State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller (3 page)

Like an addict needing a fix, he pursued her
eagerly, fully expecting to be relieved of his urge.

She was in excellent shape, he admitted to
himself, trailing her from a short distance as she moved at a brisk
pace. But so was he. He had been lifting weights and running for
years in his determination to stay fit and firm. It was the best
way to survive on the streets and in the joint, if it came down to
that.

For now fitness would serve him well in
tracking down someone who had become his sole obsession of
late.

The park was very quiet this evening. It was
almost as if others had decided to stay at home, so as not to get
in her way.

Or his.

Slowly, but surely, he began to close the
distance between them. When she realized he was behind her, she
instinctively increased her speed, determined to simply outrun him.
But he countered, moving even faster, his long legs giving him the
advantage. His blood was pumping like crazy and he loved the
feeling. It was like building up to a mind-blowing climax. The
climb was always more rewarding than the result, he knew.

Not that the result would be disappointing.
On the contrary, it would be very satisfying.

After all, she had been targeted for death.
And now it was time to wipe the slate clean.

Collect his just rewards.

She tried to dart in a different direction
amidst tall, old Douglas fir trees, as if he somehow would simply
bypass her altogether. Anticipating such, he had countered her move
with one of his own, taking a short cut to beat her to the clearing
on other side of the park.

She didn’t realize it, but the dumb bitch had
run right into his trap like a rat.

They came face to face and he saw the stark
terror in her baby blue eyes. He even detected a hint of
recognition as she tried to make out his face. His eyes. His sly
grin. His taut, virile body.

He pulled out a switchblade, springing it
open and moving it from hand to hand with the ease of a
magician.

He might have pitied her, had he not
applauded himself for a job soon to be well done. They had reached
the point of no return. At least she had.

The fun this night was only beginning.

* * *

Sheldon Crawford huffed and puffed while atop
his wife, Maxine, feeling as if he had run out of breath. He was
getting too damned old for this. But at the same time, he was
determined to keep up with her. A daunting task indeed. She was
twenty years his junior and in her sexual prime. Meaning she wanted
to be satisfied constantly and had esoteric tastes that at times
tested his limits, ability, and stamina. Not his resolve, though.
The worst thing he could do was ignore his young wife’s needs,
causing her to leave him for a younger man as his first wife had
done.

Sheldon gazed into Maxine’s brown eyes
staring up at him from her beautiful butterscotch complexioned
face. He nibbled on one of her large breasts, as she loved him to
do. She winced and then murmured, taking his cheeks between her
hands and attacking his mouth with fervor in hard kisses.

He propelled himself deeper into her splayed
legs, feeling her constrict around him. She clawed at his back and
he grunted from the pain, even while their kissing intensified.

“I’m coming...” Maxine warned him, wrapping
her legs around his waist. “Don’t stop, darling.”

Sheldon couldn’t even if he wanted to. He
heard a muffled cry as Maxine seemed to feed off his orgasm to
release her own. His chest heaved against her flattened breasts and
they climaxed together and loudly, as the sounds of sexual
gratification took center stage.

Afterwards Sheldon collapsed onto Maxine’s
body, keeping most of his weight on his knees so as not to crush
her. He was exhausted, but gratified in the knowledge that he had
pleased her. As a judge, he wanted only to please himself and his
brand of justice. Sometimes he would bend the rules, if called for
in the name of law and order—or the preservation of his career and
satisfying certain obligations.

But as a man, he wanted to feel needed and
loved. Maxine gave that to him. More than anyone had before. So the
least he could do was provide her the financial and physical
comforts she deserved.

Sheldon had barely felt her warm breath upon
his cheek when a sharp pop rang through the air like a firecracker.
A millisecond later he experienced a dull pain in his back. There
was a piercing scream, which almost sounded as though it were
coming from a distant place. Then he realized that it had come from
the person beneath him.

