State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller (26 page)

Beverly did so alone, as Grant bowed out
gracefully, having his own court duties to tend to. But not before
they kissed and made plans for dinner.

* * *

Following the recess, Officer Shawnnessy
Dunbar took the stand. The twenty-eight-year-old divorcee and
former correctional officer cast narrow blue eyes at Beverly
collaboratively.

“After the 911 call you were dispatched to
Judge Crawford’s house, is that correct?” Beverly asked gazing at
the heart-shaped face before her that was bordered by short
reddish-blonde hair.

“That’s correct,” Shawnnessy said, “along
with my partner, Ramsey LaPorte. We didn’t know who lived there at
the time.”

“And what did you and Officer LaPorte find
upon your arrival?”

“Mrs. Crawford was visibly shaken and had
obviously been traumatized—”

“Objection!” Ortega raised his arm, as if
saluting. “Neither the officer nor her partner was qualified to
know whether or not Maxine Crawford was
traumatized
based on
appearance alone as suggested.”

“Overruled,” Judge Thompson yelled. “I think
Officer Dunbar and Officer LaPorte are capable of making a judgment
call on a person’s physical being under the circumstances.”

Beverly ran her tongue lightly across her
lips and resumed. “What did Mrs. Crawford say to you, Officer
Dunbar?”

Shawnnessy flinched. “She said that she had
been sexually assaulted and her husband shot to death.”

“What did you do then?”

“After establishing that the house was
secure, we went to Judge Crawford’s bedroom and found him lying
face down in his own blood.” She sighed. “A chunk of his head had
been blown off!”

The sheer morbidity of this struck the
courtroom, filling faces with shock and anguish.

Later it was Detective Joe O’Dell to take the
stand.

“Can you tell us what type of gun Judge
Crawford was shot with, Detective?” Beverly asked the witness.

“A .25 caliber automatic handgun.” O’Dell
leaned back as though in a recliner.

“Were the shell casings from the bullets
recovered?”

“Yes.”

“And have these been linked to the
defendant?” Beverly looked at Santiago, who bared his uneven teeth
at her like a rabid dog.

O’Dell nodded. “They matched shells found at
the apartment where the defendant was arrested.”

Ortega was quick on the attack when his turn
came to cross-examine the detective. “Do you have the murder
weapon, Detective O’Dell?”

“No,” O’Dell responded curtly.

“Do you have
any
fingerprints placing
my client at the scene of the crime?”

O’Dell paused, risking a furtive peek at
Beverly. Finally he looked the defense attorney in the eye, and
said brusquely, “No.”

Ortega smiled thinly. “Isn’t it true,
Detective, that the shell casings the
real
killer left
behind would have matched
any
.25 caliber shells and not
just the ones that you found at the apartment where Rafael Santiago
was staying with his mother?”

“Probably,” O’Dell conceded reluctantly. “But
we both know that it’s much more than coincidental that your client
just happened to have access to the same caliber bullets that
killed Judge Crawford.”

“
We
know no such thing, Detective,”
Ortega mocked him. “The fact that these fairly common shells were
found at a residence where Mr. Santiago was merely a guest is
hardly proof that my client is guilty of anything, other than being
an ex-con who looks like half the other ex-cons out there.”

Beverly had to admit that Ortega was good at
what he did, even if that fell far short of admiration. Obviously
the attorney was insinuating that it was a case of mistaking one
Hispanic male for another. But she doubted the judge, or any
sensible person, would buy it—especially with Santiago’s unique
anatomical signature.

“Santiago’s guilty as hell!” O’Dell lost his
cool. “You’d better hope to hell the murder weapon never shows up.
I’m betting that he didn’t bury it deep enough to stay buried
forever.”

“I have no further questions for this
witness, Your Honor!” Ortega glared at him before facing the
judge.

Judge Thompson then admonished O’Dell and
reminded everyone that this was still just a preliminary hearing
and not an actual trial where such theatrics might be more
tolerated.

Beverly, still shaken over the potential
impact of the missing gun, called Nkaki Ahmad to the stand.

The ex-cellmate of Rafael Santiago was
dressed in gray denim prison garb, his shaved head shining as if
freshly polished. Ahmad appeared a tad nervous as he glanced once
or twice at the defendant, but indicated he was ready to tell his
story.

