State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller (17 page)

“It’s too early to tell,” Stone responded as
his way of saying he needed more time to work with. But he had a
feeling there wouldn’t be any.

“Better get Murray back in here!” ordered
Kramer, brows stitched. “And have him bring his lawyer along.
Something tells me he’s going to need good representation.”

Stone had an APB put out on Chuck Murray. He
had a bad feeling that if Murray was the one they were looking for,
he wasn’t in this alone. Only Stone wasn’t sure where else to point
the finger at the moment.

* * *

In bed that night, Stone tried sleeping but
found himself unable to. Too many thoughts were drifting in and out
of his head. Chuck Murray had been arrested without incident, still
claiming innocence. He was later released when it became clear that
they just didn’t have enough to hold him.

There appeared to be no connection between
Penelope Grijalva and Adrienne Murray, aside from the similarities
of their deaths. Like Adrienne, Penelope had apparently had sex
with her killer, albeit Stone suspected it may have been
voluntarily in Grijalva’s case. At least initially. DNA tests would
show if the same man had intercourse with both women.

Joyce, sensing he was awake, wrapped her arms
around him. “What is it, Stone?”

“I’m not sure,” he yawned miserably. “Someone
is out there killing young women and I don’t know who the hell I
should be looking for.”

She kissed his bare shoulder. “It’ll work
itself out, honey,” she said in a motherly tone. “It always
does.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. The problem was that if
it didn’t soon, there would be more victims. More lives
shattered.

Could Chuck have snapped after killing his
wife? Stone wondered. Could he have set his sights on other young
women who reminded him of her?

Stone contemplated if Chuck Murray was in
cahoots with someone else. Or was he, like his wife, an innocent
victim of tragic circumstances and bizarre coincidences?

Trouble is, I don’t believe in
coincidences.
Most things that happened were not by pure
chance, but by design. Meaning these women were likely killed by
the same person who knew exactly what he was doing.

There was no reason to believe he planned to
stop any time soon. Unless caught or killed first.

Stone turned to his wife and pressed his lips
against the warmth of her bosom. She was wearing Dolce and Gabbana
perfume and it was invigorating. He kissed her naked skin, feeling
her nipples harden.

Lowering himself down her stomach with
kisses, Stone moved down further till he was between Joyce’s legs.
He started kissing her there, then licking, aroused by her taste
and her reaction to him.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she gushed, grabbing onto
his head and holding it firmly in place while he brought her to
orgasm, her body shaking wildly and breath quickened.

Stone felt the surge within about to explode,
but contained it till he could get inside his wife’s body. Moving
back up her, he planted kisses everywhere before reaching her
mouth. She attacked his lips feverishly.

“Make love to me, Stone,” she uttered.

Stone could barely hold back, so strong his
desire. Once he entered Joyce, he came almost instantly, but
continued to propel himself into her for the joy of being intimate
with the woman he loved.

Joyce clung to him, wrapping her legs around
his buttocks, making love to him as their damp bodies tingled with
mutual satisfaction and the muted sounds of sex rang in Stone’s
ears.

After Joyce climaxed a second time, Stone
pulled himself out of her and lay next to her as they held each
other. He felt temporary relief from the stresses of the job and
satisfaction in knowing that Joyce was always there for him, no
matter what.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Hold my calls, Jean,” Beverly directed her
secretary over the speakerphone. She clicked it off.

Sitting across from her desk was Maxine
Crawford. She was conservatively dressed in an expensive mint skirt
suit and wore very little makeup, but was still stunning. Her ebony
box braids were gathered into a long ponytail and hung to the
side.

Beverly was slightly in awe of the judge’s
widow, physically speaking, though hardly wanting to be in her
shoes otherwise. She had asked Maxine to come in to routinely go
over some of the details of her assault and witness to her
husband’s execution.

She met Maxine’s eyes. “Can I get you some
coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.” Maxine smiled faintly.

Beverly headed towards the coffee pot in the
corner of the office where Jean made fresh coffee every morning.
“Sugar...cream?”

