State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller

by Flowers, R. Barri

  Manuel said flatly while barely opening his mouth, “Yes.”

  Jackie moved her eyes from him to the instruments. “Did you shoot him?”

  “Yes.” He held her gaze.

  “How many times?”

  “Three,” he answered tersely.

  “What did you do with the gun?” she inquired, fixing his face.

  “Threw it in the lake.”

  “What lake?”

  “Eagles Lake,” Manuel said without hesitation.

  The instruments zigzagged.

  Jackie read them then shifted slightly, preparing for questions that were more uncomfortable to ask as a woman.

  “Did you rape Maxine Crawford?”

  “Yes,” he smiled.

  Jackie stared at the monitor for a moment or two. “Did you sodomize Mrs. Crawford?”

  Grinning, Manuel answered, “Yeah, I did. And loved every second of it!”

  What an ass! Jackie was suddenly angry. “Please just stick to answering the question.” Her voice was elevated slightly.

  “Anything you say.” He peered at her lustfully.

  “Did you force Maxine Crawford to orally copulate you?”

  “Yeah.” He licked his lips invitingly.

  Jackie studied his response. “Would you please answer that question again?”

  “Why not?” he laughed. “Yes, I made her go down on me—”

  She felt her cheeks flush. “Did you wear gloves?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Leather?”

  Manuel chuckled. “What other kind are there?

  “Leather?” she repeated sharply.

  “Yes, they were leather,” he snapped. “Okay?”

  Jackie sucked air in through her nostrils. “What happened to the gloves?”

  “Got rid of ‘em,” he said quickly.

  She took note of the polygraph instruments at work. “Where did you get rid of them?”

  Manuel thought about this. “Tossed them in the lake. No reason to keep ‘em after I took care of business.” He put a hand to his mouth sardonically. “Oh, I forgot, I ain’t supposed to drag it out.”

  Jackie peered at him. “Do you love your identical twin, Rafael Santiago?”

  The question appeared to catch the subject off guard. After a moment or two, he replied with a sneer, “What kind of question is that?”

  “The kind that needs a yes or no answer!” she snapped.

  “No, I detest him. The bastard got to be with my auntie, or mother, while I was stuck for years living with someone else.”

  Jackie saw the strain in his face in giving a longer answer than she wanted. But she let him keep talking to help the assistant district attorney and detectives in assessing his state of mind.

  “Why are you confessing to crimes attributed to a man you say you detest?” she asked, again stepping outside her bounds.

  Manuel ran a hand across his face, then grinned. “Because I don’t want someone else to take credit for what I did. I’m man enough to admit killing the judge and raping his woman. Why let Rafael go down for it?”

  Jackie considered his response before getting back to her work. “Did you and Rafael Santiago plan to murder Judge Sheldon Crawford together—yes or no?”

  “No,” Manuel responded stiffly.

  She read the chart. “Did your brother ask you to take the rap for something he did?”

  “No!”

  “Have you and your brother communicated since he was arrested?”

  “No,” muttered Manuel. “Not at all.”

  “Do you hate your mother?”

  He grinned slyly. “Yeah...yes, I think I do. Wouldn’t you if she gave you away and made life hell?”

  Jackie supposed she might have had a problem with that. But then she wasn’t the one being questioned here for honesty. She ignored the question.

  “Had you ever met Maxine Crawford before the night of October twenty-ninth of last year?”

  Manuel gazed at her musingly. “No, never. But I wish I had.”

  I’ll bet, Jackie sneered. “One last question: Do you believe there are extraterrestrial beings living on this planet?”

  Manuel cocked a brow and chuckled. “Good one. No, I don’t. But I believe there are some hot broads living in this city—like you...”

  Jackie felt a chill rip through her. She was glad there was a guard standing by. The sooner she got away from this maniac, the better.

  * * *

  The wait was agonizing for Beverly, as she imagined it was for the others present. She tried to determine from the facial expression and body language of Gonzalez and Jackie which way the test was going. But she was unable to ascertain what the gestures and body movements meant one way or the other.