Sheldon Crawford had been shot before, back
in Vietnam. It was an experience you never forgot. He had been
caught in an ambush and took two bullets in the chest. Both had
missed his heart by scant inches. He had considered it divine
intervention, and promised himself that he would make something out
of the second life he had been given.

That life had carried him to the judicial
bench, where he had presided over the scum who threatened to one
day become free to wreak havoc on the lives of other innocent
victims. Not if he could help it. He didn’t believe violent
criminals could ever be rehabilitated. Not in his court. They
needed to be kept behind bars as long as possible to ensure public
safety. And be punished severely for their crimes.

But even with the best of intentions in his
heart, Sheldon knew that these desires sometimes came into conflict
with powerful forces beyond his control.

In the process of passing judgment over
others, Sheldon Crawford had come to believe he was somehow secure
from the very dangers he devoted his life to fighting.

He was wrong.

The second scream roared into his ear like a
siren gone out of control even as Sheldon felt another sharp pain
explode into his body. He kept a loaded .357 Magnum in the
nightstand, but had never had to use it before. And though now in
excruciating pain, he knew that it was the only chance he or Maxine
had to survive this night.

But his assailant, seemingly toying with him,
allowed the judge to crawl halfway out of bed and lunge for the
nightstand, before firing another bullet at point blank range. This
one hit Sheldon Crawford in the face, killing him instantly.

* * *

Maxine Crawford, immobilized by fear, watched
incredulously as half her husband’s head separated from his body in
something akin to a horror movie. Without time to even contemplate
the terror she had just witnessed or the fact that she was now
fully exposed for the shooter to see, Maxine could only think that
she was next to die. She was utterly powerless to do anything about
her seemingly unchangeable fate as a witness to an execution, but
pray like she never had before.

Through a shaft of diminishing sunlight
filtering through the window, Maxine was afforded a surprisingly
clear look at the killer, lessened somewhat by the tearful haze of
her eyes.

She took an instant to study the person that
stood at the foot of the bed like he was standing guard. He was a
Hispanic male in his early thirties, powerfully built, and short.
He had coarse black hair; dark, frightful eyes that never took
themselves off her nakedness, and a scowl that almost seemed to be
a wicked smile.

Wearing gloves, he held the gun at his side
like in an old Western movie and she wondered why he had not lifted
it and pulled the trigger by now.

Suddenly all she could think about was that
she wanted to live and see another day. She’d worked too hard to
get what she had for it all to end like this.

Commanding her mouth to speak, Maxine said in
a desperate whisper, “Please, don’t kill me...”

The man said nothing, but continued to enjoy
his voyeuristic show at her expense, grinning. She wanted to cover
up with the satin sheets, but did not want to provoke him.

He moved to the side of the bed and she saw
that his mouth had become a scowl. He raised the gun and pointed it
at her.

“Please,” she gasped helplessly. “I don’t
want to die.”

“Well, you’re gonna die,
bitch
!” His
words were hollow and menacing.

Maxine felt she had reached the point of no
return, just as Sheldon had moments earlier. There was apparently
no reasoning with a cold-blooded murderer.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to
imagine how painful death would be.

Would she even know when she was dead?

Was Sheldon aware that he had gone to the
other side?

Would there be the light at the end of the
tunnel or would they both drift off into some horrible abyss,
uncertain as to where or why?

Then Maxine heard her husband’s killer say in
a chilling tone, “But not yet...”

* * *

He stared at the good-looking black chick on
the bed. Raven hair in box braids formed a halo around her
frightened face. Pouty lips had suddenly been silenced. Her breasts
and body glistened from sex, and her long, lean legs were still
spread wide as though her old man was still on top of her. He could
only imagine how hard the good judge had to work to satisfy her. On
the other hand,
he
was younger, hungrier, and definitely
more energetic for the task.

