State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller (16 page)

For the first time Beverly began to believe
there was actually hope after all that her son and her lover could
learn to like each other. Someday it could even turn to love, an
emotion that Beverly could also see taking shape between her and
Grant, if things continued to blossom in their relationship.

* * *

On Monday morning Beverly met with detective,
Joe O’Dell, and her co-counsel, Gail Kennedy. At twenty-five, Gail
was one of the bright young prosecutors in the D.A.’s office. An
African-American, she had a beautiful pecan complexion and a retro
blonde curly Afro, which may have turned heads as much as her tall,
shapely physique. Her duties as second chair would primarily be
note taking, paperwork, interviewing witnesses, and sometimes
getting coffee. Beverly hoped the experience would be invaluable,
as it had been for her when she was coming up the ranks.

The three were going over the evidence in the
Rafael Santiago case.

“There may be a problem with the DNA on the
semen taken from Maxine Crawford,” said Gail.

“What?” Beverly asked, though the answer was
obvious, given what she knew about the case.

“She had intercourse with Judge Crawford just
before being raped by Santiago.” Gail colored, glancing across the
table at O’Dell. He did not seem to be particularly affected one
way or the other. “And it appears that she also engaged in anal sex
with the judge before Maxine was sodomized. Samples of his semen
were removed from her anus—along with that of Rafael Santiago.”

“Damn,” O’Dell hummed as if news to him. “So
Judge Crawford liked it both ways.”

“Apparently,” Beverly said, wondering if this
was actually turning him on. “Obviously Maxine Crawford did as
well. But it was their right as a married couple to engage in any
sexual acts they chose. What Santiago did to her was a different
matter altogether.”

Gail looked up from her notes. “Unfortunately
both Santiago’s and Judge Crawford’s semen were found in Maxine’s
vagina and anus; meaning it may be tricky in distinguishing which
man was responsible for any tears or other trauma she experienced
as a result of the sexual assault. This could undermine both the
rape and sodomy cases and make it more difficult to rely on the DNA
evidence pertaining to the semen.”

Beverly was thinking the same thing, but was
counting on the preponderance of the evidence against Santiago to
work in their favor. “What about the genital hair samples taken
from Maxine Crawford?”

“We should have the preliminary results in a
few days,” Gail answered.”

“Let’s hope that Judge Crawford and Rafael
Santiago aren’t cut from the same cloth in that respect,” Beverly
said colorlessly. “Once we have the DNA match of Santiago’s genital
hairs inside Maxine’s vagina, anus, or both, it’ll bolster our case
against him as a sexual assaulter.”

She looked at O’Dell. He was one of the
better looking detectives on the force and happily involved in a
long term relationship. He and his girlfriend had recently produced
a beautiful little girl that O’Dell doted over like she was the
most precious thing in the world.

Beverly was glad to see that O’Dell didn’t
seem to show any lingering effects from the cold shoulder that
Grant had given him at the hospital the night Judge Crawford was
killed.
Or maybe I was overreacting in the feeling that there
was some genuine animosity between the two men
.

“Joe, I understand that Santiago has an alibi
for the time in question,” Beverly said, some anxiety in her voice.
“Are we going to be able to get around that without hurting the
case? After all, Santiago couldn’t have been in two places at the
same time.”

O’Dell’s face hardened. “His alibi is a bunch
of bull! Any man who hides behind his Mama isn’t much of a man as
far as I’m concerned.”

“But is it possible the jury might actually
believe Santiago’s story? Or his mother’s testimony?” Beverly had
seen as much, even when the weight of evidence was stacked against
the defendant.

“What do you think?” O’Dell tossed back with
a sneer. “The woman is scared to death of her son. She would say
anything he told her to, including confess to the crime herself. No
damned jury in their right mind is going to give Santiago’s
so-called ‘alibi’ any credibility. Not when the facts come
out—”

“Where are we on
hard
evidence, Joe?”
Beverly gazed at him, then Gail, and back again.

“We’ve got Maxine Crawford’s positive I.D. of
the suspect,” O’Dell said firmly. “We also know that Santiago swore
he’d get even with Judge Crawford for putting him away, and had the
will and means to do it—”

“What about the murder weapon?” Beverly asked
dubiously.

