer to that question, I never would have gotten involved with him in the first place.”

  “I wish you hadn’t.” Jaime stared out the window and Beverly could tell that he was crying.

  She touched his face lovingly. “I’m very glad I did, Jaime. He gave me the one thing that made it all worthwhile. You.”

  Jaime slowly faced her and said emotionally, “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too!” Beverly blinked back tears.

  * * *

  That night after Jaime had gone to bed, the phone rang. Beverly answered it in bed, where she had been looking over notes on the Santiago case.

  It was Grant. “Hi, gorgeous. Didn’t wake you up, did I?”

  “No.” Beverly felt a twinge of excitement hearing his voice for the first time in several days. With his move to the judge’s chambers, Grant had apparently been too busy to call or come by. In all fairness, she had also been inundated with work.

  “Just wanted to hear a friendly voice,” he said.

  “Oh, is that all?” she joked.

  “Well, also a sexy voice.” His intonation was low pitched and intimate.

  “Then you probably called the wrong number,” Beverly laughed. She had never considered her voice particularly sexy. It was too soft spoken.

  Grant chuckled warmly. �
��I don’t think so. Fact is, I’ve missed you like hell, Bev.”

  “You have a funny way of showing it.” Her body was becoming moist all over.

  “My apologies. Making this transition has been a hell of a lot more difficult than I imagined. There are procedures and initiation that have taken up every available moment.”

  Beverly realized she was being selfish in wanting to monopolize his time and seeing if he truly was the marrying and father type. After all, Judge Nunez now had a higher authority to answer to—his court.

  “You’re forgiven.” Beverly’s cadence was one of understanding and happiness in knowing Grant really did care about her.

  “How’s the Santiago case coming along?” Grant inquired.

  She filled him in on the mundane details. “His attorney knows Santiago’s in a no win situation,” she said confidently.

  “I heard you really grilled Maxine Crawford.” Grant took a deep breath.

  “Oh, really?” Beverly adjusted on the antique brass bed. It sounded like he took it personally. “And where did you get your information, Mr. Nunez?”

  “I have my sources.” He chuckled uneasily.

  Which could have been anyone from the D.A. himself on down the line, she realized. But what difference did it make? He was not part of the enemy camp.

  So why do I suddenly feel like he is?

  “Well, if you must know, I didn’t exactly grill Maxine. She’s not a hostile witness and we’re on the same page in our desire to win a conviction in this case. I trust that meets with your approval, Your Honor?”

  “Hey, I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, baby,” Grant said tonelessly. “But you don’t want your chief witness to turn hostile by digging too much into her and the judge’s personal lives.”

  “I didn’t realize I was doing that much digging.” She sat up, annoyed at him. Had he been talking to Walter McIntosh? “I haven’t treated Maxine Crawford any differently than I have any other witness-victims.”

  Have I?

  Had she unwittingly been too intrusive in Maxine’s life and victimization? Beverly wondered. Was the pressure of winning this case starting to get to her? Even to the point of imagining earlier today that she had actually seen a Rafael Santiago clone?

  “Why your great interest, Grant?” Beverly asked boldly, sensing something here that she couldn’t quite put a finger on. “I thought you had given up your job as Deputy District Attorney?”

  “I have,” he said, sounding ill at ease. “No interest really, other than not wanting to see you blow this case.”

  She crossed her legs suspiciously. “Who says I will?”

  “No one.”

  Obviously he had brought it up for some reason. Maybe he’d care to share his thoughts.

  “What is it you’re not telling me, Grant?”

  “Nothing,” he claimed.

  “I think it’s something,” she countered. “Whatever’s going on, I’d like to know. Please...” She assumed he hadn’t been sworn to secrecy by whomever. Or maybe she shouldn’t assume anything?

  Grant took a deep breath. “All right, but you never heard this from me,” he instructed. “Dean Sullivan, whose friendship with Judge Crawford goes way back, doesn’t want any pressure put on Maxine Crawford to answer questions that are better left unanswered.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as any that do not pertain directly to this case.”

  “I see.” Beverly was not so sure she really did. She was being told indirectly to back off harsh questioning of her own star witness. Why? For fear that it might somehow expose Judge Crawford’s soiled laundry? Maxine’s? Or someone else’s. Perhaps Dean Sullivan had something to hide.

  “Now don’t get all bent out of shape over this, Beverly,” said Grant, seemingly intent on smoothing over the waters. “There are no dark figures conspiring against you or working to conceal evidence. If you stick to the job at hand in going after Rafael Santiago—the man we all want to see go down for the judge’s murder—you’ll be just fine—”

  What if she did dig deeper than the job at hand? Would she be replaced in the trial? Or fired from the D.A.’s office?

  Do I really want to test the waters by stepping on the wrong toes here?

  “I think I understand,” she acquiesced. Get a conviction of Santiago and forget about the Crawfords’ private affairs.

