State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller (25 page)

Grant fell asleep on that thought, sprinkled
in with his own issues concerning the Honorable Judge Sheldon
Crawford.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Rafael Santiago’s preliminary hearing was
held on a Friday afternoon. With the exception of the prosecution’s
key witness, all the parties were present for what was generally a
routine obligation on the part of the prosecution to present its
case against the accused. Only a minimal amount of evidence was
necessary to successfully establish probable cause, Beverly knew,
thereby all but assuring that the case would be bound over for
trial. What this stage of the journey was really about was learning
the extent and nature of the evidence both sides had through
discovery and what the judge would and would not allow.

Presiding over the preliminary hearing was
Judge Helene Thompson. Helene was fifty years old with a cocoa
complexion and fine brown hair pulled into a bun. Her diminutive
frame was practically lost in her black robe.

Beverly stood her ground, along with Gail, as
Ortega filed a motion to suppress DNA evidence on semen and hair
samples.

“Your Honor,” entreated Ortega, “this
evidence is tainted
and
far too unreliable to be used
against my client, Rafael Santiago. DNA tests reveal that two blood
types and hair samples were taken from the victim’s vagina and
anus—one belonging to Judge Crawford himself. As a result, we
cannot be certain to what degree my client’s semen and genital
hairs proves about what truly happened that night, much less that
he sexually assaulted Ms. Crawford...”

The judge looked to Beverly for her thoughts
before rendering a decision.

“DNA testing is not done with smoke and
mirrors, Your Honor,” Beverly said gruffly. She briefly explained
DNA profiling, as though necessary, leaving the details for her
expert. “Or in other words, even if there were two men who
ejaculated inside the victim, their blood types remain separate and
can be matched to their individual genetic codes. This is not about
consensual
sex between a husband and wife, Your Honor—it’s
about forced sexual relations, which we fully intend to prove,
along with breaking and entering and murder.”

Judge Thompson weighed this for a moment or
two before lifting her head. “I’m afraid that I must side with the
prosecution on this one,” she said to the defense attorney. “The
State is entitled to use DNA evidence to support their case against
the defendant, even if other evidence indicates that sexual
activity was going on at the time of the alleged crime. Of course,
Counselor, you are free to challenge its validity during the trial.
Motion denied.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Beverly breathed a
sigh of relief, knowing that she’d won one important round. But the
battle had only just begun.

In the end, her most vital weapon against the
defendant—whose smug demeanor betrayed the callousness of his
nature—was the testimony of the only living victim, Maxine
Crawford. She was the first witness called to the stand.

Maxine had been kept out of the courtroom
until she was to testify so as not to be intimidated by Rafael
Santiago or put through any unnecessary stress and strain.

After being sworn in, Maxine sat in the
witness box. She was wearing a simple, but expensive, gray tweed
jacket dress and a smidgen of makeup. She avoided looking at the
defendant and appeared calm.

“Mrs. Crawford,” Beverly began formally, “can
you tell us what happened at your house on the night of October
twenty-ninth?”

Maxine sighed. “My husband and I were in
bed...making love,” she said lowly, “when I heard a shot. Sheldon
reacted at about the same time and I knew he’d been hit—”

“What then?”

“My husband was shot a second time.” Maxine’s
voice broke. “He somehow managed to get out of bed. Then
he
shot Sheldon again...”

Beverly spared her further details that could
be best told by the medical examiner. “Could you see the
shooter?”

Maxine held her gaze, unblinking. “Yes.”

“Where was he at this time?”

“Near the foot of the bed.”

“What happened then?” Beverly asked
tenderly.

Maxine hesitated, as if reliving the
moment.

“It’s all right.” Beverly offered the witness
a comforting look. “He can’t hurt you anymore.” Yet she knew the
damage had already been done and was irrevocable.

“He forced me to have sex with him,” uttered
Maxine, making a contorted face.

Beverly happened to glance towards the back
of the courtroom just in time to see Grant enter. He nodded
encouragingly at her and took a seat in the back. She thought
briefly about the hot sex they had two nights ago and instantly
felt tingling between her legs.

