Stone took him up on the offer, saying, “I’ll bring it back.” He studied the picture of Adrienne Murray, honestly hoping she was still alive. But he knew that hope often had little impact in the scheme of things. He honed in on the rings. Both sported a series of diamonds his wife would kill to have, figuratively speaking. “These rings must have cost you a pretty penny?”
“Yeah,” Chuck acknowledged. “Cost me damned near all my savings and a loan. But she was worth every penny.”
It was the worth of the rings themselves that concerned Stone at the moment. This wouldn’t be the first time that valuable diamonds had caused a thief to become a kidnapper. Or worse.
“Does Adrienne have any identifying characteristics, such as birth marks or tattoos?”
“No tattoos,” Chuck indicated. “She has a small black mole on the inside of her left thigh and another slightly bigger one on her back.”
Stone made a mental note of this. “Has your wife ever gone away for any extended period of time without telling you, Chuck?”
“Not like this.” Chuck wrung his hands nervously.
What exactly did that mean? “How did she go off?”
“Sometimes Adrienne and her girlfriends would skip work and go to the coast for the day,” he said. “Maybe even spend the night. I wouldn’t find out until she got back, but she usually would leave a note that I didn’t always see till after the fact.” His eyes narrowed. “Adrienne has never taken off at night, after work, without a word to me. She wouldn’t do that.”
Stone found himself believing that much. But it still didn’t tell him if Adrienne Murray had met with foul play or if there was something else going on here. He intended to find out one way or the other.
“I’ll be in touch,” Stone said assuredly.
He was already halfway back to the department when Stone got the word that a woman’s body had been found in Eagles Lake.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The pawnshop was empty when Manuel walked in. He liked it better that way. He couldn’t conduct his business with too many nosey ass people hanging around.
First he browsed around at all the junk in there, wondering why people even bothered to buy or sell such. Then he made his way casually to the counter.
A man of around forty stood on the other side reading a paper—or at least pretending to. What little hair he had left was sloppily pasted to his pate.
“What can I do you for?” the man asked disinterestedly.
Manuel removed the two rings from his pocket, wondering how much they were worth. Tossing them on the dingy counter, he asked tonelessly, “How much for these?”
The man took a look. “Are the rocks real?”
“Of course,” he said hopefully. “They belonged to my grandmother.”
“Your grandmother, huh?” the man said mockingly. “Why are you parting with them?”
Why do you think, asshole? “I need the money,” he said honestly. “Why keep them in the drawer when she ain’t around no more to wear them?”
“Whatever.” The man shrugged indifferently. He took out his eyeglass and examined the diamonds on each ring. Afterwards he gazed across the counter. “I’ll give you three hundred for the two of ‘em.”
Not bad for something that just happened to fall into his hand. Manuel still held out for more. “They’re worth at least three times that.”
“Not in here, they aren’t!” The man hit him with a hard gaze, recognizing he had the advantage. “Three hundred or try your luck elsewhere.”
Manuel realized he would get no more out of this old fart. “I’ll take it.”
The man had him fill out some paperwork he described as standard before handing him the money.
“I’ll hold the family jewels for thirty days,” the man warned. “If I don’t hear from you by then, they’re gone forever.”
Manuel smiled darkly, pocketing the money. “Yeah, whatever, man.”
* * *
He left the shop three hundred dollars richer than he’d gone in. It hadn’t been his intention to rob the little bitch. He was not a common thief. Not like many he knew. But since she was already dead, she would have little use for the rings. He kept the watch to give to his old lady, when he needed to cover his ass.
Manuel made his way up to Broadway and Eleventh Street. There he ran into his friend Carlos Valenzuela. They used to hang, till he went solo. Carlos was about his height and build, but darker in complexion with a thin mustache and goatee.
The two shook hands and Manuel gave Carlos a brief hug.
“What’s up, man?” asked Carlos.
“Nothing much,” Manuel shrugged. “Just hangin’ out with my old lady.”
Carlos laughed. “Right,” he scoffed. “Remember, man, you talkin’ to Carlos.”
