State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller (42 page)

Not to mention death.

Maybe I should quit while I’m ahead.
Stone stood outside the door.
Oh, what the hell
.
Might as
well see if there’s anything useful to learn
.

He went inside. The tiny lobby reeked of
mildew. A woman in her forties stood at the counter, as if nothing
better to do. A nametag identified her as Barbara.

“How many nights?” she asked routinely,
scratching her head through a blonde bob.

“Just this one.” Stone showed his badge.
Producing a photograph of Sheldon Crawford, courtesy of Beverly
Mendoza, he set it on the counter before the woman. “Can you tell
me if you’ve seen this man in here recently?”

Barbara regarded the picture. “Hmm... How
recently?”

Stone realized it wasn’t that recent. “Let’s
say between August and the end of October of last year,” he
guessed.

Her false lashes fluttered. “Maybe. Can’t say
really. They all start to look alike after a while.” She took a
deep breath. “What’s his name?”

“Sheldon Crawford.” The man wouldn’t possibly
use his own name. Would he?

Barbara lifted a brow. “That wouldn’t happen
to be Judge Sheldon Crawford, would it?”

Stone saw no reason to keep it a secret.
“Yeah, it would be. Has he been here?”

“Not to my knowledge,” she quickly said. “I
just recognize the name from the news. Too bad about his death and
what happened to his wife.”

“Yeah, it is.” And that may not be the half
of it. “Why don’t you check to see if the name shows up in your
records?”

Barbara nodded obediently. “Let’s see,” she
mumbled to herself, typing the name into a computer. “What makes
you think a high and mighty judge would spend time in this
dump?”

“Oh, I have my reasons.” Stone left it at
that. He had been hearing rumors that even without this alleged
adultery, Judge Crawford’s hands were soiled. And maybe more than
just his hands.

Barbara frowned. “I don’t show a Sheldon
Crawford in that span of time or even the month before. Of course
it’s always possible that he could’ve used a fake name. Most people
do who come in here.”

Stone conceded that was quite possible. Or
maybe the judge had never set foot in this dive and Gonzalez was
lying about it as part of his twisted con job.

Stone handed her a photograph of Adrienne
Murray. It was part of his official collection of the murdered
woman.

“Try the last six months of last year,” he
ordered. If Adrienne was having an affair with Crawford, it made
sense to use her name over his, if they were going to use a real
name at all.

Barbara came back empty-handed again.
“Sorry.” She grabbed the photograph and studied it once more.
“Pretty lady,” she offered admiringly.

“Yeah,” Stone said solemnly. “She was. Once
upon a time.”

He drove home thinking that he might have
been on a wild and foolish goose chase. There was nothing but the
word of a rapist-murderer that Adrienne Murray and Judge Crawford
were having an affair. It hadn’t made sense then and it didn’t
now.

As far as Stone was concerned, Manuel
Gonzalez had fabricated this affair. So what else was he making up
along the way?

Could the man have manipulated the polygraph
to give the wrong results?

Stone was unnerved at the thought that
Gonzalez and Santiago were both guilty as charged. And the
possibility that one of them could get away with it for the wrong
reasons.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

The courtroom was filled to capacity as
jurors, media, and other spectators sensed that something
significant was about to happen.

Beverly sat beside Gail, both trying hard not
to tip their hand. On the defense side, Ortega conferred with
Santiago, seemingly advising him of the likely outcome of today’s
proceedings. Judge Grant Nunez sat on the bench, having just
slammed down his gavel, and pronounced the court in session.

A sharp intake of breath caused Beverly to
tremble inadvertently. Every trial had its defining moment. She
knew this one would be defined by its abrupt and surprising
outcome. She was as prepared as she could be to deal with any
fallout that might result from her decision.

On the plus side, she had the full backing of
Dean Sullivan. He’d told her this morning, “It’s your call,
Beverly. I’ll stand by you one hundred percent. Just be sure you
don’t make a mistake and let the wrong man off the hook. Judge
Crawford’s real killer has to be held accountable, if only for
public consumption—”

Now I’ll have to make that call.
And
live with the consequences either way.
I can only hope that
history will prove that I made the right move
.