After establishing the relationship between
the two men, Beverly asked, “Can you tell us what Rafael Santiago
told you he planned to do to Judge Crawford once he got out?”

“Objection!” snapped Ortega. “She’s clearly
leading the witness.”

“Sustained,” Judge Thompson said. “Rephrase
the question.”

Beverly sighed. “Did Rafael Santiago ever
tell you he planned to harm the judge upon his release?”

Ahmad grinned. “Yeah, he did. Rafael had a
big mouth. He told me more times than I could count that it was
payback time for the judge when he was set free—”

“Payback time?” Beverly drew her brows
together deliberately for further clarification.

“Yeah.” Ahmad faced the defendant. “Rafael
said he would put a gun up Crawford’s black ass then make him eat
it! And the wife was gonna get hers, too...”

Santiago sprang from his seat shouting
profanities at Ahmad. The defendant had to be restrained by Ortega
and a hefty bailiff.

Judge Thompson ruled that there was
sufficient evidence to believe that Rafael Santiago had perpetrated
the crimes for which he was accused.

A trial date was set for six weeks from
now.

To Beverly’s surprise, the presiding judge
would be none other than Grant Nunez.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

The pawnshop was on east Ninety-Second
Street, along with several others in an area that was also lined
with massage parlors, sleazy bars, and nude dance clubs. A bell
clanged as Stone walked in with Chang. They had received a tip from
an informant that Manuel Gonzalez had hocked the rings there.

“How can I help you?” The portly man at the
counter flashed his yellow teeth at them.

Stone whipped out his I.D. “Detective Palmer
of the Sheriff’s Department. And your name?”

“Stanley Zubrinski.” He looked uncomfortable.
“Look, if this is about the dame upstairs—”

“It isn’t.” Stone glanced at Chang who
suppressed a grin, before peering at the man. “We need to ask you
some questions about a wedding and engagement ring that were pawned
here recently.”

Zubrinski lifted a bushy brow. “What do you
wanna know?”

“We’d like to see them, for starters.”

“No problem, if I’ve still got ‘em. When were
they brought in?”

Stone took an educated guess, describing the
rings.

Zubrinski nodded in remembrance. “Yeah, I
think I still have them. Let me check.”

Stone and Chang watched him fiddle around
beneath a glass cabinet before coming up with two rings and setting
them on the counter.

“Are these the ones you’re looking for?”
Zubrinski rubbed his crooked nose. “Not much of a market for
wedding bands these days. Almost cheaper to buy new.”

Stone removed a picture of the rings supplied
by Chuck Murray and compared them with the engagement and wedding
rings before him.

“What do you think?” he asked Chang.

The detective studied the rings. “I’d say we
have ourselves a match.”

Stone concurred. He turned back to the
pawnshop owner. “Where’s the paperwork for these items?”

Zubrinski supplied a receipt that gave the
name Louis Mendes and an address that did not match that of Claudia
Sosa.

“What can you tell us about the person who
brought these in?” Stone asked. He was betting that it was Manuel
Gonzalez, but not ruling out that Chuck Murray could have peddled
them himself to get rid of had they been in his possession all
along after he killed his wife.

“Not much.” Zubrinski scratched his forehead.
“I make it a habit not to focus too much on my customers. Safer
that way.”

Stone glared. “We’re searching for a killer
here. We could also yank your license should we find that you
knowingly took in any hot property. Now do us both a favor and
refresh your memory...”

Zubrinski got the message. He described
Manuel Gonzalez to a tee. Looking at a mug shot of the suspect
bolstered this.

“The man told me they belonged to his
grandmother.” Zubrinski laughed sardonically. “I knew he was full
of it. But in my business you don’t ask too many questions. Know
what I mean?”

Chang gave him an unforgiving look. “Well,
maybe in the future you should, man. Or risk seeing us in here
again.”

“I’ll remember that,” he snorted.

“In the meantime, we’re confiscating these as
police evidence in a criminal investigation,” Stone said, using a
handkerchief to put the rings in a plastic bag to preserve any
prints as evidence of a crime.

Zubrinski’s jowly face sagged. “Hey, I paid
three hundred bucks for those!”

“You’re breaking my heart,” Stone said
emotionlessly. “If by chance we’ve got the wrong rings, you’ll get
them back. But don’t hold your breath.”

