State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller

by Flowers, R. Barri

  He heard the words repeated back to him even as Stone was dashing out of the room and hoping they could finally get this son of a bitch before anyone else felt the cold steel of his blade.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Beverly squeezed the cart past another in the too small aisle. As had become customary for her during the holidays, she had put off getting some key essentials till the last moment. This year was no different. She was making roast beef and baked potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner, with a green salad and apple pie. But she had forgotten a few odds and ends like salad dressing and dinner rolls; along with a few snacks. Thank goodness some stores were staying open later on holidays.

  Grant had been invited to have Thanksgiving dinner with them and had accepted gratefully, anxious to get closer to Jaime. Beverly wanted that as well and felt that Grant had already taken some steps in the right direction, as had Jaime. She could imagine the day when they would be together as a real family and share all the holidays.

  Jaime had become more open to the prospect that it might be a good idea to have someone special as part of their lives on a permanent basis.

  He also wanted to bring home for Thanksgiving someone who had long been a part of their lives—his grandfather. Beverly thought it was a terrific idea and Grant agreed. She knew Alberto Elizondo would never be the same person who raised her, but he would always be her father no matter what. He deserved to spend a day of thanks with his family. He’d had a full life and loving family, and for that they had much to be thankful for.

  Having collected her groceries, Beverly stood at the checkout counter. In her peripheral she saw a man walking out the door. She turned to look at him and saw that he was already looking at her. His dark eyes were cold and sinister.

  Beverly froze. He looked very much like the man from Burger King.

  Who happened to be a carbon copy of Rafael Santiago.

  A shiver ran up and down Beverly’s spine. Had he followed her there?

  Is this the man who broke into my house?

  The police were of the opinion that the burglar was a professional thief who had burglarized some nearby homes recently.

  But could he have also been a murderer? A rapist?

  A stalker?

  Chill, Beverly ordered herself, borrowing a phrase from Jaime and his friends. Rafael Santiago was solely responsible for what he was being charged with. No matter how many other people looked like him.

  And she had no proof that this other man had broken into her house and followed her to the store or elsewhere.

  He probably wasn’t even looking at me. Not everyone who happened to turn her way was actually staring at her.

  By the time Beverly paid the elderly clerk, the man was gone. The bagger—a carrot topped, gangly boy of around seventeen—noted the uneasiness dotted on her face like moles.

  “Would you like me to walk out with you, Ma’am?”

  She gave it some thought, but decided her fears were unfounded. And since she only had a single bag, he would be better off helping someone who really needed assistance.

  “Thanks,” she told him. “I’ll be fine.”

  Beverly carried the bag with one arm while taking looping steps towards her car. She noted that there were a surprisingly large number of cars in the lot, though the store had seemed practically empty.

  At the driver’s side door, Beverly reached into her purse for the key. She had not heard a sound, except for maybe the wind, when suddenly a figure came at her at blinding speed. He rammed into her, causing the bag and purse to fly from her hand.

  “Don’t make a sound,” a man ordered into her ear. The voice had a Latino accent.

  He was behind her, but close enough that Beverly could feel his hard body pressed into hers. She heard the sound of a switchblade open so close to her face that it may have nicked her cheek.

  “I have a knife,” he said, as if to make no mistake about that. “Scream and I’ll rip your throat out!”

  Beverly was trembling, but knew she had to hold her composure. Was he the man she had seen in the store?

  The same man from Burger King?

  Why her?

  Am I any more special than the next person a burglar, rapist, or murder chooses to accost?

  God, help me get through this.

  The man reeked of the acrid smell of smoked crack cocaine and musty body odor. She had become familiar with these scents as a prosecutor who had visited crime scenes and jails more times than she could count.

  A crackhead. The most dangerous type of offender. They were often unpredictable.

  And scary.

  Whatever Beverly may have thought about this bastard, it wasn’t worth losing her life over.

  “I’ll give you whatever you want,” she told him. “Just don’t hurt me.”

  “Why not?” he laughed coarsely. “So you can go back to that fat ass kid of yours and get cozy with the black dude?”

  Beverly could barely contain her emotions.

  It was him!

  The man who had broken into her house. He knew about Jaime.

  He had to be the same man she had seen at Burger King, Beverly decided. He must have followed her that day. And today as well.

  If I could just get the gun out of my purse. Beverly noted that the contents of the purse had remained inside it on the ground. She dreaded to think what might happen were her assailant to check the purse.

  “My son is my life,” she pleaded, her heart racing. “You can have the car, the purse, the groceries...just let me go—”

  He kissed her cheek with icky wet lips. “In your dreams, bitch!” The man put the knife to her throat. “‘Cause it’s you I want and the car. Now we’re both gettin’ in and you’ll drive where I tell you to—”

  The one thing Beverly knew was she could not get in that car with him. If she did, in all likelihood she would be signing her death warrant. So long as she was out in the open, she stood a fighting chance.

  She tried to look around for help, but could not see much from the position of her upturned face with the knife at her throat.

  She needed to stall him.

  “Who are you?” Her voice almost sounded friendly and made her want to gag.

  “Your worst nightmare,” he growled mockingly.