“Are you prepared to call your next witness?”
Grant asked her routinely.

Rising to her feet, heart pounding, Beverly
swallowed, and said in a heavy voice, “Your Honor, recently new
evidence has come to light that gives the State reason to strongly
believe that another man is in fact responsible for the crimes for
which Mr. Santiago has been accused.”

“Is that so?” asked Grant, as if he had been
caught completely off guard. In truth, he knew exactly what the
evidence was and where this was headed. He didn’t try and influence
Beverly one way or the other, trusting her judgment based on the
facts of the case. “I’m listening, Ms. Mendoza.”

Beverly forced herself to look in the
direction of Rafael Santiago. His eyes were already glued on hers
spitefully, as was the gloating gaze of his attorney. Facing the
front of the court again, she said unevenly, “Due to this
convincing evidence, including a confession to the crimes by
another man already in custody for committing three murders and
attempted kidnapping, among other charges, the People move that all
charges against the defendant be dismissed.”

The courtroom reacted to this stunning
development. Jurors glanced at each other in disbelief. A low hum
spread across the room like a slow fog. The judge tried to maintain
order, but was mostly ignored.

Grant met Beverly’s eyes in a moment of
understanding and loving compassion, before he turned to the
defendant. After a long pause in which the courtroom became totally
silent, he dropped the charges unapologetically, finishing with a
sober, “Mr. Santiago, you’re free to leave—”

Rafael Santiago nodded respectfully before he
and Conrad Ortega embraced in a bear hug of jubilation and
victory.

Beverly watched them motionlessly. She felt
numb and unsatisfied. Yet she knew she had done the right thing
under the circumstances.

Even if doubts lingered.

Santiago stopped his celebrating just long
enough to favor Beverly with a callous look. She tried to ignore
it, but realized that she could feel its wicked intensity right
down to her spine.

It was as if he was telling her,
You
’
ve been conned, lady. Better keep your doors locked.
You never know who just might pay you a little visit.

* * *

“Grant invited us to his house for dinner,
honey,” Beverly told Jaime that night.

“Sounds okay,” he said. “Hope he’s a good
cook.”

“Oh, I think he does all right in the
kitchen. And if that fails, there’s always take out.”

Jaime chuckled. “Yeah, I guess.”

They were playing Monopoly on the living room
floor. Beverly was relieved that the trial was over and she could
move on for better or worse. She honestly had no idea what dropping
the charges against Santiago midway through a trial that had once
seemed like a slam-dunk might do to her career aspirations. Perhaps
it would make no difference once the press coverage died down.
After all, how many prosecutors had to deal with identical twin
killers with the same DNA? She hoped to never again be faced with
such circumstances.

“Your turn, Mom,” Jaime whined.

Beverly flipped the dice and moved four
spaces to Park Place, which Jaime owned.

He grinned victoriously. “Pay up!” he
demanded.

She complied. “Thought we’d go to see your
grandfather this weekend. He gets really lonely about now. It’s the
time of year that Mama died.”

Beverly wasn’t sure just how much longer her
father would be cognizant enough to feel loneliness. Or if it was
already a thing of the past. But she wanted to hang on to what was
less of him for as long as possible.

“Cool,” Jaime said without protest, making
Beverly happy. “Maybe they’ll even let us take him out to dinner.
Bet he hasn’t had anything good to eat since Thanksgiving Day!”

“You’re probably right about that,” she
conceded soberly. “But when you get to be Papa’s age, you’re not so
particular anymore.”

“I’ll
always
be particular,” her son
said, frowning.

“I have a feeling you will,” Beverly agreed
with a smile.

“What’s going to happen to that man who was
set free?” Jaime lifted one brow whimsically.

“I don’t know,” Beverly told him truthfully,
wishing she could shield him from her work. She knew it was all but
impossible, given the news coverage of the trial that had ended so
abruptly. “I guess he’ll just get on with his life.”

