State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller (21 page)

He was waiting for them when they came out
and followed as they drove off, careful to keep his distance.
Manuel even allowed another car or two to pull in front of him when
it seemed that the lady lawyer was onto him.

He was always one step ahead of everyone
else. That was his key to survival and getting what he wanted—who
he wanted.

The thought of doing her excited Manuel. She
presented more of a challenge than the others. She was a classy
broad. Smart. Educated. Sexy. Sensual.

Which made it all the more exciting.

He parked down the street as the car pulled
into the driveway, watching as they went inside the house. Part of
Manuel wanted to go in right now, do what he wanted with her, and
make sure there were no witnesses left behind.

But he hadn’t survived this long by taking
foolish chances. Something told him that if there was no man there,
she probably kept a piece in the house and knew how to use it.

Why tempt fate?

Especially when there was plenty of time to
go after the classy bitch later. He would wait until he got to know
more about her and her habits. Also, he could take a look inside
the house sometime when they weren’t there. That way there would be
no surprises sprung on him when he came calling for her.

Manuel laughed and drove off just as casually
as he had followed the lawyer and kid.

* * *

He knocked on the door, deciding on the spur
of the moment to pay a visit to his kinfolk.

The door opened as if she were expecting
someone else. Her aging face crinkled with alarm when she saw
him.

“What are you doing here?”

Manuel grinned. “Now is that any way to greet
your nephew, Auntie?” He kissed her creased cheek, walking past
her.

She regarded him, a mixture of fear and
curiosity in her tired eyes. “I want you outta here,” she spat, her
voice spat, heavy on the native Cuban accent.

“Just came to see how you was doin’, Auntie,”
he said sincerely. “You ain’t looking so good these days.”

Worse than he had imagined she would look.
Manuel wondered if it was something in the water or if maybe the
rodents that littered the barrio like they owned the place had
infected her.

“Don’t call me Auntie!” She dragged her feet
his way. “We ain’t related. Not any more—”

Manuel licked his lips. “We’re always gonna
be related, Auntie, like it or not!”

He glanced about at surroundings as familiar
as they were foreign. It was once home for him. Now it was little
more than a decrepit pit stop. Not like the Latina lawyer’s
crib.

Favoring the old lady, he grinned. “Not here
to cause trouble, Auntie. Wanted to let you know that I’ll be
comin’ around more to check on you. Especially since it don’t look
like nobody else is gonna do it.”

She curled her lip. “Go to hell, Manuel!”

He grinned again. “Been there, done that. All
Latinos have. You taught me as much.”

“I’ll call the police,” she threatened.

“No you won’t!” he dared her. “What can they
do that the gringos haven’t already done? They love to split up
families. Especially Latino families. But, you know all about that,
don’t you, Auntie?”

She was speechless, as if her wrinkled lips
were sealed.

He grabbed her by frail shoulders and kissed
her hard on the mouth. “See you around, Auntie.”

Manuel smiled at her trembling, flushed face
before leaving, satisfied he’d accomplished what he came for.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Doctor Amie Kwan, Assistant County Medical
Examiner, performed the postmortem of Penelope Grijalva. Petite and
in her late thirties, Amie had short, pitch-black hair that was
curled around her ears. Big brown eyes sat behind plum rimmed
glasses.

“Ms. Grijalva died of strangulation,” she
said tersely to her audience, which included Detectives Palmer and
Chang. They weren’t in charge of this particular investigation, but
were very interested in the results of the autopsy. “She also had
several stab wounds. Most occurred before death, but some after.
Before she died, the victim had intercourse. There were small tears
in and around the vagina, but it doesn’t appear as though it was
forced sex—or at least not against her will.”

“How was she strangled?” Stone asked
curiously.

“I’d say someone strangled her with his or
her bare hands.” Amie held her small hands out to demonstrate. “It
is also possible that some sort of cloth or rope could have been
used, but that is unlikely based on the imprints on the victim’s
neck and lack of fibers found to substantiate such.”