  “You were at Burger King, weren’t you?” She got bold. “And you followed us home? Then broke into my house—?”

  He laughed derisively. “You’re smart, lady,” he confirmed. “Maybe too damned smart as an assistant district attorney! But it don’t matter, ‘cause you ain’t gonna tell no one about Manuel—”

  Beverly could feel the blade tickling her throat. She knew that if she so much as twitched it would slice into her skin. Suddenly the very real thought of dying at thirty-two flashed across her mind like a horror movie.

  Could she actually die before her father?

  Who would take care of Jaime without her?

  She could envisage his getting married, having children, a successful career—all without her being able to enjoy it as a proud mother.

  And how would Grant fare if she were no longer in the picture? Would some other attractive, smart, and sexy woman take her place in his life? Would she become little more than a distant memory to him?

  Beverly decided that she was not ready to meet her Maker. Not this way.

  “I won’t tell anyone about you, Manuel,” she said, managing to keep her voice at an even keel. Manuel who? “I’ll go wherever you want me to...do whatever you want—”

  This seemed to inspire him as he pulled the knife back ever so slightly. “Let’s get in your car, Beverly,” he breathed obscenely into her ear. “We’re going for a drive.”

  “All right,” she agreed. “My keys are in my purse.”

  Beverly squatted to get her hands on the purse, but he lifted her up before she could reach it and the gun inside.

  “Not so fast,” he said roughly. “What the hell’s in the purse that you were itching to get to? You wouldn’t hap
pen to have a gun in there, would you, Ms. Lawyer?”

  “No, there is no gun,” she lied. “Just my keys and normal stuff women keep in their purses.”

  If I can just grab the purse, I can end this the right way.

  But her captor clearly thought otherwise and once again had the knife up to her throat.

  “Oh yeah?” Manuel growled. “We’ll see about that, bitch.”

  From the corner of her eye, Beverly seemed to detect movement. She couldn’t be sure if it was an illusion or her mind playing tricks to somehow give her false hope.

  A customer from the store, perchance?

  The police? Perhaps someone had seen what was going on and called 911.

  But how could they have gotten there so soon?

  Manuel was so self-absorbed that he didn’t seem to notice the presence of anyone.

  I have to keep him preoccupied.

  “Why don’t you get my keys out of the purse then, Manuel. I’m not going anywhere. You’re the one with the knife.”

  He breathed against her ear. “Yeah, and don’t you forget it!”

  Even with his macho behavior, Beverly sensed nervousness in the man, as if he suddenly felt exposed. Or perhaps it was the drugs playing with his mind. Either way, she had no intention of waiting to see how this played out. Especially since it was likely to end badly for her as things now stood.

  “Get the damned keys, bitch,” Manuel ordered. “And hurry.”

  Just as he had loosened his hold on her and Beverly saw the opening she was looking for, a voice boomed from a loudspeaker.

  “Manuel Gonzalez, this is Detective Palmer of the Wilameta County Sheriff’s Department. Put the knife down and step away from the lady—!”

  Manuel did just the opposite. With lightning quick speed, he had once again looped a powerful arm around Beverly’s neck, placing the knife threateningly under her chin.

  “No way, man,” Manuel shouted defiantly. “She stays with me. Try anything and I’ll cut her throat. I swear it!”

  Beverly watched as law enforcement suddenly descended upon them like vultures. She immediately recognized Stone Palmer. They had worked together briefly on the Suzanne Landon case. He seemed like a nice man and one she couldn’t be happier to see, albeit in a less than ideal situation for her.

  “Don’t be a fool!” Stone blared, while hoping this thing could end without bloodshed. “There is no way out of this for you, Manuel. It’s all over. Now move the knife away from the lady’s throat and you won’t be harmed—”

  With his gun drawn, Stone inched closer to the murder suspect and his captive. It took a moment before he realized that the woman was none other than Wilameta County Assistant D.A. Beverly Mendoza. How the hell had she ended up in Gonzalez’s grasp?

  “Let her go, Manuel,” Stone said nicely, noting the groceries littering the parking lot and the A.D.A.’s purse on the pavement. “No one else has to die...including you.”

  Beverly could sense that her captor was weighing his options. Should he kill her—or try to—and almost certainly be killed? Should he kill himself?

  Or did he realize that it was a battle he could no longer win, even in death, and do the smart thing by surrendering?

  “I’m not worth dying for,” Beverly coaxed. “And there’s no reason for your life to end either. Please, just let me go—” The blade continued to tickle her throat. Only it was hardly a laughing matter.

  “Can’t go back to prison,” Manuel muttered audaciously.

  So he had been in prison. Why doesn’t that surprise me? What crime or crimes had he committed?

  She found herself wondering if he knew Rafael Santiago.

  “They will kill us both if they have to,” insisted Beverly, feeling his resolve was weakening. “You’re worth more to them dead than I am alive. If you give them an excuse, they’ll take you out and not give it a second thought if there is some collateral damage along the way.”

  She didn’t believe that for a moment. But Beverly wanted him to. In her experience even the most depraved criminals still had an inherent instinct for survival. When this was threatened they almost always reacted predictably.

