State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller

by Flowers, R. Barri

  In this instance it was two against one and Beverly was happy to succumb to their wishes as a measure of desperation.

  * * *

  When they got to the house, Beverly had butterflies in her stomach. The Spanish eclectic home with its carved stonework and red tile roof reminded her of when she was young and both parents were hard working, healthy people. Now her mother was dead and father was who knew where.

  God, please let him be here, she prayed, though considering it a long shot at best.

  Jaime rang the bell and Grant held Beverly’s hand for support as the door opened. Beverly gasped when she saw her father standing there, looking very much like he belonged.

  “Oh, Papa,” she cried. “We were looking all over for you.”

  Beverly embraced her father and felt his tears as well.

  “He came here saying this was his house,” explained Sonja Clemente, the current occupant. She was petite and in her early fifties. “He expected to find Maria here. I knew he was lost—”

  She had already called the police who were on their way.

  Beverly felt a mixture of relief and sadness that it had come to this. “You had us all so worried, Papa. You shouldn’t have left the nursing home.”

  Alberto wiped the tears from his crinkled eyes. “I just wanted to be near Maria,” he sobbed. “She’s here, you know.”

  “I know, Daddy,” she sought to pacify him, but agreed that her mother would always be there in spirit.

  Indeed, Beverly could almost feel her mother’s presence somehow guiding her father to safety. She smiled at him through watery eyes. In spite of being inadequately dressed for the five-mile walk, he did not seem the worse for wear.

  “We weren’t going to let anything bad happen to you, Grandpa,” said Jaime, elated that it was his suggestion that led them to find him.

  Alberto looked at his grandson with an appreciative, if not confused, smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “I gave him something to eat,” Sonja said. “He had no trouble finishing it.”

  “I can’t thank you enough.” Beverly told her gratefully.

  “None of us can,” Grant concurred, happy that this hadn’t turned out worse. Beverly had enough on her plate without having to lose her father, too.

  “I’ve been there,” Sonja said sentimentally. “Both my parents were also in the same condition.” She was careful with her words, so as not to have Alberto hear anything too disheartening that he might be able to comprehend.

  When they took him back to the nursing home, all were ecstatic to have Alberto back safe and sound. Including the other residents, where they were all one big, happy family again.

  But Beverly was not happy that the staff had been negligent, nearly causing a real tragedy.

  “I expected my father to be taken care of here,” she spoke harshly to the director, Mildred Irwin. “How could you let him walk away, with no one trying to stop him?”

  Mildred was in her late forties, tall and athletic in build with short red hair. “I can’t tell you enough how sorry I am,” she expressed, sincerity in her freckled face. “The nurse that was on duty has been fired. Apparently your father scaled a six foot fence designed to keep the residents in the yard. That’s never been done before. It was as if he had a purpose and was determined to see it through...even in his diminished capacity—”

  “Papa was always pigheaded,” Beverly admitted. It was amazing that, of all the things her father could retain, he somehow remembered how to make his way to the house where he and her mother had spent their wedding night. “I guess some things never change, no matter what...”

  But that was not enough to let the nursing home off the hook. She dreaded the thought of a repeat performance.

  “What assurances can you give me that this will never happen again?” Beverly asked the director straightforwardly.

  “We’re adding four feet of fence to the top in the yard,” Mildred promised. “The ten foot high barrier should make it virtually impossible for anyone to scale it successfully without being noticed. Also, we’re hiring some additional staff to be able to better keep track of all the patients when they are out for some exercise.”

  Why hadn’t they done that from the start? Beverly wondered. It could have saved a lot of grief and frustration. Better late than never, she decided, choosing to give them the benefit of the doubt as a place that had otherwise been good for her father.

  She, for one, was resolved to pay much closer attention to the surroundings and safety of him as well as to the commitment of the staff to treat her father and others with dignity and respect.

  When they left the nursing home, Beverly assured her father that she and Jaime would never be too far away.

  In her mind Beverly added Grant to that pledge, who had come running when she called, and seemed very much like a man who wanted to be there for the long haul.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Walter McIntosh walked into Beverly’s office, seemingly looking over his shoulder, as if he were being followed. She had been anxiously awaiting the results of his investigation, if only to eliminate any potentially embarrassing disclosures during the trial by the defense. But something told Beverly that Walter, like her, was walking a tight line in what he could do.

  Or would do.

  He had a thick file folder in hand.

  “Looks like you’ve been busy,” Beverly observed.

  Walter was not smiling when he said, “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “Enlighten me then,” she said, staring up at him from her desk.

  Walter sat down and wiped his brow, as if having just survived a grueling race. “I was stonewalled at just about every turn when I tried to get information on the Crawfords. Seems like the word was out and everyone’s lips were sealed tight.” His chin jutted. “But that only made me more determined. Fortunately, I’ve got my street contacts who would sell their own mothers down the river if the price was right. And it usually doesn’t take that much to qualify.”

  Beverly found herself more than a little piqued. What could be so damned secretive about the judge and his widow that the powers that be wanted to suppress?