In truth, it had been a while since he’d had
a woman, at least not one who looked like her. The notion turned
him on like a dam ready to burst. Only he intended to do so inside
the bitch’s mouth and vagina. He glanced at the bloody corpse on
the floor, while thinking,
There sure as hell ain’t nobody gonna
stop me from taking what I want from the lady.

She certainly couldn’t stop him, not even
when he took the gun out of her face.

Who knows, she might even enjoy what they
were about to do.

He knew he would. Every lingering moment of
it.

CHAPTER THREE

They went through an entire large pizza,
loaded with cheese, sausage, and pepperoni. Beverly managed to get
in a couple of pieces before Jaime literally took over, gobbling
down chunks like a garbage disposal. Normally she would have drawn
the line after maybe three pieces, tops. She had been concerned
about his increasing diet of junk food and a cholesterol level that
was already too high. But she had promised Jaime that he could have
anything he wanted if he got a B on his math test. And he had gone
one better, acing it with an A.

Beverly considered Jaime the best mistake she
had ever made. She had never intended to get pregnant at age
twenty. She was hardly more than a child bride herself. But her
birth control had inexplicably failed her that night; just as
Jaime’s father had failed her when he found out she was
pregnant.

Diego Mendoza was as charming a Latino as
they came, making Beverly fall for him with barely more than his
shiny red Corvette and dreams of a bright future with her. But it
all turned out to be false dreams when the going got tough. He
wanted her to have an abortion. When she refused, he got scared of
his responsibility and ran away. That was the last she ever saw of
Diego.

Beverly had raised her son alone, no small
task with law school and mostly low paying jobs to make ends meet
along the way. But they had both survived, if not thrived, and
Beverly could not imagine her life without Jaime. Though she knew
the day would come when he would have his own family.

Until then, she would be there for him as his
father had not been. And never would be.

Jaime wiped his mouth with a greasy napkin
and slurped Root Beer through a straw. “Want some?” he asked, as if
an afterthought.

“I think not,” Beverly responded, wrinkling
her nose at the notion. She drank bottled water instead.

Jaime giggled. “Didn’t think so.” He sipped
more soda.

Beverly stared at her son, without making it
too apparent. He had her brown hair, though a shade darker, in a
short crew cut that was all the rage at school. Jaime had his
father’s dun colored eyes and thick brows. At twelve, he was
already nearly as tall as she was and on the chubby side. Even his
feet—size nine and a half—were big for a boy his age. Beverly
considered that perhaps Jaime was just a normal oversized kid in
today’s society where most things seemed to be excessive and large.
In fact, his baggy jeans and oversized jerseys actually made him
look leaner than he really was.

“You didn’t tell me how the case went.” Jaime
looked across the dining room table, as if genuinely interested,
surprising Beverly.

For the most part her son had shown little
interest in her law work. He had been far more impressed with his
best friend Paco’s mother, who Jaime thought was hot, and always
around as a stay at home Mom to do things with.

Perhaps he’s beginning to appreciate what
I do for a living
, Beverly mused, even at the expense of being
able to spend more time together. Maybe someday Jaime would even
follow in her footsteps and become a lawyer.

“Well, we won,” she told him, still feeling
victorious, as if having won the national championship. Especially
when thinking of how she and Grant had celebrated the occasion.

“I’m glad.” Jaime gave her a proud, crooked
smile.

Beverly smiled back warmly. “I’m happy to
hear that.”

His smile seemed to evaporate. “How much did
he
help?”

She raised a brow. “You mean Grant?”

Jaime knew they had worked together on the
trial and had gone out on a few dates, though Beverly was sure her
son had no inkling of the extent of their relationship. She’d
planned to tell him that she was seeing Grant, once she felt Jaime
was ready to hear it. Maybe this was the time.

“Yeah, him.”

“Actually Grant helped quite a bit as
co-counsel.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “In fact to be
honest, I’m not sure we could have won without him.”

Jaime leaned back in his chair so his head
rested against the wall behind him. “Oh...” He stared thoughtfully.
“Are you sleeping with him, Mom?”