State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller

by Flowers, R. Barri

  Grant pulled up to Beverly’s house. He kept the car running in the driveway, declining an invitation to come in.

  “You sure you can’t stay for a little while?” Beverly faced him with a look of disappointment after Jaime had already begun to head up the walkway.

  “Not sure at all,” Grant said in a deep voice. “But if I do, I may never want to leave. At least not this night—”

  “Then don’t,” she surprised herself by saying. “Jaime knows we’re seeing each other. When he disappears into his room to go to bed, we can quietly go to mine.” She wondered just how quiet they could manage to be once there.

  “Tempting as hell.” Grant groaned salaciously. “But I can’t, Bev. I have some important work to do that will probably keep me up half the night. Can I take a rain check?”

  Beverly hid her confusion. She felt like she was throwing herself at him. Only he wasn’t there to break her fall.

  “Of course you can,” she said, making herself smile. “But honestly, your rain checks are piling up, Grant. Hope you don’t end up with more than you can handle.”

  He laughed uncomfortably. “I can handle as many as it takes where it concerns you, baby—”

  She looked at him with a straight face. “You’re sure about that?”

  Grant honed in on her eyes. “As sure as I am about this...” He leaned over and kissed her hard on the mouth till Beverly felt it right down to her toes. When Grant pulled back, he said, “Does that convince you?”

  Beverly touched her stinging lips, wishing more than ever that he would stay for further exploration of each other. But she would give him the time he needed to make more time for them.

  “Yes, it does,” she uttered.

  Grant beamed. “Great. Oh, and by the way, I do love you, Bev.”

  She grinned and gazed at him. “I love you, too.”

  Beverly held his cheeks and kissed him again, before leaving the car. She didn’t want to spoil the moment by saying the wrong thing or expecting too much, too soon.

  After waving goodbye and feeling giddy inside, Beverly headed toward the house contemplatively. That was when she heard the scream.

  It was Jaime. “Mom—!”

  * * *

  Beverly bolted up the walkway and into the house. She was afraid he might have tripped in the darkness and hurt himself.

  “Jaime...?” Beverly saw no sign of him as she crossed the living room and dining room before passing by the kitchen.

  Jaime darted from the den like his pants were on fire. “The window’s broken in there!” he shrieked. “I think somebody was in the house—”

  Beverly raced by him and into the den. She saw the broken glass splattered across the red cedar flooring near the window. Her first thought was that it could have been a tree branch that caused the damage. Then she saw the unmistakable dirty imprint of a shoe near the window.

  Panic seized her. Someone had broken in.

  And might still be inside the house!

  The first thing on Beverly’s mind was Jaime’s safety.

  “Jaime—!” Her voice broke with trepidation. She ran out into the hall and nearly collided with her son. “Stay here!” she ordered.

  “No!” He stood his ground. “I’m coming with you.”

  Beverly knew this was no time to argue. If the intruder was still in the house it was probably best that she keep Jaime within eyesight.

  She grabbed his hand and ran back into the kitchen where she had dumped her handbag. Inside was her Glock. She removed the gun, released the safety, and began to search the rest of the house. She had never actually used the .40 caliber weapon, but had taken a firearms class and was prepared to shoot anyone who threatened her or Jaime.

  Whoever had been in the house was gone.

  But not before stealing some money, jewelry, and credit cards, Beverly realized. They had also taken away her very false sense of security.

  * * *

  The police came, took her report, and collected evidence of the crime.

  Beverly phoned Grant on his cell phone before he got home. He came right over.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked her for the umpteenth time.

  “As well as I can be,” she said, feeling almost embarrassed that this had happened in her house. After being given clearance by the police, Jaime had retreated to the relative safety of his room.

  Beverly sat huddled on the living room couch beside Grant, his arm around her, as if staking his claim.

  “It doesn’t look like they made off with much,” she told him, trying to keep from shaking. “At least nothing that can’t be replaced.”

