State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller (10 page)

They got into a dark gray Cadillac. It
matched the color of the sky, which suggested a big storm was in
the making. Stormy autumn weather was just a fact of life Beverly
had gotten used to in her thirty-two years of living in Eagles
Landing, contrary to the image that it never rained in California.
But she wasn’t complaining. She would take rain and cool
temperatures any day over snow and cold
.

Grant reached over and planted a wet kiss on
Beverly’s mouth. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he said
breathlessly. And much more. But that would have to wait till
later.

Beverly had to take a moment to recover.
“Maybe you should have done it earlier,” she gasped, “and saved us
both some suffering.”

He laughed. “Believe me, I would have if we
both hadn’t been so preoccupied with things—”

Things
.

Such as preparing to become a judge? Was this
when he would spring it on her?
Or would that be pillow
talk?

“That was smart of Dean to hand you this
case,” Grant said instead, starting the ignition. “I certainly
can’t think of anyone better equipped to put that asshole
away.”

“What about you?” she felt obliged to ask.
“Or are you losing your touch, Mr. Nunez?”

“Not exactly.” Grant regarded her. “I
couldn’t have taken the case even if I wanted to,” he said.

“Oh... ?” She met his eyes expectantly.

“Conflict of interest.”

“What conflict of interest?”

Grant’s full brows descended over his gaze.
“I happened to be the prosecuting attorney who convicted Rafael
Santiago in Judge Crawford’s courtroom,” he said matter-of-factly.
“He not only threatened Crawford, but me as well. I’m sure any
competent defense attorney would have tried to beat that drum to
get the case thrown out, or overturned on appeal. Why take the
chance?”

“You mean it could have been
you
Santiago went after?” Beverly’s mouth was agape, horrified at the
thought.

“Could have been,” Grant allowed, pulling
onto the street. He couldn’t help but think about being shot to
death while they were making love. Maybe not a bad way to die, but
not exactly a good way either for someone who had his whole life
ahead of him perhaps to share with the lady at his side. “Who’s to
say it might not have happened sooner or later, had he not been
identified?”

Beverly shivered at the prospect that Grant
could have been killed and
she
could have been raped.
I
don’t even want to think about it.

“Thank goodness Maxine Crawford was able to
pick Santiago out of two lineups,” she uttered in complete
agreement, feeling even more determined to see to it that the full
weight of the law was brought down on the suspect.

Ironically the very fact that Maxine Crawford
identified her attacker was contingent upon Santiago allowing her
to live, Beverly realized. Why didn’t he kill her after sexually
assaulting her? Was it that he simply didn’t give a damn that she
might be able to finger him? Or did he feel so cocky that he
somehow believed it was only a snowball’s chance in hell that
Maxine would ever be able to tie
him
to the crime?

Well, he was dead wrong.

* * *

Grant lived in a Colonial house overlooking
Eagles Lake with plenty of bay windows and magnificent views of the
water and surrounding land. He enjoyed living away from the city
center and having his own little piece of paradise.

They barely made it past the ceramic-tiled
foyer and inside the Great Room before their hunger pangs gave way
to more urgent physical needs. Standing between an octagonal lamp
table and left-arm sectional loveseat, Grant and Beverly began
kissing feverishly. Their hands were all over one another.

Beverly had a sharp intake of breath when
Grant nibbled on her ear while sliding a hand underneath her dress
and between her legs. She cupped his face and brought his mouth
back to hers, attacking it again, wanting as much of him as
possible.

Grant enjoyed the sweet taste of Beverly’s
thin lips, his hands grabbing onto her panties covered buttocks and
bringing their bodies closer together. “You’re really turning me
on, lady,” he hummed, feeling hot all over.

“I think it works both ways, Grant.” Beverly
watched deliriously as he put his mouth on her linen dress, atop a
breast and onto a nipple. “In fact, I’m sure of it!”

“In that case, I’d say we’d better do
something about it—and fast!”