Stone thought he was listening to the autopsy
report on Adrienne Murray all over again—minus the rape and sodomy.
But in this case, it was obvious that the victim, a known
prostitute, voluntarily engaged in sexual relations before being
killed by her client. He wondered if the john was a stranger. Or
someone she knew. Perhaps a previous customer.

Stone asked Dr. Kwan, who had also performed
Adrienne Murray’s postmortem, “Are we talking about the same
killer, Doctor?”

She looked at him and said wryly, “I think
that’s for you detectives to determine.”

“How about an educated guess?” Chang
pressed.

Amie touched her glasses contemplatively.
“Well, my professional opinion is that both women were killed and
assaulted by the same man. DNA tests of the semen and pubic hairs
taken from the victims will be analyzed and compared. Preliminary
results should be available within forty-eight hours—”

* * *

At about the time that the news spread like
wildfire among local law enforcement agencies that a serial killer
was likely on the loose, DNA preliminary results more or less
confirmed it.

For Stone this was no longer the case of a
missing person turned up dead, but the murder of two young women
that he took personally—particularly the first one. It could have
been one of his daughters. His chief suspect was still Chuck
Murray, though Stone suspected that if he was involved he probably
didn’t act alone. And if that were true, did it mean there were
two
serial killers out there preying on vulnerable
women?

“I think I may have something worth checking
out,” Chang said, sticking his head in the door of Stone’s office.
Stone watched with interest from his desk. “Looks like Claudia
Sosa, the manager of ELNC Systems, Inc., has been shacking up with
a man named Manuel Gonzalez.”

Stone leaned forward. He was open to any
possible leads, no matter how remote, that could be tied to
Adrienne Murray’s place of employment, where she was last seen
prior to her death.

“Tell me about Gonzalez.” He looked up at his
partner.

“The man has a criminal record a mile long,”
Chang informed him. “Mostly drug and alcohol-related and one arrest
for forcible rape. There was also an attempted murder charge, which
was later dropped due to insufficient evidence.”

Chang handed Stone a copy of Gonzalez’s
criminal record. It said that he was thirty-two years old,
Hispanic, and had been arrested an incredible thirty-one times.
These included arrests for driving under the influence, possession
of a controlled substance, loitering, disorderly conduct, and petty
theft. The rape charge was later dismissed in court when the victim
refused to testify. In spite of the arrests, the man had served
less than three years behind bars since the age of eighteen.

“What do you think?” Chang asked, hovering
over the desk as if a bear in search of food.

He didn’t exactly fit the profile of a
murderer, much less a serial killer.

But then not all killers fit such a profile,
but were every bit as deadly.

And since they had no better suspects at the
moment, apart from Chuck Murray, it seemed like a good idea to
learn more about Manuel Gonzalez and his whereabouts on the night
Adrienne Murray disappeared as well as when Penelope Grijalva met
her death.

Standing, Stone said, “I think we’d better
pay Claudia Sosa another visit and see if she can enlighten us
about her boyfriend.”

* * *

The detectives entered the ELNC Systems, Inc.
office, identified themselves, and were about to be directed to
Claudia Sosa’s office when Stone told the receptionist, “I think we
can find the way.”

Halfway there he told Chang, “Why don’t you
ask around, see what the other ladies know about Manuel Gonzalez.
That way we can compare notes.”

“Good idea,” Chang muttered and went in the
opposite direction.

When Stone reached the office, Claudia was
already standing near her desk to greet him.

She moved toward him. “Detective Palmer,
right?” she asked, as if there was a prize for the correct
answer.

Stone nodded. “Ms. Sosa.”

They shook hands. He found her grip to be as
strong as any man’s and wondered if those hands had worked out by
strangling two women.

“Did you find out anything about Adrienne’s
death?” Claudia’s voice was calm, yet inquisitive.

“We’re still looking into it,” Stone said
colorlessly. “I was hoping you might be able to answer some more
questions that might lead us in the right direction?”

“Sure,” she said without fear. “Do you want
to sit down?”

Stone thought about it for an instant, but
decided it might give the wrong impression that this was more or
less a social call. “I’ll stand, thanks.”