  Yet Beverly still couldn’t help but feel as if she had been violated.

  “Why the hell don’t you have a security system?” Grant scolded her like a misbehaving child.

  “Just never got around to getting one,” Beverly offered a lame response. She had been meaning to have a system installed, but procrastinated mainly because the area had an active neighborhood crime watch and strong police-community relations. Almost no burglaries had been reported since they moved there. This was a burglary, wasn’t it? What else could it be?

  “Well, we’ll fix that!” Grant said with determination. He tried not to think about what might have happened had Beverly walked in on the home invader. Their entire future could have been derailed. Not to mention the unfinished business of the present. “First thing in the morning I’ll make a call and get a good security system put in for you.”

  Beverly would have preferred to make her own choice in this matter, but she knew Grant was only trying to help. Besides, she found real comfort in having him take charge, as if he were the man of the house. That was something she now felt she needed in more ways than one.

  “In the meantime,” Grant was saying, “you and Jaime should stay at my house tonight.”

  Beverly appreciated this, however she didn’t want to feel too helpless or be put out of her own home.

  “We’ll be fine here,” she insisted. “I doubt very much that the burglar will come back. At least not tonight.”

  Grant’s brows drew together. “Don’t be so naive, Beverly,” he snapped at her. “Or bullheaded. You don’t know that this was just a burglar. You’re an Assistant D.A., for crying out loud! Who’s to say that this creep wasn’t after you—or Jaime—and just made it look like a simple burglary?”

  The thought gave Beverly the jitters. What if it wasn’t just a case of theft? What if the thief had a larger agenda in mind?

  Had she been targeted with the intent of bodily harm? Was this more than a random act of petty crime?

  Beverly mused about the man she had seen at Burger King last week. Could he have somehow followed her home and then come back at the opportune time? Was he also a rapist and murderer?

  “What is it?” Grant asked perceptively.

  Beverly told him about the man and his incredible likeness to Rafael Santiago.

  “So what are you saying?” Grant asked.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “For one, he could be the person who broke into my house. For another, maybe he broke into Judge Crawford’s house, too...”

  Beverly could not believe what she was suggesting, considering that they had Rafael Santiago’s DNA and Maxine Crawford’s positive identification, putting Santiago directly at the scene of the crime as its perpetrator. But what if, against all odds, this other person had committed the crime ... without leaving any DNA evidence?

  Grant dismissed the notion. “We have the right man in custody, Beverly!” he said firmly. “One thing has nothing to do with the other, assuming this man did follow you home.”

  “You weren’t there, Grant,” Beverly said flatly. “You didn’t see him. I did and it really freaked me out!”

  “Will you listen to yourself, Bev?” He sucked in a ragged breath. “You see some guy at Burger King who resembles Santiago—a man you’ve admitted you may have only imagined looking like him—and all of a sudden you
’re questioning the entire case you have against Rafael Santiago.” Grant’s gaze angled at her face. “Do you really believe you have the wrong man in custody?”

  Beverly began to question her own judgment. Santiago was identified right down to the tattoo on his pubic region. Wasn’t that proof enough that he was Maxine’s attacker? And the one who shot to death Judge Crawford?

  Surely this other man, no matter how much he may have looked like Santiago, wasn’t his identical twin with respect to his private parts.

  But that didn’t mean he hadn’t followed her and broken into her house. Or that she might not still be in danger.

  “We’ll spend the night at your place,” she told Grant.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “Where have you been?” Claudia asked sharply, a bead of perspiration dampening her brow.

  “Out,” Manuel said simply, not in the mood to argue. He’d had a good buzz and now just wanted to sleep. He walked by her, getting a whiff of pungent body odor masked only slightly by cheap perfume.

  “The police came to the office,” she told him nervously.

  “So...” He looked at her.

  “They asked about you...and one of them gave me this.” She held out a business card.