  After Gonzalez was escorted out of the room by deputies and back to his cell without any indication of how it went, Beverly went inside. Natalie Pena was close on her heels.

  “Well—?” Beverly hovered over the examiner. “What’s the scoop?”

  “I’d also be interested in knowing how my client fared,” said Natalie, her timid tone belying her concern.

  Jackie took another look at the graphs, as if to be sure. “It wasn’t exactly a grand slam as far as polygraph tests go,” she said. “But in my professional opinion, on the questions pertaining to Manuel Gonzalez’s claims to have shot Judge Crawford and the sexual assault of Maxine Crawford, I’d have to say that Gonzalez is telling the truth...as far as he believes it—”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  That evening at home Beverly mulled over the analysis of the polygraph examination and the other aspects of the case against Manuel Gonzalez.

  As far as he believes it...

  The thought raced through her mind like a locomotive. Did that mean Gonzalez could have somehow convinced himself that he killed Judge Crawford and brutally sexually assaulted Maxine Crawford, when in fact he really was not guilty of these crimes? Sort of like self-hypnosis?

  Beverly was sitting on a club chair in the living room, a glass of wine in hand. The TV was on, but she was barely aware of it. Jaime had gone to see a movie with Paco, leaving her all by her lonesome.

  No matter what I want to believe, the bottom line is that as an expert in polygraph exams, Jackie felt Manuel Gonzalez was truthful in his assertion of committing the crimes Rafael Santiago was accused of.

  Who am I to question it?

  She couldn’t prove Santiago was the guilty party if the tide had swung in Gonzalez’s direction.

  Instead Beverly was left to wonder if her instincts in this case had been all wrong. All she wanted was for justice to be rendered correctly. Even if it meant having to drop the charges against Rafael Santiago, who may have been innocent in spite of his criminal history, which included committing murder.

  One thing that troubled Beverly was that Gonzalez had apparently failed the polygraph on the question of whether there had been any communication between him and Santiago, according to the polygraph examiner. Though Jackie conceded that the reading was more or less inconclusive, Beverly believed that there could be a darker explanation. The identical twin brothers could have conspired in concocting their stories. Or even in perpetrating their crimes.

  Unfortunately I can’t rely on supposition. Bottom line, at this point it would be nearly impossible to get a conviction against Santiago.

  Unless some earth shattering revelation should suddenly fall onto her lap.

  The phone rang, giving Beverly a start. She lifted it off the coffee table and saw that the caller was Grant.

  “Hey, baby—” His voice was cheerful and it warmed her to hear it.

  “Hey back to you.” She tasted the wine, wishing he were there to share it with her. Instead they had made a pact to temporarily pause their personal relationship so there would be no conflict of interest while dealing with the legal crisis that had just come up.

  As soon as the Santiago case was settled one way or the other, Beverly and Grant agreed that nothing else would s
tand in the way of their happiness together.

  Not even the continuing investigation into Judge Crawford’s illicit activities, wherever it may lead.

  “So how did the lie detector test go?” Though the question was casual, Beverly knew that the results would carry a lot of weight for Grant’s inclination on the guilt or innocence of Santiago and Gonzalez.

  “He passed it,” she said almost sadly, though only wanting to see to it that the right man was convicted in this case when all was said and done.

  Beverly discussed it with Grant as well the DNA results. As Conrad Ortega and Natalie Pena had access to all the same information she didn’t feel it was stepping out of bounds in talking to the judge about the case.

  “I blame Maxine Crawford for this screw up,” Grant said, conceding that Gonzalez’s confession was probably valid when coupled with the DNA match. “She positively identified Santiago as her attacker. You just took the ball and ran with it. Now some will argue that there may have been a rush to judgment.”