Re-facing the witness, Beverly took a breath
and asked, “By force, do you mean at gunpoint?”

“Yes.”

Beverly braced herself for the next few
tough, but necessary, questions. “Did he rape you, Maxine?”

“Yes,” she answered unwaveringly.

“Did he sodomize you?”

“Yes.”

“Did he force you to orally copulate
him?”

“Yes,” Maxine’s voice dropped unsteadily. “He
did.”

Beverly swallowed. “Did he talk to you at all
during this assault?”

Maxine considered this. “He told me if I
screamed or tried to fight him, he would kill me.”

Beverly winced. “Anything else?”

The strain of the moment was showing on
Maxine’s face. “He told me to suck his cock...and to turn
over—”

Beverly wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Can
you tell us if your attacker had any distinguishing marks on the
part of his body you saw?”

Maxine fluttered her lashes. “Yes. He had a
scar on his right thigh.”

“Were there any other identifying marks you
noticed?” Beverly asked.

Maxine cleared her throat. “Yes. There was a
tattoo on the area below his waist—”

Beverly eyed her. “You mean where his pubic
hair is?”

“Where it was,” Maxine responded tonelessly.
“He had shaved it.”

This caused some stirring and murmurs in the
courtroom where the press had been allowed in along with
spectators.

Beverly allowed this to die down. “What kind
of tattoo?”

“A lizard,” the witness stammered.

Beverly walked to the exhibit table and
introduced into evidence an enlargement of the defendant’s pubic
area featuring the tattoo. She showed the photo to the witness.

“Is this the lizard tattoo you saw?”

Maxine took one look then closed her eyes
emotionally. “Yes...” she uttered.

Beverly had heard enough. It was time to get
to the heart of the matter. Leaning toward the witness box, she
asked without preface, “Is the man who did this to you and shot
your husband, Judge Sheldon Crawford, in this courtroom?”

“Yes.” Maxine’s voice was barely audible, but
Beverly was sure the judge heard her. “Can you point him out?”

Maxine hated to have to look at the man
responsible for ruining her life, but she knew it was necessary for
justice to move forward and to help her try to rid herself of the
nightmares. She drew in a deep breath, made her head turn, and
pointed a finger directly at Rafael Santiago.

* * *

During recess Beverly thanked Maxine for a
job well done and sent her home. No further testimony would be
necessary on this day.

Beverly found herself wondering what deep
dark secrets lay beneath that somewhat cool veneer of Maxine
Crawford. There was no doubt in her mind that Maxine had been
horribly violated and witnessed her husband’s brutal murder. But
was there more to this woman than met the eye? Something that
Beverly was being pressured to disregard?

Had the judge taken vital information with
him to the grave with respect to his murder?

Was any of it germane to Maxine’s credibility
as a witness?

Beverly had coffee with Grant in the
building’s cafeteria. “Any thoughts on the proceedings Judge
Nunez?”

“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. “I think
it’s too bad that we have to go through this long winded trial for
scum like Santiago.”

She raised a brow. “Are you suggesting we
should tar and feather him without a trial?”

“Of course not.” Grant reacted defensively.
“It’s just that we often spend taxpayer money going around in
circles—only to reach the same conclusion at the end of the day
that we could have much sooner.”

“Unfortunately we both know that’s the way
the system works,” Beverly said over the rim of her cup.

“Yeah, whether we like it like it or not,”
said Grant. “At least as a judge I can now exercise a little more
discretion in dealing with criminals than I ever had as a
prosecutor.”

Beverly gave a little chuckle. “Pity on the
rest of us trial lawyers who haven’t been quite as fortunate.”

Grant smiled crookedly. “Guess I’m blowing my
own horn a bit too much. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she told him. “If you don’t blow
it, who will?”

He laughed, putting a hand on her knee. “Good
point.”