O’Dell bowed his head lamentably. “Haven’t
been able to locate it—yet. Chances are the asshole tossed it into
the lake, which is right across the street from the judge’s house.
It’s being scoured, but I don’t hold out much hope of finding
anything. Between the currents, depth, and muck in the water, it
will take a miracle to find the gun.”

“Well, let’s hope for one, as we really could
use that ‘smoking’ gun to lock this case up,” Beverly stressed,
aware that many so-called open and shut cases had been lost without
the most crucial piece of evidence. The judge had been shot with a
.25 caliber automatic. Not the most powerful of weapons, she knew,
but enough to fall even the strongest man at pointblank range.
Especially when shot three times. It would be a persuasive piece of
evidence to dangle in front of the jury.

“There’s enough other evidence to get a
conviction,” argued O’Dell. “We’ve got the bullets and shell
casings, which are being matched against some found at the place
Santiago was staying. Fibers from clothing at the scene of the
crime are also being tested with clothes owned by the suspect. It
will all fit, take my word for it.”

“With all due respect, Joe,” groaned Beverly,
“we need more than your word or my prosecuting abilities to win
this case. What about fingerprints?”

“The man wore gloves, according to Mrs.
Crawford.” O’Dell scratched his head, clearly uncomfortable. “But
we’re checking for prints anyway.”

“Any other witnesses?”

“One of the neighbors saw a man running down
the street around the time this happened. But she didn’t get a look
at his face.”

“Let’s get her in here, Gail,” Beverly
ordered. “Maybe this woman saw more than she thinks she did. At
least she can give us a description of the clothing worn by the man
seen fleeing.”

“Will do.” Gail jotted this down.

O’Dell leaned forward. “And I’ll poke around
and see what I can find out from Santiago’s ex cellmate.”

“Good idea.” Beverly closed her folder,
grateful that the trial was still weeks away.

She was sure this case was winnable even if
they fell short on some key evidence. The suspect had all but
confessed to the killing when he threatened Judge Crawford’s life
and apparently never backed down from the threat. He had also been
fingered by Maxine Crawford as the man who sexually assaulted her
and shot her husband to death.

Trials had been won with less.

But they would still have to prove Santiago’s
guilt in a court of law.

And she planned to.

Or she would have to watch Rafael Santiago
walk, a free man who got away with cold-blooded murder.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“I appreciate your coming in, Chuck.” Stone
nodded politely. He watched the primary suspect in his wife’s death
take a seat. He’d learned that Chuck worked as a car salesman, and
frequently moved from job to job.

Chuck coughed nervously. “Like I said, I want
to cooperate any way I can to help find Adrienne’s killer.”

“That’s good to know.” Stone slid his chair
closer to the desk. “Why don’t you begin by telling me about your
relationship with your wife?”

Chuck gazed at him uneasily, then shrugged.
“What do you want to know?”

“Did she ever cheat on you?”

“No. Why would you ask that?”

“It’s my job to ask that,” Stone responded
curtly, “and anything else that might help find her killer.”

Chuck sniffed. “I understand.”

Stone took a moment. “So you never suspected
your wife of having an affair with another man?”

“Never,” he insisted. “We loved each other.
She never would have slept with someone else.”

“And what if she had, Chuck? How would you
have felt?”

Chuck’s eyes became slits. “How would anyone
feel?” he snapped. “It would have hurt like hell!”

“Have you ever hit your wife?” Stone stared
at him accusingly.

Chuck’s head tilted pensively. “No. Did
someone say I had?”

“Why would you think that, Chuck?” Stone
could see that he was becoming flustered. Perhaps feeling guilty on
maybe more levels than one.

“Because this...friend...of Adrienne’s—Erica
Flanagan—was always trying to stir up trouble between us,” Chuck
claimed. “She hates me for some reason.”

“And what reason would that be?” Stone locked
eyes with him.

Chuck shrugged. “Hell if I know. I think she
was jealous that Adrienne had a man and she couldn’t seem to hold
onto one.”

Stone suspected that he had to reach deep to
come up with that one, doubting Murray believed it himself. He
played along for now. “So you’re saying you actually think Erica
would make such an accusation that you beat the hell out of your
wife purely out of spite?”