  Manuel took it and read: Detective Stone Palmer, Homicide, Wilameta County Sheriff’s Department. There were two phone numbers and a fax number on the card.

  Manuel felt a twinge of panic, but fought hard not to show it. “What did this Stone Palmer want to know?” he asked nonchalantly.

  “They’re investigating the murder of Adrienne Murray,” Claudia said, as if he knew the woman.

  “Who the hell is she?” He lifted his brow as though not a clue.

  “Adrienne worked for me,” Claudia said tautly. “You met her at the office.”

  Manuel shrugged. “If you say so.” He rubbed his nose. “Why do the cops wanna see me?”

  Claudia swallowed hesitantly. “They think you may have had something to do with Adrienne’s death.”

  Manuel narrowed his eyes. “What do you think?”

  Claudia brazenly got up in his face. “You tell me, Manuel, that you did not murder Adrienne,” she demanded. “Not someone I worked with, a friend... You couldn’t have—”

  “I didn’t murder no one,” he said coolly. “Why do you even listen to them? You know me. I’m no killer!” He stepped back involuntarily.

  “I’m not sure I do know you, Manuel,” she spat angrily. “You think I’m stupid? I know you’re still doing crack. I can see it in your red eyes.”

  He saw no use in denying it. “That don’t mean I killed Adrienne whatever her name is—”

  Claudia gave him a mistrustful appraisal. “No? Then where’d you get the watch?”

  “What watch?”

  “The one you gave me last week for my birthday! You said you bought it.”

  Manuel knew he’d backed himself into a corner, but was not about to remain trapped in it. “Okay, so I lied. I found the watch, all right?”

  “Found it where?” she asked warily.

  “At the park,” he replied with a straight face. “It was there on the grass. I figured someone probably had no more use for it and tossed it. I cleaned it up and wanted you to have it. That’s the truth, baby.”

  When Manuel put a hand on Claudia’s rough cheek, she winced as if he’d struck her. “You had blood on your clothes that night Adrienne disappeared,” she recalled. “It was her blood, wasn’t it? Not fish blood.” When he did not respond she shouted at him, “Tell me the truth, Manuel—”

  His first impulse was deny, deny, deny. But since she didn’t want to take no for an answer and it was too late for that at this point, he decided what the hell.

  “Yeah, it was that bitch’s blood,” Manuel admitted tersely. “Happy now?”

  Claudia was trembling. “Why, Manuel—?” Her eyes filled with tears. “What did Adrienne ever do to you?”

  “She got what she deserved—okay!”

  “No, it’s not okay, Manuel,” she huffed. “How could it be?”

  “Because that’s over and done with, baby,” he said. “Just forget about it.”

  Claudia closed her eyes, squeezing out tears, and opened them wide. “They think you killed a prostitute, too.” She sighed. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  Again Manuel wanted to deny any such involvement. But it was obvious that she’d already had her mind made up from the beginning. Big mistake.

  “Yeah, I killed the whore,” he confessed. “It was just something that happened. We’ll go someplace else and start over.”

  Even as he spoke, Manuel never believed she would go along with it. She couldn’t. No more than he could now that the cat had been let out of the bag.

  They had suddenly reached a turning point in their rocky relationship and Manuel knew there was no going back.

  “You have to turn yourself in, Manuel.” Claudia’s voice shook. “It’s the only way to make things right.”

  “Things can never be right again,” he told her. “Not between us—”

  The empty look in her eyes confirmed it.

  He faced her squarely and, without giving it another thought, took out his knife. Just as quickly, Manuel released the switchblade from its holder. Claudia stared at the shiny blade open-mouthed, as if it were an object from another planet. He thrust the knife into her stomach, feeling it slice through her.

  Then again.

  Again.

  And again.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” Manuel cried, holding her in his arms as he continued to ram the blade into her. “There was simply no other way. I can’t go back to prison. They do bad things to people like me in there.”