Beverly tasted the coffee, trying to ignore
the soothing feel of his fingers pressed against her nylons. It had
been three days since what was still being described as a standard
home invasion. Beverly had cancelled the missing credit cards and
hoped that the thief didn’t try to steal her identity as well.
There had been no prints left behind or other incriminating
evidence to identify the culprit. But one thing was certain, it
couldn’t have been Rafael Santiago. He was locked up and still
clearly the man they wanted him to be.

Her home invader was someone else who had
probably moved on to other victims. At least Beverly convinced
herself this was the case as she bolstered her own defenses with a
new security system, reinforced windows, and deadbolt locks.

But can one ever truly feel safe, no matter
what kind or how many protection devices they have?

Beverly’s thoughts turned back to Grant’s
hand on her knee. As good as it felt, for some reason she found
herself musing about Maxine Crawford and Sheldon Crawford in bed
having sex before all hell broke loose.

Grant noticed Beverly’s expression change,
prompting him to move his hand from her leg. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She gazed at him. “Actually, I was
wondering what you thought about Maxine Crawford?”

Grant reacted. “What am I supposed to
think?”

No fair answering a question with a
question
. “Well, do you find her attractive?”
How could he
not?

Does it really matter?

Grant shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “To
tell you the truth, I’ve hardly noticed the woman to give it much
thought one way or the other,” he said weakly.

Beverly considered dropping the subject. But
she could not. Something told her this was a question he was
deliberately attempting to dodge. Why?

Am I suddenly getting possessive?

“Well now that you’ve thought about it,” she
pressed, “do you?”

Grant twisted his lips. “I suppose I’ve seen
a lot worse,” he admitted. “Why are we talking about whether or not
I find Maxine Crawford attractive?”

So you do find Maxine attractive
,
mused Beverly. As did other men, undoubtedly. Even Santiago must
have found her to be attractive, though, she knew, what he did to
Maxine was not about physical appeal, but raw, ugly power and brute
force.

“Just wondering, that’s all.” Beverly could
not believe she had just put Grant on the spot.

Grant’s eyes danced with amusement. “You’re
jealous! That’s it.” He broke into laughter.

“I’m
not
jealous!” she insisted.
Am
I?

“The rosy color of your cheeks tells me
otherwise.” Grant cocked a brow whimsically.

“So maybe I am, just a little,” Beverly once
again surprised herself by saying. Why shouldn’t she be? Especially
when she was romantically involved with one of the city’s most
eligible and handsome bachelors. It was only natural to be a little
insecure about the competition. Was Maxine Crawford really
competition now that she was a widow and available?

“Well, don’t be.” Grant’s full smile was
replaced by a look in earnest. “Believe me, Bev, Maxine Crawford
may be an attractive lady, but you have absolutely nothing to worry
about in the looks department—trust me. You can more than hold your
own with any woman, whether it’s Maxine Crawford or someone else. I
wouldn’t give you up for anyone, baby!”

Beverly suddenly felt foolish showing the
insecurity of a schoolgirl having her first crush. There was no
reason why she should feel threatened by Maxine or any other woman.
At least not where it concerned Grant. He had proven to her that
the rumors about his reckless abandon as a ladies’ man were just
that—rumors.

So why should I worry?

Beverly pondered Grant’s suggestion that she
stay away from digging too much into the Crawfords’ personal lives.
She wondered if there was something he wasn’t telling her.
Something that Maxine Crawford could shed light on. Or was her
imagination in overdrive once again?

“Sorry I asked,” Beverly lamented to Grant,
flashing him a smile. “Guess I’m really starting to get comfortable
with us, Mr. Nunez. And I don’t want anything—or anyone—to ruin
what we have.”

“Nothing and no one will,” he said firmly.
“It’s not about us, but the pressures of this case getting to you.
That’s quite understandable, given the drama involving a dead
judge, young widow, and a career criminal whose job it is for you
to make pay for his sins. The latest ones anyway. The sooner it’s
over, the sooner
we
can focus on building what it is we’re
working on—”

Beverly agreed on that last point and was
eager to stay the course, wherever it led them.

“Speaking of which,” she looked at her watch.
“It’s about time to get back to court—”