He fully expected things to heat up inside, one way or the other.
* * *
“The DNA tested positive,” Harold Bledsoe said dispiritedly to his audience, which included Assistant D.A.’s Beverly Mendoza and Gail Kennedy and Detectives Stone Palmer and Joe O’Dell.
“So what are you saying,” O’Dell asked, “that Manuel Gonzalez did kill the judge and rape his wife?”
The criminalist touched his glasses and frowned. “I wish it were that simple, but it’s not in this case. What the tests show is that there is a match between the DNA sample taken from Manuel Gonzalez and DNA evidence collected from the crime scene—including semen found on Maxine Crawford’s body.”
Beverly gazed at him contemplatively. “Then you’re telling us that Manuel Gonzalez and Rafael Santiago are in fact identical twins?”
Bledsoe met her gaze, reading the shock and irritation in the prosecutor’s eyes. “Yes, it looks that way.”
“Either they are or they aren’t!” Stone added his two cents. “We need to know that we aren’t going around in circles here, Doc. If you have any doubts that Gonzalez’s DNA—”
“I don’t, Detective,” Bledsoe assured him. “The tests have been thrice repeated and the results are the same. Gonzalez and Santiago have the same DNA, as only identical twins could. As such, with more definitive DNA studies only in the preliminary stages, you have two men who could legitimately be your perpetrator in the crimes against the Crawfords. Particularly the sexual attack on Maxine Crawford.”
Beverly tried to keep from falling apart at the revelations that threatened to turn her case against Rafael Santiago upside down. “We need to find out which man was really at the crime scene,” she stressed to the criminalist. “At this point, both seem to be guilty as sin, but clearly only one of them was present. If there is any other scientific way to differentiate between the two...”
Bledsoe rubbed his nose. “There is, in effect,” he suggested. “Even identical twins have different phenotypes—or physical traits such as appearance and fingerprints. Aside from a confession, it’s up to you to establish a criminal identification based on such characteristics.” He knew that this would be an uphill battle, given that the one witness could not be certain which man assaulted her with the naked eye alone. He looked at the attorney and offered meekly, “Good luck. I think you’re going to need it.”
“In this case, I think we’ve pretty much run out of luck,” Gail remarked bleakly. “What we need now is something more akin to a miracle to get our man before he worms his way out of this mess.”
No one was prepared to argue the point.
* * *
Beverly sat grim faced in the conference room on one side of the table. She had reluctantly agreed not to seek the death penalty against Manuel Gonzalez should his confession be accepted. She still believed that Rafael Santiago was guilty of invading the home of Judge Sheldon Crawford and what followed. But she went along with this for now under pressure from all sides to bring this case to a head.
Sitting across from Beverly were Gonzalez, who seemed to be enjoying this attention, and his attorney, Natalie Pena. At opposite ends of the table were Stone Palmer and Joe O’Dell, each with more than a vested interest in the proceedings.
Two tape recorders sat on the table in play mode, while a camcorder stood in the corner recording the interview.
“Will you please state your full name?” Beverly asked the suspect, as if she hadn’t a clue who he was.
He grinned slyly at his attorney and waited for to her nod before he looked at Beverly. “Manuel Roberto Gonzalez,” he said as calmly as she could have expected from an admitted serial killer.
The memory of having a knife placed at her throat by this man bothered Beverly more than she cared to admit.
“You recently confessed to the murder of Judge Sheldon Crawford.” She looked him in the eye. “Is that correct?”
“Yeah.” He smirked at her.
“And you also confessed to sexually assaulting Maxine Crawford, the judge’s wife. Is that right?”
“That’s right,” he said smugly.
Beverly glanced at her notes. “I interviewed you on December twenty-first of last year,” she said. “At that time, I asked you pointblank if you had any knowledge or involvement in those crimes. You denied it. Why are you now saying you did it?”
Manuel tilted his head and grinned at her. “I lied then—”
“How do we know you aren’t lying now?”