  When he finally released her, Claudia’s bloodied body crashed to the floor. He closed her lifeless eyes and kissed her goodbye.

  I’ve got to get the hell out of here. Manuel freaked out more about his latest kill than the others. They would come back looking for him.

  But by then he would be long gone.

  He took whatever money Claudia had in her purse. Then he took her car, knowing she wouldn’t be needing it ever again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  When Stone and Chang arrived at the duplex that Claudia Sosa shared with Manuel Gonzalez, the place was already crawling with cops. A call had come in from a neighbor who reported hearing a woman screaming inside the residence.

  Stone feared the worst had happened before they could take Manuel Gonzalez into custody. He saw the body bag being removed from the residence. After identifying himself, he requested that it be opened.

  Stone winced. The face staring back at him was indeed that of Claudia Sosa.

  “What happened?” he asked Detective Arellano who had gotten there minutes before.

  “Looks like she was stabbed to death,” Arellano informed him. “A witness identified Manuel Gonzalez running from the duplex. He drove off in the victim’s car—”

  “Damn!” Stone closed his eyes in a moment of anguish. He knew they had been so close to nailing the culprit.

  “We have a make on the car and license plate number,” Chang said. “We’ll get the son of a bitch—”

  “Yeah,” muttered Stone. “Let’s just hope it’s before he sets his sights on someone else. A probable crack-addicted psycho-serial killer is the worst kind of criminal we can have running around as a loose cannon.”

  Stone thought about Chuck Murray. Where the hell did he fit in all this? Was he really just an innocent grieving husband? Or was he a wife-abusing, paranoid, jealous bastard who would stop at nothing to keep his wife from abandoning ship—including conspiring to commit a cold, calculated murder?

  They put out an APB on Manuel Gonzalez, hoping to get some answers from the armed and very dangerous killer.

  * * *

  It was past midnight when Beverly came out of the bathroom adjoining Grant’s master suite. Jaime was already asleep in a spare bedroom and unlikely to come looking for her till morning. By
then, she would have breakfast made and he wouldn’t have to concern himself about her sleeping arrangements.

  Not that he doesn’t already suspect Grant and I are having sex. But why add fuel to the fire?

  Beverly waited till she got to Grant’s waterbed before removing her nightgown, exposing her naked body. She watched as his eyes feasted upon her in the low moonlight filtering through plantation shutters. She watched him, too, lying on the bed with one sinewy arm propped on an elbow.

  Without uttering a word, she climbed onto the bed and went down to his flaccid penis, taking him into her mouth. Within moments, it had become engorged and stiff, while Grant sighed and ran his hands haphazardly through her hair.

  Beverly’s arousal matched his. She pulled her mouth off him and rolled the condom over Grant’s erection. Straddling his hips, she slowly slid onto him till he was deep inside her. Then she began galloping atop her lover, faster and faster as the need for satisfaction enveloped her like a warm blanket.

  Grant caressed Beverly’s nipples with nimble fingers, causing them to turn rock hard. He heard her soft moan and bit back his own urge to vocalize his pleasure. Instead, he pulled her down on top of him, cupped her buttocks, and began kissing Beverly’s mouth feverishly till they both exploded in orgasmic rhythm.

  Beverly quavered violently as she came, feeling herself tightening around Grant inside her. Their bodies seemed to mold into one another as the final burst of ecstasy left their breathing labored before there was calm.

  Afterwards, Beverly continued to lie on Grant’s comforting, solid body, her head against his chest. She could hear his heart beating rapidly, not yet come down from the high of sex.

  Neither of them had spoken much about the break in or Beverly’s fears that someone who looked like Rafael Santiago had followed her home. Nor had they discussed the fact that Grant’s rain check had come due sooner than either of them expected.

  Now where do we go from here? Beverly wondered nervously. Could their declarations of love carry them further than either dreamed possible? Right now she only wanted to sleep. There would be other days to tackle the weighty issues.