  Manuel moved the knife away from Beverly’s neck, seeming to indicate his surrender. Beverly’s jubilation was short lived, however, as he seemed to have second thoughts. She saw the switchblade once again moving in her direction. But she would not give him the chance to put her at death’s door once more.

  Without her gun, mace, or even keys to use as weapons, Beverly counted on the element of surprise to catch her would-be kidnapper off guard. Using the heel of her mules, she jammed it as hard as she could into his leg just above the ankle.

  Manuel howled like a wolf in pain, releasing his grip on her and the knife simultaneously, while hopping on his one good leg.

  Beverly turned around and got her first up close look at her attacker’s contorted face. She saw Rafael Santiago staring back at her in anguish. Yet she knew, incredibly, that it wasn’t him. Only a cruel hoax. Or was it somehow by design?

  Before Manuel could begin to recover, Beverly immediately broke towards the store. She looked back as the authorities pounced on her assailant, throwing him to the ground and handcuffing.

  Her nightmare was over. Whereas his had only just begun.

  * * *

  Beverly was still shaking and trying to catch her breath when she felt a solid hand on her shoulder, causing her to jerk around.

  It was Detective Palmer. A look of concern was on his handsome face. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she stammered, running fingers through her mussed hair. “I think so.”

  “Assistant D.A. Beverly Mendoza, right?” Stone’s eyes twinkled at her.

  “Yes.” Beverly smiled while holding back tears of what might have been. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for testifying at the Suzanne Landon trial.”

  He grinned. “You did by winning it and getting another killer off the streets.”

  She tilted her head to one side, grateful nonetheless. “You also sent the writer to me,” she remembered.

  Stone was stumped for a moment before it came to him. His eyes grew. “Ah, yes! Ms. Wesley. Persistent lady. Hope she didn’t give you headaches?”

  “Not half as much as him.” Beverly gazed at Manuel Gonzalez who was being placed in the back of a squad car.

  Stone frowned. “Sorry you had to cross paths with that asshole. But if there’s a silver lining, it could have been worse. Gonzalez was wanted in connection with three murders and at least one sexual assault.”

  Beverly put her hands to her mouth aghast. Her shock was not just that she had been lined up to become the next victim of this creep, but that he was suspected of committing crimes similar to those perpetrated by Rafael Santiago. Was this another coincidence? Or, if these two were related, did bad seeds grow in the family?

  Stone could see that this had unnerved the attorney, and rightfully so. He tried to soften the blow. “Why don’t you let me help you gather those groceries?”

  Beverly nodded, having practically forgotten why she was there in the first place. She followed the detective back to her car and immediately lifted her purse, with all the contents apparently still inside.

  She watched as Stone put her groceries back in the bag. “So how long have you been looking for Manuel Gonzalez?” She’d barely kept track of anything recently aside from the case she was working on.

  “More than a month now,” Stone answered, “though we only identified the suspect recently.”

  Beverly noted that it was more than a month ago when Rafael Santiago had perpetrated his heinous deeds. There had been no indication that he’d committed any other crimes other than those against the Crawfords. So why did her instincts tell her that he might have been in cahoots with Manuel Gonzalez?

  Maybe I see a mirror image of one in the other and I’m looking for a connection that simply isn’t there other than the fact that they’re both brutal killers.

&
nbsp; She smiled at the detective who had bagged all her spilled groceries. “I’m glad you caught the man.”

  “So am I. That’s one less criminal to have to deal with outside the courtroom.”

  “And one more for us prosecutors to try to win a conviction.”

  Stone smiled and looked at the bag. “If you want to pop the trunk, I’ll put this right in.”

  Beverly took out her car keys and used the remote to unlock it. “Be my guest.”

  “By the way, we have a little more in common than Suzanne Landon and Manuel Gonzalez.” Stone met Beverly’s gaze. “My son Paco is good friends with your son Jaime.”

  Beverly raised a brow. “Paco’s your son? I knew his Dad was a cop and I’ve actually spoken to your wife on the phone, but I never made the connection.”

  Stone smiled. “To be honest, I hadn’t either till very recently when Paco was gushing about going to a judge’s chambers with Jaime and his lawyer Mom.”

  Beverly blushed. “Small world.”

  “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  Maybe it wasn’t quite as small as either of them thought.

  “Perhaps after the holidays we can all get together for dinner or something.”

  “I’d like that,” Stone said.

  “Right now, I’d better get going. My son and father are expecting a big Thanksgiving Day feast. And Manuel Gonzalez aside, I’m not about to disappoint them—”

  Stone grinned knowingly. “Yeah, I’m in the exact same boat. Only as the chef, the meal will still have to go through me. That is, assuming my wife lets me back in the kitchen, after I was forced to make a slight detour in the name of justice.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  When she got home, Beverly was exhausted and unsettled, but thankful to be alive. In spite of her ordeal, she saw no reason why they should not be able to enjoy their Thanksgiving meal.

  Grant’s car was parked in the driveway. He had volunteered to pick up her father from the nursing home, while she busied herself with the meal. Beverly hoped Grant hadn’t found himself overwhelmed in trying to baby-sit her father and son.