“Say no more,” she uttered, hoping they could
make it to the bedroom before things got too steamy.

They didn’t, settling for a Tibetan rug next
to the limestone fireplace. Each began ripping at the other’s
clothing till both were stark naked and admiring one another
lustfully.

To Grant, Beverly was the picture of
perfection with all the right curves and bends in all the right
places. Her breasts, while not exceedingly large, were high, full,
and tantalizing. He noted the almond colored triangle below her
slender waist and longed to taste the delicacies within.

Beverly regarded Grant’s hard body, as he
stood tall like a modern day gladiator. She turned to his full
erection, marveling at its size and magnificent state of readiness
to pleasure and be pleasured. A twinge of excitement coursed
through her at the notion.

They started kissing open mouthed and Beverly
wrapped her arms around Grant’s neck. Slowly they sank to the rug,
their mouths managing to stay attached. Then Grant abruptly moved
away and planted hot kisses down Beverly’s stomach and below her
belly button. He opened her legs and began to kiss her there.

Beverly winced when his tongue licked her
most sensitive area again and again, causing her body to levitate
with delight.

“You taste so delicious,” Grant murmured,
enjoying making her wet and ready for him.

“Oh...Grant—” Beverly murmured as she felt
herself coming.

She took a moment to come back to earth
before pulling him up and wanting to give back what he gave
her.

But Grant resisted, grabbing Beverly’s
shoulders. “Not this time, baby. I want to climax inside you.”

“Please do,” she swallowed eagerly, wanting
the same with a passion.

Grant slipped on the condom and planted
himself squarely between Beverly’s outstretched legs. When he
entered her body, she was wet and ready, immediately wrapping her
thighs around his upper back and riding the wave of desire with
him.

They made love to each other as though there
were no more tomorrows, each yielding to the demands of their
bodies.

Grant yelled out when the moment of impact
erupted. Beverly screamed a moment later, hurling her groin at his
as a second wave of orgasm electrified her.

When it was over they clung to each other and
kissed the waning sensations away. Beverly admired the seemingly
tireless ability Grant had to go as long as she could. Even longer.
She’d once thought such men only existed in romance novels. He had
proven her wrong, for which she thanked her lucky stars.

Following the sex, they had a late lunch,
talked shop, and went back to work.

Amidst their sharing of bodies and food,
Beverly was surprised that Grant had remained mute on his impending
appointment to the bench.

Could it be that the appointment was not
going to be made after all? Or had he not considered the most
important news in his career worthy of sharing with her?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The nude body was swollen and discolored. It
had been discovered by a jet skier who noticed something “funny”
stuck in some vines on the south shore of the lake. Turned out to
be the decomposing body of a young woman. Before ever viewing the
corpse, Stone had a bad feeling as to who it likely was. This was
confirmed by the time he arrived at the scene.

It was Adrienne Murray. Or what had once been
her. This pale, bloated, bruised, and cut up object was no longer a
human being.

He recognized her from the photos provided by
her husband, Chuck Murray. For further clarification Stone checked
the dead woman’s inner left thigh. A dime sized mole was there,
seemingly undisturbed by the trauma her body had taken. Another was
found on her back, just where Chuck had indicated.

Stone noted, however, that there were no
rings on her fingers and no watch on her wrist. But the white spots
where they had been were clearly visible.

“You think she was dumped here?” asked a
somber Detective Chang.

Stone shook his head. “I’d say it was more
likely she floated south from the park. Probably would have gone
all the way down to the other end of the lake had it not been for
those damned vines.”

“So what are we looking at here—a serial
killer?”

“I don’t think so.” Stone looked around. “My
guess is the victim either knew the killer or the killer knew her.
This was personal,” he decided.

Chang lifted a brow. “You think the husband
did it?”

“Probably not—at least not by his own hand.”
This was another conclusion Stone had just reached. “He seemed too
genuinely affected by her disappearance to be her murderer, per
se.” Stone believed nonetheless that Chuck Murray may have loved
his wife irrationally and therefore dangerously. Which meant it was
too early to remove him as a suspect. “Let’s get this place sealed
off! And I want that park combed to see if anyone saw or heard
anything during the time Adrienne Murray disappeared.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Chang said to the
lead detective.