“Hey, you got the DNA results. What more do you want?”
“That only told us that you and Rafael Santiago have more in common than appearance.” Beverly paused pensively. “Is he your identical twin?”
“You tell me.” Manuel made a face as if daring her to come across the table and hit him.
She refused to swallow the bait. “How long have you known you had a twin brother?”
“All my life I guess,” he hissed.
“But you have different names...nationalities. How could that be?”
Manuel shrugged. “Who knows or cares. Guess you’ll have to ask my auntie about that.”
They planned to do just that. But Isabel Santiago could only answer questions about their birth. Not the misdeeds the identical twins had made a career out of.
Beverly peered at the suspect. “I want to believe that you are telling the truth in your claims, Manuel, and not simply playing us all for your own amusement. Oh, and to have your life spared.”
Manuel grunted. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me on this one, Ms. Assistant District Attorney,” he told her curtly, “won’t you?”
Beverly kept her cool as she looked around the table. She knew that the detectives were dubious at best that this was anything but a total waste of time and money, though the real perpetrator was still in dispute among all concerned.
For her part, Beverly was skeptical, but not close-minded, in spite of the still strong circumstantial case against Rafael Santiago. After all, she was the only one present who had experienced firsthand the terror of this maniac.
“This is not about trust,” she told the suspect, a hard edge to her voice. “Your credibility was shot to hell a long time ago as far as I’m concerned. It’ll be up to you to convince everyone in this room, with the possible exception of Ms. Pena, that what you have to say is worth hearing. Otherwise you can go straight to hell—”
Beverly had not meant to be so forceful, though the nodding heads of O’Dell and Stone told her she had their full support.
Natalie Pena was not nearly as accommodating. “Counselor, badgering my client is not helpful to anyone, least of all you. I suggest you keep your temper in check if we’re to get this done.”
Beverly smiled tightly. “Whatever you say.”
Manuel conferred with his attorney for a moment or two, as if no one else was in the room. Then he fixed Beverly with a leer, and said as though there had not been a break in their direct communication, “Not ready to go to hell yet, Beverly. Least not till I’m old and senile.”
If she had not known better, Beverly would have thought his comment was in direct reference to her father. Had Gonzalez somehow found out about his weakened state of mind?
And where her father was living?
Was he making a threat against her in his own warped way?
“Truth is,” said Manuel, licking his lips, “I killed Adrienne Murray ‘cause her old man thought she was having an affair. He wanted the bitch dead...and her lover...” He gazed levelly at Beverly. “Judge Crawford—”
Everyone present reacted to this stunning accusation.
Beverly batted her lashes at him disdainfully. Her first thought was that it was absurd. Judge Crawford and Adrienne Murray were lovers?
But she knew about Judge Crawford’s sordid history and reputation as an adulterer. Was it any more inconceivable that he could have become involved with Adrienne Murray than his clandestine relationship with and eventual marriage to Maxine Crawford?
“You don’t really expect us to believe that the judge and Ms. Murray were having an affair, do you?” Beverly sneered at Manuel. To her knowledge there was no connection between the two, other than that they were both murder victims in Eagles Landing on the same day.
O’Dell drew his brows together menacingly. “This whole thing sounds like a load of crap—”
“I agree,” Stone said dismissively. He was sure that this asshole was embellishing his story to try and get the deal he was after. “But let’s hear what the man has to say. This should really be interesting.”
Stone scoffed at the notion that Adrienne Murray was seeing the judge. Though Chuck Murray was obsessed by the belief that his wife was cheating on him, there had been no credible evidence of such.
At least not yet.
Manuel grinned. “Hey, I got no reason to make this up. The judge liked his women young and younger. Like that bitch he married. He met Adrienne Murray in cheap motels. They both liked the really kinky stuff—”
“Are you saying you followed them to these cheap motels?” asked Beverly, her voice betraying disbelief.