  Beverly curled her lip. She saw Santiago as possibly wronged. Maybe even singled out based on past history. But there was no rush to judgment. The pieces fit. Or at least they had, till Manuel Gonzalez thrust himself into the picture.

  “No one could have imagined that Santiago would have an identical twin,” she found herself defending Maxine. Or am I defending myself? “Much less, that the two would have identical lizard tattoos above their genitals.”

  “I suppose,” Grant husked begrudgingly. “Luckily Gonzalez decided to come clean and back it up before an innocent man was put away and most likely sentenced to death—”

  “Not sure it had much to do with luck,” Beverly hissed. “It’s not like Gonzalez confessed out of the goodness of his heart. The man was already in hot water for killing three people. He had every incentive to tell his story as part of a plea bargain to spare his life.”

  Which was, she considered, still motive enough for a false yet convincing confession.

  Yet there was no denying that the facts, including Gonzalez’s intimate knowledge of the crimes against the Crawfords, pointed squarely at the confessed multiple murderer and rapist.

  It still hardly meant that Rafael Santiago was a reformed man. Or innocent in the true sense of the word.

  “You’re right, Bev.” Grant breathed into the phone. “Why don’t we just let this play itself out in the court and see what happens.”

  Beverly agreed, while hoping for the best and not the worst, though unsure if she could tell one from the other.

  “I love you, Beverly,” Grant said. “Nothing will ever change that.”

  Like my career being irreparably damaged by the blunder with the suspects?

  Or was he bracing himself for future crises in the courtroom?

  “And I love you, Grant,” Beverly told him, leaving it and the speculation at that.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Stone entered the brand new massive bookstore in downtown Eagles Landing. The next time he would bring the entire family and let everyone go their own way to find something worth reading.

  Stone cruised past several aisles until coming to one where he found Erica Flanagan on her knees, placing books on a low shelf. He had tracked her down, hoping she might be able to help fill in some blanks left open by Manuel Gonzalez’s confession.

  “Detective Palmer...” She smiled faintly at him, still on her knees as she put a final book into place.

  “Hi, Erica.” Stone helped the young woman to her feet. “Hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time?”

  “You didn’t, not really,” she tried to say and brushed her hands on the back of jeans. “That doesn’t mean I’m not surprised to see you.”

  He smiled grimly. “I’m surprised to be here to tell you the truth. Something’s come up—”

  She eyed him curiously. “All right. It’s just about time for my break anyway. Would you like to buy me a cup of coffee? There’s a coffee shop next door.”

  Stone smiled. “You’re on.”

  They sat at a table near the window. Stone updated her on the Adrienne Murray murder investigation.

  “I can’t say I’m surprised that Chuck was involved in Adrienne’s death,” Erica said pensively. “He was determined that she would never leave him alive—”

  “Looks like he got his wish,” Stone muttered sadly.

  “Figures he would kill himself. Coward!” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s just like Chuck to take the easy way out, rather than own up to what he did.”

  “Maybe by committing suicide Murray thought he was doing the world a favor.”

  Stone didn’t really believe a word of that. Chuck Murray was a gutless, sick bastard. The man was personally responsible for at least one death and sexual assault; and if Manuel Gonzalez was to be believed, had also orchestrated the murder of Judge Sheldon Crawford and was responsible for the brutal sexual attack of his wife. Stone would have liked to see Murray go to trial, explain his actions, and let the justice system decide when and where he died.

  “Right!” Erica rolled her eyes dubiously. “At least the man he hired is in custody. Maybe some justice can still come out of it.”

  “Maybe,” said Stone, while thinking that there wasn’t enough justice to be dispensed on the Chuck Murrays and Manuel Gonzalezes out there. He put the coffee cup to his mouth. “You said before that Adrienne would never have had an affair. Was that more to protect her reputation or to convince me that Chuck was out to get her?”

  Erica considered this. “I suppose a little of both,” she admitted.

  Stone peered at her. “So are you saying she did have an affair?”