Chuck shifted his gaze. “I wouldn’t put
anything past that bitch.” He paused, turning back to Stone. “So,
is that what this meeting is all about?”

“No,” Stone said tersely. “It’s about
you
, Chuck, and the brutal murder of your wife.”

Chuck twisted in the chair. “You think
I
killed Adrienne?”

“Did you?” Stone honed in on the husband’s
face.

“No—I did not kill my wife!”

“Did you visit her at work on the day she was
killed?”

“No!” Chuck insisted.

We’ll see about that
, mused Stone
skeptically. “Where were you between six-thirty and seven-thirty
the night your wife died, Chuck?”

“At home.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, alone.”

“Not good enough, Chuck,” Stone snapped.
“You’re going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that!”

Chuck put his hands to his head. “I can’t
believe this! Why on earth would I kill my wife, then come to you
to report her missing?”

“Maybe because you wanted to cover your ass.”
Stone’s brow furrowed. “It wouldn’t be the first time a man killed
his wife and tried to make it seem like someone else did it.”

Chuck lunged to his feet. “I don’t have to
listen to this anymore. Not without my lawyer!”

Stone stood up, making it clear that he was
not intimidated by this show of indignation from the suspect. But
he also wanted to keep the man talking, without violating his
rights. “Sit down, Chuck. This is strictly informal,” he
indicated.

Chuck glared at him for a long moment. “I
don’t think so. Sounds more like you’ve got your mind made up and
are way off base. Unless you’re arresting me here and now, I don’t
think I have anything else to say to you, except through my
attorney—!”

Stone held his disappointment in check. “If
that’s the way you feel.” He sensed that he was looking at a guilty
man in some respect. Perhaps Chuck Murray was only guilty of loving
Adrienne too much when maybe it was not being reciprocated equally.
But Stone somehow sensed it went deeper than that. Maybe to the
point of wife battering and murder. “You’re free to go,” he told
him. “But I suggest you get together with your lawyer quickly. You
may need representation soon. And do us both a favor, Chuck—don’t
try and leave the state.”

Chuck’s nostrils grew with ire and he stomped
out.

* * *

Stone watched him disappear before Lieutenant
Bruce Kramer came into the room. He had been observing the
interrogation in another room through a one-way window.

Kramer was forty-eight and wide-bodied. Two
inches shorter than Stone, he had a walnut complexion, shaved head,
and thick mustache. “I’d say we probably have our man,” he said in
a deep voice. “Or had him.”

“Murray definitely knows something he’s not
saying,” Stone said positively, not willing to go beyond that for
now. “But we don’t have enough yet to make an arrest.”

“Then get enough!” warned Kramer, his hard
features crinkled. “If this man strangled and sliced up his wife,
before tossing her into the lake like a rag doll, I don’t want him
deciding he may as well add another woman or two to the list for
the hell of it so long as he’s a free man. Do you understand what
I’m saying, Palmer?”

Stone held his gaze respectfully. “Yeah I
think I do.” All too well. He either brought in Chuck for Adrienne
Murray’s murder or someone else—and soon.
Otherwise my ass is
grass and I’m looking at the lawnmower
.

Stone felt the pressure and wouldn’t buckle
under. After receiving several commendations over the years for
excellent and professional work, he wasn’t about to mess things up
now. Not if he could help it.

Detective Chang walked into the room. The
look on his face told Stone that he wouldn’t like what he had to
say.

“The body of a prostitute named Penelope
Grijalva was found this afternoon in an apartment on Broadway.”
Chang glanced at a paper in his hand. “She’d been rotting there for
a few days, till the stench became more than the neighbors could
handle. The preliminary report is that she was strangled, raped,
and cut up badly, much like Adrienne Murray—”

Stone and Kramer looked at each other, and
then read the report.

“You think this could have been done by the
same person?” Kramer asked Stone bluntly.

Stone hated to think that they had a serial
killer on their hands, because it went against the grain—especially
if Chuck Murray had killed his wife. It didn’t figure that he would
exhibit the same rage against other women with whom he didn’t have
the same vested interest. But the similarities could hardly be
overlooked and were ominous to say the least.