  “So what did you learn?” she asked eagerly, though striving to keep her voice at an even pitch.

  “Plenty.” Walter met her gaze squarely. “I learned that the honorable judge was two-timing his wife every chance he got. The man was a sex addict and liked younger women; who in turn were attracted to wealthy, older, generous men. Judge Crawford may have had a reputation as being damned good on the bench, but he sure as hell made for a lousy husband—”

  Was his reputation that important to preserve even in death? Beverly wondered. Moreover, had Maxine been aware of her husband’s infidelity? Or had she simply learned to live with it for what she got out of the marriage?

  “And that’s not all,” said Walter with a catch to his voice. “The man was a big time gambler. The ponies, the dogs, slot machines, poker—you name it. Word has it that Crawford was financing his habit by accepting bribes to manipulate the sentences of those who had the right connections and plenty of money—”

  Beverly was stunned. If true, it meant that any number of trials in the judge’s court could have been compromised.

  Did Dean know what was going on? Did Grant?

  Could this have had anything to do with Judge Crawford’s murder?

  Walter seemed to put that question to rest when he said, “So far there’s no indication any of this is connected to Crawford’s death. On the contrary, everyone I spoke to said that no one wanted the judge dead and buried. He was too valuable alive to too many people.”

  “Obviously not to everyone,” Beverly said.

  Walter sighed. “No one figured on Santiago taking him out before anyone could do anything about it.”

  “You mean like kill Santiago first so that the judge’s criminal enterprise could go on uninterrupted?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” he mumbled.
<
br />   Beverly tried to digest what she’d just been told. Even if it had no bearing on her case against Rafael Santiago, it did give cause for suspicion about the timing of Judge Crawford’s death and the appointment of his successor.

  Were the two entirely coincidental? Or had Grant’s judgeship been tainted with blood?

  “Turns out the wife was no angel herself,” said Walter with a smirk. He leaned back. “Maxine Crawford was a dancer named Crystal Lynley when she hooked up with the judge. As in dirty dancing, if you know what I mean.”

  Beverly had an idea, but needed to be sure. “Just how dirty was her dancing?”

  “The former Ms. Lynley was arrested twice for solicitation for purposes of prostitution,” Walter said bluntly. “But the charges were dismissed.”

  “Let me guess,” hummed Beverly, “by Judge Crawford?”

  “You’ve got it, Counselor.” Walter seemed to applaud her for putting two and two together.

  So Judge Crawford married a woman who serviced him sexually for money, Beverly mused. Then he used his influence to keep it all quiet.

  It made Beverly wonder if Maxine had ever really loved her husband or vice versa. Or was she only serving as a paid watchdog for those who had a vested interest in keeping Judge Crawford happy and content, only to end up with whatever didn’t go to the creditors or vultures?

  Beverly recalled Maxine’s words. Other men wanted me only for my body or what they thought I could give them, but never my mind and soul.

  Either the lady was in complete denial or had been completely taken in by Judge Crawford. Or maybe it was the judge who had gotten less than he bargained for with the former prostitute, Beverly considered.

  Walter leaned forward, twisting his lips. “One other thing you might find interesting—” He opened the folder, removing what looked to be phone records. “On the night Judge Crawford was killed, two phone calls were made from his house to a cell phone. The times recorded suggested the calls came after the estimated time of death, meaning they had to have been made by Maxine Crawford. What’s more, records show that many more calls were made to this number in the last few months,” the investigator reported mysteriously.

  “Whose cell phone was it?” Beverly looked at him expectantly.

  Walter sucked in a deep breath. “It belonged to then Deputy D.A. Grant Nunez,” he said levelly. “Of course, he’s now the Honorable Judge Grant Nunez.”

  Beverly’s pulse quickened. Grant? How could that be? He had never told her he knew Maxine Crawford. In fact, he’d seemingly gone out of his way to suggest otherwise. Why had she been phoning him? Was Maxine still prostituting herself after she married Sheldon Crawford?

  Was Grant one of her clients?

  Or had the man Beverly had fallen in love with also been corrupted by bribes, greed, and indiscretions?

  And thereby handpicked as Judge Crawford’s successor in more ways than one...

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Manuel hotwired the car, shifted it into drive, and sped off. In the rear view mirror he could see the owner standing on the sidewalk—some dumb ass old white man—shaking his fist at him.

  He laughed. Idiot!

  Manuel headed south, not exactly sure where. He knew he needed to ditch his old lady’s car when he’d heard over the radio that they had found her and were now looking for his golden ass.

  Problem was he liked his freedom. He hated the sound of a cell door slamming behind him. Possibly for the rest of his life...or till they stuck the needle in his arm.

  He definitely didn’t want to be some bastard’s prison boy toy.

  And the food in the joint was poison. Even the rats avoided it like the plague, preferring to feast on the inmates while they slept and had bad dreams.

  Before he went back to prison, Manuel would sooner kill himself.

  But that wasn’t in his immediate plans either. That’s why he’d stolen the old white dude’s Buick LeSabre.