“Okay.” She fluttered her false lashes,
continuing to stand as well. “What do you want to know?”

He planted the weight of his eyes on her.
“You can start by telling me about your boyfriend, Manuel
Gonzalez.”

Claudia colored. “Manuel... What about
him?”

“We know he has an extensive criminal
record,” Stone told her forthrightly. “What we don’t know is
whether or not he had anything to do with Adrienne Murray’s
murder—” Or Penelope Grijalva’s, for that matter.

Stone watched her carefully. From his
experience, the wife or girlfriend was usually the last to know
when a man had gone bad. But he suspected she had known right away
that Gonzalez was no angel. The question was did she know just how
much of a devil he might be?

“Are you saying that Manuel killed Adrienne?”
Claudia’s knees buckled.

“I’m not saying anything at the moment,”
Stone lied. “You tell me.”

“Manuel’s not a murderer!” she said with
certainty. “He didn’t even know Adrienne.”

“They never met?”

Claudia became pensive. “If they did, it was
only to say hello.”

“So Manuel has been to this office?” Stone
peered at her. “Or has Adrienne been to your house?”

Claudia’s lower lip quivered. “Manuel has
been here a few times,” she admitted. “But he always came right to
my office.”

“But it is conceivable that at some point
words could have been exchanged between him and Adrienne Murray?”
Stone pushed. “Something more than a simple hello or goodbye.”

“Yes, it’s possible,” Claudia granted under
pressure. “But that doesn’t mean he killed her.”

Stone agreed. But it did tell him that
Gonzalez had access to Adrienne. And probably knew her, if only in
passing. This, combined with his long and sometimes violent
criminal history, meant he had to be considered a serious suspect
in her murder.

“Do you know if your boyfriend was here on
the day that Adrienne disappeared?” Stone asked. When she paused,
he added, “Another detective is here questioning your other
employees about the same thing.”

She became flustered. “I honestly can’t
remember. Maybe you should talk to him, not me—”

“Oh I will,” he told her in a not so friendly
tone of voice. “You can be sure of that.”

“Why would Manuel want to hurt Adrienne?”
Claudia almost asked herself in a low, disbelieving voice.

“Maybe it was because of his habit,” Stone
suggested, mainly for her reaction. “Is he still a crack
addict?”

“No!” Her voice rattled the thin walls.
“Manuel’s been off the stuff for the last six months.”

By the look in her eyes, Stone could see that
she was trying to convince herself of that perhaps as much as
him.

“Does your boyfriend solicit prostitutes?” he
asked impulsively.

Claudia looked at him wide-eyed. “No,” she
stated without consideration. “What does prostit—?”

Stone interrupted her by asking, “Do you know
a Penelope Grijalva?”

“No,” she replied wearily. “Who is she? A
prostitute?”

“Right now she’s at the morgue,” Stone said
flatly. “Someone murdered her—strangled her to death, just like
Adrienne...”

Claudia swallowed with shock. Once she
recovered, she said timidly, “You think Manuel had something to do
with that, too?”

“That’s what we’re trying to determine, Ms.
Sosa,” he answered, pulling no punches. “Where can I find
Gonzalez?”

“He’s usually at home,” she said in a gruff
voice. “He hasn’t been able to find a job since he lost his last
one.”

“And when was that?”

“About four months ago.”

“Where was he employed?” Stone asked.

Claudia hesitated and then said, “He worked
for a janitorial service.”

Stone seemed to recall that there was one
right in this building. “That wouldn’t happen to be the one located
on the second floor, would it?”

By the quiver of her lips and body language,
he had his answer.

It was only when Claudia scratched her face,
pulling back the sleeve of her quilted silk jacket that Stone noted
the watch she was wearing. It was two-toned in white and gold. Just
like the one Adrienne was wearing the day she was reported missing.
Something told him that it was a Seiko.

“Nice watch,” he said. “Mind if I have a look
at it?”

Claudia cocked a brow awkwardly. “I guess
so.” She lifted her arm towards his face.

“That a Seiko?” Stone asked innocently.