  “Not that I knew of.” Erica slurped coffee. “Adrienne was forever looking. She was the flirtatious type. But there was always Chuck to bring her back down to earth with his threats and intimidation.”

  “Did Adrienne ever mention to you anything about flirting with a judge?”

  “A judge?” asked Erica, as if a foreign word.

  “Yeah.”

  She hesitated.

  “This is important,” Stone stressed, sensing she was holding back on him. “Her case hasn’t been closed yet.”

  “Never a judge,” Erica insisted. “One time Adrienne talked about being attracted to a traffic cop who gave her a ticket along with his phone number. As far as I knew, she never called him. That’s about the closest she came to knowing a judge that I’m aware of. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Stone uttered over his coffee. “I’m not.” For some reason he preferred to believe that Adrienne had not gotten mixed up with a married judge. Even if her jealous husband had chosen to believe it.

  But he still didn’t rule out that Adrienne could have had a clandestine affair with Judge Crawford without her best friend’s knowledge. It happened all the time. Hadn’t he once read that three-quarters of all married people had at least one affair during the course of their marriage? Maybe this was one of them.

  Why would Gonzalez have concocted this wild tale if it weren’t true?

  What did he gain other than leniency from the courts?

  “So who is the judge Adrienne’s alleged to have been involved with?” Erica asked, her lashes flickering as if not a clue.

  Probably better that way. “Maybe no one at all—” he said, though keeping the book open on this one for now.

  * * *

  The Curbside Motel was located in Northwest Eagles Landing, along a stretch of other cheap accommodations. It was one of the motels Manuel Gonzalez claimed he had seen Sheldon Crawford and Adrienne Murray rendezvous at, mused Stone, driving into the almost empty parking lot.

  His shift was over and he should have been on his way home to Joyce and the kids. Yet here he was working on his own time, trying to allow the spirit of Adrienne Murray to be put to rest. If that was even possible, considering the ordeal her husband and Gonzalez had put her through in life.

  Not to mention death.

  Maybe I should quit while I’m ahea
d. Stone stood outside the door. Oh, what the hell. Might as well see if there’s anything useful to learn.

  He went inside. The tiny lobby reeked of mildew. A woman in her forties stood at the counter, as if nothing better to do. A nametag identified her as Barbara.

  “How many nights?” she asked routinely, scratching her head through a blonde bob.

  “Just this one.” Stone showed his badge. Producing a photograph of Sheldon Crawford, courtesy of Beverly Mendoza, he set it on the counter before the woman. “Can you tell me if you’ve seen this man in here recently?”

  Barbara regarded the picture. “Hmm... How recently?”

  Stone realized it wasn’t that recent. “Let’s say between August and the end of October of last year,” he guessed.

  Her false lashes fluttered. “Maybe. Can’t say really. They all start to look alike after a while.” She took a deep breath. “What’s his name?”

  “Sheldon Crawford.” The man wouldn’t possibly use his own name. Would he?

  Barbara lifted a brow. “That wouldn’t happen to be Judge Sheldon Crawford, would it?”

  Stone saw no reason to keep it a secret. “Yeah, it would be. Has he been here?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” she quickly said. “I just recognize the name from the news. Too bad about his death and what happened to his wife.”

  “Yeah, it is.” And that may not be the half of it. “Why don’t you check to see if the name shows up in your records?”

  Barbara nodded obediently. “Let’s see,” she mumbled to herself, typing the name into a computer. “What makes you think a high and mighty judge would spend time in this dump?”

  “Oh, I have my reasons.” Stone left it at that. He had been hearing rumors that even without this alleged adultery, Judge Crawford’s hands were soiled. And maybe more than just his hands.

  Barbara frowned. “I don’t show a Sheldon Crawford in that span of time or even the month before. Of course it’s always possible that he could’ve used a fake name. Most people do who come in here.”

  Stone conceded that was quite possible. Or maybe the judge had never set foot in this dive and Gonzalez was lying about it as part of his twisted con job.