“Just cream.”

Beverly fixed two coffees, handing Maxine one
before retreating back to her desk chair. She wondered briefly what
Maxine would do with herself now that her husband was dead. There
was no indication that she had an outside career and there were no
children to care for at home. Not that she would be hurting for
money. Beverly imagined that Judge Crawford had probably left her a
great deal of it between his pension, insurance, and investments.
As she was only in her mid thirties, Beverly suspected that Maxine
might well marry again someday and even have children, if she
wished.

“The case will be going to trial soon,”
Beverly began. “I know this isn’t easy, but we need to go over
again what happened that night—”

Maxine nodded, as if she had braced herself
in advance for what was to come.

“You and Judge Crawford were in bed when
Rafael Santiago broke in. Correct?”

“Yes.”

Beverly glanced at her note pad, though she
already knew what she wanted to say. “And what were you doing?”

Maxine swallowed. “My husband and I were
making love,” she replied without apology.

Beverly got a visual image, even if she
wished she hadn’t. “Did your husband use a condom?” Again she knew
the answer, as Judge Crawford’s semen was found inside her vagina
and anus, but Beverly had to go through the motions. If at all
competent, she fully expected the defense to try every trick in the
book to paint the defendant in a brighter shade. That included
going after the Crawfords, their sex life, and anything else that
could cast doubt on the events of that night.

Maxine looked Beverly straight in the eye
when she answered succinctly, “No. Sheldon never used them; there
was no need to. He’d had a vasectomy years ago.”

“I see.” That certainly had not come to light
previously. Had his first wife not wanted children or was it his
choice? She couldn’t imagine being without at least one child.
Jaime made it all worthwhile. Beverly was sure she would have had
more children, had she married again. Grant had never spoken of
having children of his own. Why? Did he not want any...ever?

Did she really want any more at this point in
her life?

Beverly refocused back to the business at
hand. “Was there anyone else in the house that you know of before
you went to bed?”

Maxine pursed her lips. “No.”

“Did anyone else have a key to your
house?”

“Just the housekeeper,” Maxine answered.

Beverly touched her nose. “And how often did
she come over?”

“Three times a week.”

“Did she come that day?”

“We gave her the day off.” Maxine’s eyes
turned thoughtful.

That may have saved her life or spared her
some other type of victimization. Unless her absence was part of
some larger conspiracy to commit murder.

“And her name is?” Beverly asked.

“Josephine Canseco.”

“How long has she worked for you?”

“Josephine worked for Sheldon for many years
before we married.” Maxine regarded Beverly sharply. “If you’re
suggesting that she had anything to do with this—”

“Not at all,” Beverly responded quickly, the
implication being that because she was Hispanic, the housekeeper
could have known Santiago. Did she? “Just getting all the facts
straight.” And trying to make sure this was not an inside job. “Do
you normally lock your doors when home?”

“Yes...”

“But not always?” Beverly thought she
detected hesitation in her voice.

Maxine tightened her jaw. “Who locks their
doors
every
time they’re home?”

I do, for one.
Beverly knew that Jaime
was guilty of leaving their doors unlocked, if not outright open,
from time to time in spite of her admonitions. Did that make it any
more excusable?

“What about the windows?” There was no sign
of forced entry.

Maxine shot her a fierce look. “Are you
blaming us for what that man did?”

“Of course not,” Beverly tried to reassure
her, even if it may have come off that way. “We just need to figure
out how the suspect entered your house when there’s no indication
that he
broke
in.”

Maxine seemed to tremble as she put the
coffee mug to her mouth. “I really couldn’t say,” she uttered. “He
just seemed to come out of the woodwork—”

“Could you or Judge Crawford have
inadvertently left a door unlocked or a window open that night?”
Beverly asked straightforwardly, dismissing the woodwork theory.
Either that, or Santiago had a key for easy entry.

“Sometimes we opened the windows a crack to
let air in,” Maxine admitted, pausing. “We didn’t always close them
before we went to bed.”