  Beverly decided that she gained nothing from pursuing this over and beyond what was necessary to win her case. Except maybe trouble that she did not need.

  “I’ve missed touching your body,” Grant cooed desirously, adeptly changing the subject.

  Did he? Or was this his way of diverting her attention?

  Don’t be silly. Why shouldn’t he miss her body? She missed his hard body to the point that thinking about Grant made Beverly quake with longing.

  “Just how much have you missed it?” she challenged him.

  “Enough to almost be able taste you.” Grant made an erotic noise into the phone that gave Beverly shivers of delight as her imagination conjured up vivid images of him doing just that.

  “I think that sounds mouth-watering.” She was suddenly in a playful, intimate mood.

  “I agree.” Grant hummed lasciviously. “So what are you wearing right now?”

  “An oversized nightshirt,” she answered, sure he’d hoped she would say a sexy silk nightie or maybe nothing at all.

  “I’d love to put my head under that nightshirt right now,” he said wistfully, “and go on an exploratory journey that I guarantee would leave you breathless—”

  “Umm...” Beverly found herself already breathless at the mere prospect.

  “Then when I had you all hot and bothered, I would take you in my arms, kiss you like you’ve never been kissed before, and make passionate love the whole night through...”

  Beverly gasped. The phone sex was turning her on and now she didn’t want it to end there.

  “This isn’t fair, Grant,” she murmured. “You should be here to put your words into actions! If we’re quiet, Jaime would likely sleep right through whatever happened.”

  Grant breathed huskily. “I wish I could come over, baby, but I’ve got to get up early for a meeting. If we were together right now, that would be all but impossible. So I’m afraid I’ll have to take a rain check.”

  Beverly frowned, feeling her libido sink like the Titanic. “Well, let’s hope it rains soon—” she said, biting back her wishes when smacked against reality.

  “Oh it will,” Grant promised. “You can count on it, Bev. By the way,” he added with a catch to his voice, “did I ever mention that I think I’ve fallen in love with you—?”

  Before Beverly could answer, she heard the dial tone, leaving her to ponder the words all on her own.

  * * *

  So there, you told her. Grant was sitting in his study sipping scotch. Where did they go from here? Would Beverly say the same to him when he was courageous enough to listen? What then?

  Admittedly, he had acted impulsively in spilling out his declaration of love without regard to how to build upon it. Even if Beverly were to love him back, it didn’t mean they were ready to walk down the aisle. But it would signify that they were firmly committed to making this work, whatever the future held, and Jaime would be a big part of that.

  Grant’s thoughts shifted back to the present. The last thing he wanted to do was apply any pressure on Beverly with respect to the Santiago case. But he knew that the more she dug, the more trouble she could make for herself and him. He didn’t want anything to come between them or the pursuit of justice. The lines could sometimes be blurred when it came to true justice, he realized, hoping his own choices didn’t cross the line any more than necessary.

  He sipped more scotch and mused. The sooner Sheldon Crawford’s murder and his wife’s sexual assault are put behind them, the better for all parties concerned. Getting a conviction against Rafael Santiago was key; then they could go from there.

  G
rant finished off his drink and headed up to bed for what figured to be a sleepless night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Manuel followed them to the house, careful to keep his distance. Though located in the same city he lived in, it might just as well have been another country. The tree-lined block spoke of folks who had money, pension plans, stocks, bonds, and something left over for entertainment. He was sure the sweet looking Latina had no trouble paying the bills and stashing the rest away for a rainy day. Probably to send her kid to some Ivy League school someday so he could go out and make even more money.

  Manuel had watched them come into Burger King. The lady had captured his attention immediately. She had a slender, shapely, body with long legs. And small, rounded breasts that didn’t take away from the rest of her. Her brown hair was in a long ponytail, hanging temptingly on one side of her chest. Even her eyes—green like grass and calculating—captured his fancy. She wore loose jeans that made her ass move with every step she took, arousing him.

  The boy was not nearly as interesting to him. He was slightly overweight and wearing a burgundy jogging suit and Nikes. He seemed in his element, stuffing his face as though it were his last meal.

  Manuel had watched as they took their meals to a table. He walked to a nearby table and sat, careful to appear as if he had not even noticed them.

  From what he could gather from their conversation, the Latina broad was some type of attorney and without a man. At least not one who lived with them. Her father was in some old folks’ home, having lost his damned mind or something.

  She and the boy seemed to be at odds about the father’s likelihood of survival beyond the year. They were more in tune regarding the boy’s goal to make rap music or race cars; as well as her desires to someday move to a newer, bigger house.

  He listened with little interest beyond getting a handle on their situation, and learning more specifics about her.

  For a moment she honed in on him, as if recognizing an old friend. It made Manuel uncomfortable. He didn’t want the bitch to get too cozy with his face. Not yet. When the time was right, she could look into his pretty coal eyes for as long as she wanted.