They left the shop, equipped with more
evidence to point the finger at Manuel Gonzalez as Adrienne
Murray’s killer, to go along with the murder of Claudia Sosa and in
all likelihood Penelope Grijalva. Stone had learned that Gonzalez
was fired from his last job at the janitorial business in
Adrienne’s building because of alleged drug use and a high rate of
absenteeism.

But apparently that didn’t stop him from
frequent visits to see his girlfriend.

And to notice Adrienne Murray. Or vice
versa.

* * *

Stone thought it was time to pay Chuck Murray
another visit. When he arrived at the house, he found the widower
in the company of his attorney, Jonathan Hutchinson.
Sixty-something and pot bellied, Hutchinson sported a white goatee
and had receding salt and pepper hair.

Stone wasted no time getting to the point. He
removed the plastic bag containing the rings from his pocket,
holding it up while gazing at Adrienne’s husband. “Are these your
late wife’s rings?”

Chuck peered at them, as if searching for
something he never thought he would find. “Yes, it’s them.”

“You’re sure?”

Chuck nodded glumly. “Yeah. We bought them
together,” he said sadly. “I placed them on her finger—”

“Where did you find the rings?” Hutchinson
intervened as though to protect his client.

“A pawnshop on Ninety-Second Street,” Stone
said. “I think they were pawned there by the person who killed
Adrienne.”

“So you know who killed her?” the attorney
asked with interest.

Without answering, Stone took out the mug
shot of the suspect. He put it in Chuck’s face. “Have you ever seen
this man before?”

“Don’t answer that!” spat Hutchinson. He
looked at the picture, as if to thoroughly scrutinize it for any
possible self-incrimination for his client. “Maybe you should tell
us who the hell he is.”

“I’ve never seen him before,” Chuck spoke
over his lawyer.

Stone shoved the picture in his face again.
“Take another look.”

Chuck stared at the mug shot, then met
Stone’s hard eyes and shook his head. “I still don’t know who he
is,” he insisted.

Stone put the mug shot away while keeping
some thoughts to himself. “Name’s Manuel Gonzalez. He worked in the
same building as your wife. Indeed, Gonzalez’s girlfriend, Claudia
Sosa was Adrienne’s boss.”

Chuck’s eyes widened. “Claudia... I met her
there in the office... Are you saying this Manuel Gonzalez killed
Adrienne and took the rings?”

“It’s beginning to look like it.” Stone
watched his reaction.

Chuck furrowed his brow. “So why haven’t you
arrested him...or have you?”

“Didn’t I hear on the news that this Manuel
Gonzalez is being sought for the murder of his girlfriend?”
Hutchinson asked Stone uneasily.

Stone saw no reason to deny it. “We’re
looking for him now. I was hoping maybe you could help me out
there, Chuck, figuring since you and Gonzalez had been frequent
visitors to your wife’s place of employment, you might have run
into one another from time to time.”

“Even if that were true, that doesn’t make
them bosom buddies,” Hutchinson declared. “If you’re here to accuse
my client of somehow conspiring in his wife’s murder, then do so
formally and we will formally answer to the charges. If not, then
I’d say this meeting is over, Detective—!”

Stone expected as much, but looked to his
client for verification. “Is it your wish that I leave now? This
isn’t going to go away, Chuck. Not till your wife’s murder is
solved. If you have nothing to hide, I suggest you convince
me.”

Chuck met his eyes thoughtfully. “I would
never have hurt Adrienne,” he claimed. “She was my life. If this
Gonzalez bastard killed her, he did it on his own. If you want to
believe otherwise, to hell with you!”

“Keep your mouth shut!” Hutchinson glared at
his client before turning to Stone. “From now on, Detective, when
you have something to say to my client, it’ll either be in my
office or in police custody.”

“Your call, Counselor,” Stone stated. “And
for the record, Chuck, he’s right: anything you say that doesn’t
hold up can and
will
be used against you. So maybe it is
best not to say anything. I’ll see myself out.”

Stone left the house thinking that if nothing
else, he had shaken up Chuck Murray as either an innocent man being
unjustly targeted or someone who played a role in his wife’s death.
Either way, Stone figured it was worth it to go out on a limb as
the noose tightened around Manuel Gonzalez’s neck, though still on
the run as a triple murderer. But had he acted alone where it
concerned Adrienne Murray?