Beverly wrote this down. She tasted her
coffee. “When did you first become aware someone was in your
bedroom?”

Maxine cringed. “When I heard the first
popping sound and felt my husband react.”

“You mean the shot?” Beverly asked, to be
sure.

“Yes.”

“While you were making love?”

“Yes.” Maxine’s voice quavered.

“And what did you do?”

“There wasn’t much I could do underneath my
husband’s weight!” Maxine made a face. “I screamed. I
was...terrified.”

“I’m sure you were,” Beverly said, speaking
as a woman, trapped in an unenviable situation. “Then you heard a
second popping sound or shot?”

“Yes.”

“What happened next?” Beverly played with her
pen, hating to make the victim go through this again, but not
wanting to miss anything that could be important later on.

Maxine was glass eyed as she said, “Sheldon
somehow managed to crawl out of bed with two bullets in him. He
tried to get his gun from the nightstand. But
he
shot him
again pointblank. This time fatally—” Her voice broke.

“What then?” Beverly knew the defense would
be even more demanding of the explicit details.
I hate this part
of the preparatory process
.

“I thought I was going to
die
!” Maxine
rolled her eyes, as if she couldn’t believe she was still in one
piece, alive and well, all things considered. “Why didn’t that
bastard just kill me, too?”

“I don’t know,” Beverly answered honestly.
She often asked herself the same thing when one person was killed
and another that could testify against the perpetrator was spared.
Was it divine intervention? Or total stupidity on the part of the
assailant? Had it been Rafael Santiago’s wish that Maxine suffer
for the perceived sins of her husband? Beverly sighed, leaning
forward. “The important thing is you were spared and Santiago will
pay for his crimes.”

“Will he?”

“Yes,” Beverly tried to assure her. “We have
a strong case against him, including your testimony. We’ll make
sure that Rafael Santiago never does to anyone else what he did to
you.”
Maybe he’ll even get a taste of his own medicine once
behind bars
.

Maxine could only hope that justice didn’t
turn a blind eye in this case. She wasn’t sure if she could ever
recover from the horrors she’d witnessed and experienced. Sheldon
deserved better, no matter his faults. So did she. But there was no
going back. Whatever the future held, she would have to deal with
it and try not to let it break her completely.

Beverly regarded Maxine considerately, before
saying, “I have to ask you a few questions about the attack on
you—”

Maxine dabbed at her eyes, though there were
no tears. “I understand.”

“Was there forced vaginal penetration?”

“Yes,” she mumbled.

“Did he use a condom?” Again Beverly already
knew the answer, given the evidence her attacker left behind.

“No.” Maxine fidgeted.

“Did he sodomize you?” Beverly gazed across
the desk.

“Yes,” Maxine’s voice cracked. She thought
about the sex acts she’d had with Sheldon beforehand. They had
often experimented in trying to keep their sex life exciting. It
pained her to think of how such acts had turned ugly when forced
upon her.

“Was there oral copulation?” Beverly
asked.

Maxine struggled for words. “Yes.”

Beverly took a moment before proceeding. “Was
Santiago holding the gun the entire time he was assaulting
you?”

“I think so...”

“Were you in fear of your life throughout the
ordeal?”

“Yes—I fully expected him to shoot me
afterwards.” Maxine wrung her hands.

“Did you ever try to stop him from hurting
you?” Beverly had to ask.

Resentment flooded Maxine’s eyes. “What the
hell was I supposed to do to make that happen?” she challenged
icily. “The bastard had just killed my husband. I did whatever he
wanted me to do to stay alive. I had no other choice—!”

“Of course you didn’t,” conceded Beverly,
feeling like the enemy, rather than the one person who could put
Rafael Santiago away. Would she have done anything different had
she been in her shoes?
I hope I never have to find out
.
“Would you like some more coffee?”

Maxine moved her head swiftly from side to
side. “I just want this to be over with as soon as possible.”

“I understand,” Beverly told her with
empathy. “But it can’t be—not until the man who did this to you and
Judge Crawford is held accountable for his actions. And we need
your testimony to make that happen.”