“Yeah,” Manuel answered matter-of-factly. “A couple of times. I was curious—”
Assuming it was plausible that Judge Crawford was sleeping with Adrienne Murray, Beverly still had trouble believing Gonzalez had killed the judge. Sounded more like he was trying to protect his brother. Or had they been in cahoots all along?
“Why don’t you tell us how you killed Judge Crawford?” she asked.
Manuel whispered to his attorney, then faced Beverly. “I shot him.”
“Is that you talking or your lawyer?” Beverly eyed him suspiciously.
Natalie shot her a nasty look. “My client can speak for himself. He just wants to make sure he doesn’t say anything that will only get him in more hot water.”
Stone couldn’t resist saying, “The man’s confessed to four murders and about as many sexual assaults. No reason to be too concerned about trying to cover his ass now.” He knew Gonzalez was trying to avoid the death penalty. Maybe they could find a way around that, no matter what happened here, so he would pay the ultimate price for his sins.
Beverly watched as the detective and defense attorney exchanged glares. She turned back to Gonzalez. “How many times did you shoot the judge?”
“Three.”
She was not especially surprised that he answered these questions correctly, since they had been reported often enough in the paper. I can’t rule out either that Ms. Pena could have easily spoon fed the responses to him.
Beverly wanted to see how the man did with less commonly known details.
“What type of firearm did you use?” she asked pointedly.
Manuel again spoke to his attorney, who mostly listened and nodded or shook her head.
“A .25 caliber pistol,” he said evenly.
“Where did you get it?”
He hunched a shoulder. “Can’t remember.”
“Well try to remember,” Beverly pressed. “It might help us to believe your story.”
Natalie intervened. “Ms. Mendoza, we’re not here to get my client to divulge information on an illegal weapon that might get someone else in trouble. He wants only to confess to crimes he himself committed—”
Beverly sneered. They had clearly come well prepared for this interrogation and knew where the line had to be drawn.
“Fine,” she told the attorney curtly. “Maybe your client can tell us where this gun is right now.”
Natalie whispered to him. A moment later Manuel turned to Beverly. “I threw it in the lake,” he practically bragged. “I ain’t crazy. No way I’m gonna keep the piece after shootin’ the judge.”
“Why shoot him, Manuel?” Stone stepped in, more than a little unmoved by his explanation. “Especially after stabbing Adrienne Murray to death? And why didn’t you get rid of the knife, instead of using it to kill Penelope Grijalva and slicing up your girlfriend, Claudia Sosa?”
Again Manuel conferred with his attorney. Afterwards he eyed the detective and said flatly, “A gun is the only way to kill men. Too much flab on their bodies for a knife to penetrate cleanly.” He sniffed, as if snorting cocaine. “I always kept my switchblade, man. Knives can’t be traced. Besides, it was more fun to cut women different ways. I like to see ‘em bleed and squirm—”
“You bastard!” O’Dell blasted at him. “If it were up to me, you wouldn’t get off with anything less than a death sentence. Just like the people you butchered.”
“Fortunately, it ain’t up to you, De-tec-tive!” Manuel snapped brazenly.
“But it is up to me!” Beverly glowered at Gonzalez and his attorney. “If I were you, Manuel, I wouldn’t press my luck—”
She watched the smirk disappear from his face. “I’ll try to remember that.”
“How did you get into Judge Crawford’s house?”
“I picked the lock,” he said without preface. “It wasn’t hard to do.”
“And what time was that?” Beverly asked.
Manuel rolled his eyes. “Around seven, I guess. Can’t really say I was spendin’ much time watching the clock.”
“Did you break into the Crawfords’ house before or after you killed Adrienne Murray?”
“After,” he said decisively. “Had to get the main business taken care of first. You know what I’m sayin’?”
“How did you get from point A to point B, Gonzalez?” Stone asked. “In other words, how did you get from Belle Park to the judge’s house?”
Manuel put a finger up his nose and dug in. “I drove,” he responded coolly.
“Drove what?”
“My old lady’s car.”
“How fast were you driving?”