Not much of a life at that. She imagined
trouble would likely follow Rafael Santiago wherever he went.

“What about the guy who confessed to killing
the judge?” Jaime played with the dice while gazing at her.

“He’ll be formally charged. And when it’s
over, he’ll likely spend the rest of his life in prison.” That was
a comforting though, all things considered, even if Santiago’s
release made her more than a little nervous for some reason. Hadn’t
he already paid his dues? Didn’t he deserve a second chance to get
his affairs in order and to be left alone?

Yes, I believe he does, as long as Santiago
is really innocent.

Beverly decided that it did no good to second
guess at this point. What was done was done and there was no
turning back.

“You don’t think he’ll come after us now that
he’s out, do you?” Jaime asked, apprehension clouding his eyes.

“Of course not,” Beverly insisted with a
steady voice. “Now that he’s free, the man wouldn’t want to risk
doing anything that might put him back where he was.”

Would he?

The very notion left her feeling a trifle
queasy.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Rafael Santiago breathed in the taste of
freedom, relishing its feel like a second skin. He could barely
believe this moment, never imagining it happening while he was
still on his feet and not in a pine box. But then a miracle of
sorts happened. The miracle of kinship, blood is thicker than water
and all that stupid crap.

Now that he was out, Rafael planned to make
good use of his time. And that included settling old scores.

Along with some new ones.

He knocked on the door of the apartment. A
moment later it opened and Rafael regarded the woman who had
brought him into this world. She looked as though she had aged ten
years in the three months since he’d last seen her face to
face.

“Rafael...” she cried, and hugged his hard
body.

He pushed her away, glaring. “Why didn’t you
tell me about him, Mama?”

Isabel ran a hand across her wrinkled mouth
pensively. “I didn’t know how. It all happened so long ago...”

“I deserved to know there was another me—and
not a damned cousin!”

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I did what I
thought was right at the time. Afterwards, there seemed no point in
causing you both, and me, pain...”

Rafael held his anger in check. After all,
he’d gotten the better of the deal at the end of the day. So why
complain openly that she’d screwed up his life? And his identical
twin brother’s.

He gathered her in his powerful arms, which
Rafael had maintained with a vigorous exercise routine while in
jail.

“It’s cool, Mama,” he lied to her.

“Yeah?” There was doubt in her voice.

“Yeah, Mama. I just want to chill for a while
and get on with my life.”

“I’m happy to hear that, Rafael. I’ve lost
Manuel again. Didn’t want to lose you, too.”

“You won’t.” He noted the cat on the floor
observing it all with those eerie damned yellow eyes. “Think I’ll
go take a bath, get some of the stink from being behind bars off
me.”

Rafael grabbed a beer from the refrigerator
en route to the bathroom, his thoughts buzzing.

He left the door open a crack and took his
bath while drinking the beer and waiting for the dumb cat to come
in.

It did and moseyed over to the tub, eyeing
him warily as though Rafael were his worst enemy.

Maybe the cat wasn’t so dumb after all.

“Come to Papa,” Rafael whispered. “Time for
you to get wet...”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Rafael came out of the
bathroom, dressed in a fresh shirt and jeans. His black hair was
gleaming wet and combed backwards. Isabel thought that he looked
nice, like when he was a boy.

She wondered if he could ever change and
become good. Or had the bad seed implanted in her sons by their
father doomed them both to a life filled with hate and
deviancy?

It was only when Isabel saw the scratch on
one side of Rafael’s face that she became alarmed. In fact, there
were three long scratches, close together, and they were bleeding a
little bit.

“What happened?” she uttered.

Rafael shrugged. “Cut myself shaving, that’s
all.”

Isabel gazed at him with concern. “I have a
first aid kit.”

“Don’t need it,” he stated tersely. “It ain’t
that bad.”

Isabel wanted to object, but thought better.
She could see that he was about to leave. She hoped it wasn’t for
good.

“Where are you going?” she asked
hesitantly.

“Out,” Rafael responded.

“When are you coming back?”