  Too much to live for. He giggled like a teenager. Yeah, he was high as a kite and loving every damned minute of it.

  The cocaine left Manuel seeing stars, but still in control. At least he knew that he had to hide out till things cooled down. Later he’d probably head back to L.A. He could get lost in the Latino hood and no one would ever find him.

  Right now he had to lay low. Think about life without Claudia. She was a waste anyway. He increased his speed without being the wiser. The bitch could never satisfy him. Always a complainer and a lousy lay.

  She had finally gotten what she had coming.

  Manuel took note of the speedometer as the car neared ninety miles per hour. Though the fast speed thrilled him, made him feel like he was flying like a plane—he pushed down on the brake till he had fallen within the normal limit. It would be just his dumb luck to get stopped for speeding, only to have the cop find out that was the least of his troubles.

  Or the cop’s once he pulled out his blade and cut the son of a bitch up.

  Manuel laughed again, enjoying flirting with death. But he didn’t feel it was his time yet.

  Not when he still had some unfinished business.

  He had a date with the Latina attorney, Beverly Mendoza. He’d watched the house as a security system was installed. Even seen when she and the boy fled the house that night with the black man they were with earlier. Manuel suspected he had probably offered to put them up for the night or however long they needed to feel safe.

  But the boyfriend can’t protect you forever, bitch.

  And neither could some two bit alarm.

  Not if he had his mind made up to go after her.

  Which he had.

  He always got what he wanted from a woman. Why should she be any different?

  When he was done with her, she would wish he had never been born.

  Or that she hadn’t been.

  Isn’t that what the judge’s wife wished after she had been forced to submit to sexual acts—or die?

  Only the attorney wouldn’t be so lucky, Manuel promised himself. When it was over, she wouldn’t live to tell her story to anyone who would listen.

  * * *

  Manuel arrived at his auntie’s apartment.

  The truth was he had no more desire to be there than she wanted him there. But he needed a place to chill. And he doubted anyone would look for him there.

  After all, he had only been in touch with her twice in the past ten years.

  Both times he had only been trying to look out for her.

  Now he had to look out for himself.

  He heard the lock turn. When the door opened just enough to allow air in, he saw a frightened old woman. She tried to shut the door in his face. But he was quicker, forcing it open, so that the chain lock ripped from the wall.

  She fell to the floor from the impact of the door crashing against her feeble body. He saw that she was dazed, but still conscious.

  He closed the door, turning the dead bolt lock that was still functioning.

  He faced the pitiful sight beneath him. “Sorry, Auntie,” he said without remorse. “I need to spend some time with you for a while. And since I don’t see nobody able to stop me, looks like it’s just you and me—”

  He watched as she tried to speak, but nothing came out except for a gasp or two. As if she had asthma.

  He wondered if she was having a heart attack or something.

  It would serve her right, Manuel laughed to himself. Family shouldn’t reject family. Especially when he was all she had left now that her dumb assed son Rafael had gotten himself locked up again!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Beverly was summoned to Dean Sullivan’s office as soon as her meeting with Walter McIntosh was over. She had tried phoning Grant but was told he was out for the day.

  Her mind was spinning as to what all this meant with regard to her case against Rafael Santiago.

  Not to mention her relationship with Grant. Could she have been wrong about his heart, soul, and character?

  His f
eelings for her?

  Beverly could only speculate about what had gone on between Grant and Maxine Crawford.

  She wondered if it was still going on.

  When Beverly stepped into Dean’s inner office, she could tell by the hostile look on his face that she had incurred his wrath.

  “Have a seat, Ms. Mendoza!” His brows were bridged stiffly.

  Beverly sat across from his wide desk, feeling intimidated and vulnerable with respect to whatever he had to say to her.

  “What’s going on, Dean?” Her voice was as innocent as she could make it, though Beverly’s heart was thumping hard against her chest.

  Dean bent forward, and said darkly, “I understand that you were warned to lay off digging into Judge Crawford’s background and personal life. Why have you ignored this and insisted on prying outside of your jurisdiction?”

  Beverly lifted a brow. She really had stepped on someone’s toes. Was it Dean’s? Grant’s? The governor’s?

  Or were they all in collusion?

  “I was only doing my job, Dean,” she said toughly, “trying to learn everything I could to solidify my case against Rafael Santiago. I thought that was what you wanted...”

  “You already have everything you need to take this to trial, Beverly!” Dean’s eyes narrowed beneath his glasses. “Your job is to focus on getting a conviction against the man who murdered a sitting judge based on the evidence of the case—not turn this thing into a three ring circus by digging for dirt in all the wrong places. Do I make myself clear?”

  “You do,” she protested, “but don’t I have a right to know if Judge Crawford was crooked, thereby potentially making his murder part of a conspiracy to silence him?”

  “There is no damned conspiracy!” Sputum flew from Dean’s mouth. “You’ll just have to trust me on that. Whatever the judge or Mrs. Crawford were into sexually or otherwise is extraneous to the case against Santiago. If you have a problem with that, Beverly, tell me right now and I’ll hand the case over to someone else who’s more cooperative—”