Natalie seemed to take exception to this. “Exactly what is it you’re getting at, Detective?”
Stone played dumb. “Absolutely nothing, Counselor,” he uttered. “Just a simple question, requiring a simple answer.”
Beverly could see that Stone had managed to strike a note of uncertainty in Gonzalez. Did this mean something? Or could he actually account for narrowing the distance between the two locations in a manner consistent with the time line of the separate crimes?
“No problem,” said Manuel, dismissing his attorney’s stern gaze. “I was probably doin’ around eighty, man. Except when some dumb assholes got in my way. You got a problem with that? You gonna give me a ticket for speedin’ now?” He laughed at his own poor attempt at humor.
Stone regarded the confessed multiple murderer carefully. Admittedly he wasn’t quite certain what to make of Gonzalez’s story. At least he was willing to entertain that there may have been some elements of truth to it. But how much?
“Assuming you’re being straight with me, Gonzalez, are you also saying that Chuck Murray knew his wife was having an affair with Judge Crawford?”
Manuel stared the length of the table at the detective. Raising a brow, he answered sarcastically, “Course he knew, man! How do you think I found out the judge was doin’ double duty in bed?”
“Are you saying that Murray ordered the hit on Judge Crawford?” Stone wanted to be sure this was the implication, giving Gonzalez the benefit of the doubt. Not that it would exonerate him as the hit man.
Manuel grinned wickedly. “Yeah, he ordered it. The white amigo told me that once I’d gotten rid of his wife and the judge, I’d be debt free. So I did it—” His tone was unapologetic, almost euphoric.
Stone could almost believe him, knowing what he did about Chuck Murray and his obsessive, maniacal jealousy involving his wife. But the fact remained that Murray was no longer able to defend himself against the charge. Stone also still had trouble buying that Adrienne would have gotten involved with Sheldon Crawford. But then, stranger things had happened, he was willing to concede.
Beverly sighed. Manuel Gonzalez really is a coldhearted bastard. Regardless of whether or not he was telling the truth regarding Judge Crawford, Adrienne Murray, and
Chuck Murray. Since all three were now dead and unable to verify or refute his tale, it was still pure conjecture at this point.
Even so, Beverly knew his allegations were beginning to build up steam in the room, for better or worse.
She glanced at her notes containing details of the killing of Judge Sheldon and sexual assault on Maxine. Meeting the eyes of Gonzalez, Beverly asked directly, “Why don’t you tell us what you did to Maxine Crawford?”
Manuel licked his lips lasciviously. “You want all the gory details?”
Beverly sneered. She could have said to keep it short and sanitized. But she knew that only the killer would know the explicit account of what really happened.
“I want to know everything that happened between you and Maxine Crawford,” she told him bluntly. Would he be able to respond adequately to details that were not as generalized as those regarding Judge Crawford’s death?
Manuel chuckled sinfully. “Is this how you get your kicks, Beverly?”
O’Dell nearly lifted from his chair in indignation. Glaring at Natalie, he roared, “Counselor, I suggest you ask your client to show more respect to Ms. Mendoza. Or I will—”
“Do what?” Natalie challenged him, knitting her thin, arched brows together. “Beat him up before all these witnesses, Detective? Maybe that’s how you get your kicks!”
O’Dell sank back down, aware that he was almost helpless in this situation.
Beverly appreciated his coming to her aid, but she told him firmly, “I can take care of myself, Joe.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I’m sure you can.”
Her gaze shot to Gonzalez. “Either you tell me what I want to know, or this interview is over—”
Natalie, sensing the urgency of the moment, began to scold her client in his ear, though loud enough so everyone could hear. He seemed to get the picture.
“All right,” he told Beverly, “I’ll tell you what I did to his wife—”
And, gloatingly, he described in explicit detail the rape, sodomy, oral copulation, and degradation of Maxine Crawford.
Beverly winced at the chilling account, which she believed sounded like it was coming from the person who sexually assaulted Maxine. But lingering doubts still remained.
State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller Page 29