The two had barely parted up when a
thirty-something, tall and slender woman with a strawberry blonde
perm approached Stone. She was wearing a trench coat and
high-heeled shoes that made her look like a secret agent.

“Detective Palmer?”

“Yes...” he said while studying her.

“My name is Lydia Wesley,” she announced.
“I’m a reporter for the Eagles Landing Dispatch. I was told I could
find you here—”

By whom? Stone wondered, irritated. Inquiring
reporters were not supposed to be guided to crime scenes by anyone
from the department. Yet he knew it happened all the time, usually
due to the reporter’s unwavering determination.

He supposed she wanted to talk about the body
recovered, trying to get a jump on the rest of the news hounds.

“Well now that you found me, Ms. Wesley,” he
informed her, “I’m afraid I have no comment on this
investigation—”

“Actually, Detective, I wanted to talk to you
about another case you worked on.” She batted blue eyes at him,
almost in desperation. “I’m writing a book about Suzanne Landon. I
understand you worked on the case that led to her arrest and
conviction for killing her lover, James Wright.”

Stone remembered the case well—how could he
not?—even if the reporter’s facts were somewhat off the mark
insofar as his involvement. Or maybe that was deliberate to induce
a reaction. As much as he was a sucker for a pretty face, frankly,
he had neither the time nor inclination to talk with her.

But he was a gentleman about it. “Listen,
Lydia, I’d love to help you,” he said nicely, “but right now I’m in
the middle of an investigation. I suggest you contact Beverly
Mendoza of the Wilameta County D.A.’s office. She would know a lot
more about the specifics of the case than I would.”

“But Detective Palmer,” she persisted with a
sense of desperation, “if I could just—”

“You can’t!” he cut her off tersely.
“Goodbye, Ms. Wesley—”

Stone left her standing there, regretting not
being more helpful for some reason, but knowing he had to draw the
line sometimes. This was one of them.

Before Adrienne Murray’s corpse was taken
away, Stone took a closer look under the covering. He wanted to see
the victim as she was a final time before the medical examiner
worked on her and took away even more of the essence of what she
once represented as a woman and wife. She appeared to be at peace.
Yet he knew her permanent slumber was anything but peaceful.

And would not be until Adrienne Murray could
have the spiritual solace of knowing that whoever did this was
apprehended and punished appropriately.

Stone honed in on her neck. Judging by its
discoloration he’d say she had been strangled. There were also
enough bruises to go around. Someone not only wanted to make sure
the victim was good and dead, but also defiled her as if for the
hell of it. Or hatred of her.

After he made sure that the ball was rolling
in the right direction in securing the scene and collecting
evidence, Stone headed back over to Chuck Murray’s house to deliver
the bad news in person.

* * *

Adrienne Murray’s husband said nothing at
first, as if he had not heard the words that his wife was dead.
When he finally did speak it was a slate of profanities, followed
by open weeping. Stone was moved somewhat, while managing some
proper perspective. This type of emotion was hardly unexpected, if
not overdoing it somewhat, the detective believed. It was the type
of performance of either a very good actor or a man who was truly
devastated that he had lost forever the one person most important
to him.

Stone chose to believe the latter for now,
but would reserve his overall judgment till the final facts of the
case were in.

“I’ll need you to come down to the morgue to
identify the body,” he stated straightforwardly.

Chuck wiped his eyes. “I can’t, not now—”

“Are there other family members who can do
it?”

He sighed. “It was just the two of us.
There’s no one else.”

Stone stepped around him. Though the I.D.
could technically come from anyone who knew Adrienne Murray,
including friends and coworkers, it was always preferable that it
came from an intimate acquaintance.

“We need that identification, Chuck,” he
pressed, “so we can concentrate on investigating your wife’s
death.”