Manuel laughed, too. “So maybe I met this white bitch and we had ourselves a little party.”
“What kind of party?”
“The kind where she gives me everything I want.”
“And what does she get in return?”
Manuel laughed again, and grabbed his crotch, getting turned on in the process. “Complete satisfaction.”
The two had a good chuckle.
“You seen our white amigo ‘round, man?” Carlos asked.
“Naw,” Manuel muttered, knowing he was referring to a white drug dealer. “Ain’t seen ‘em. That dude is crazy.” He didn’t care to elaborate.
“Yeah,” grinned Carlos. “If you run into the crazy bastard, tell him we can do some business—”
Manuel nodded aloofly. “You got anything on you now, man?” he asked, feeling he needed a quick high.
Carlos darted eyes both ways, then rubbed his nose. “How much you want?”
Manuel took two of the three hundred out of his pocket and stuffed it in Carlos’s hand. “Two bills’ worth.”
Carlos stuffed the money in his shirt pocket, then turned his back to the street and removed a tiny packet of crack. He passed it to him. “Little something extra in there, man, cause we’re cool.”
“Thanks, man.” Manuel put the crack away. “I gotta run.”
“Same here,” Carlos said. “Don’t use all that at once. But if you do, you know where to find me.”
That he did. Manuel shook his hand again and they went in opposite directions.
Once home he got out his pipe and smoked most of the crack, making him high and horny.
He thought about the white bitch and what a good time he had with her. It made him imagine having more good times ahead with other bitches.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Maxine Crawford stood nervously at the window as the lineup of men stared straight ahead as if they could see her. But Detective O’Dell and the attorneys from the D.A.’s office, Grant Nunez and Beverly Mendoza, assured her that they could not see through the glass.
Still, Maxine was uncomfortable observing them, like animals in the zoo. Yet the one who had killed Sheldon and assaulted her was little more than an animal. He deserved whatever fate he had coming to him now that the bastard had shattered her life forever.
Maxine thought back to the mug shots the detective had her look at. She had chosen the man who most closely resembled the one that lived in her deepest nightmares. But how could she be sure? What if she had chosen the wrong man?
What if I choose the wrong one now?
Or a different man from one in the mug shot. Would that work against her in bringing him to justice?
Maxine studied the faces, as if her life depended on recognizing the one who had raped her and killed Sheldon. And, in many ways, she supposed it did.
“Take your time,” Beverly said to her, aware how difficult it must be to have to identify the man you believe sexually attacked you and shot to death your husband. There would always be doubts, wouldn’t there? And there was the pressure of people like her who wanted Maxine to make their job easier by making a positive identification of the perpetrator. There could be no room for error.
Sh
e truly believed that the system ultimately worked, if given the chance.
At the same time, Beverly knew that cases were often made or broken at this stage of the process. She scrutinized the lineup, which included three Hispanic men and two Caucasian men with dark complexions. All were of reasonably similar height and build, to keep anyone from standing out too much.
Beverly took a sweeping glance at the others in the viewing room, all of whom had a vested interest in the outcome. With the possible exception of Grant, who had accompanied her there, he said, for moral support. Neither of them had spoken of his possible appointment to the bench. In her case she had been sworn to secrecy. She assumed he knew about Dean’s recommendation of him, but chose not to tell her till the deal was done.
Either way, Beverly only wished Grant the best, even if his judgeship meant she would lose the best co-counsel she’d ever had. And one she had hoped would be second chair on her present case, should it go to trial. This was put on hold for the moment.
“Could you ask number two to lift his head up?” Maxine requested. He had lowered his face, as if to hide it from her.
O’Dell yelled into the microphone, “Number two, put your head up and look directly in front of you!”
Number two complied. He was a Hispanic male in his early thirties, short and well built. Raven hair was tightly cropped around an oval, handsome face. Despite this, he wore a perpetual scowl.
Beverly felt like he was staring right at her. It gave her an eerie feeling. But it wasn’t her feelings that counted. I’m not the one who was raped and sodomized.
“It’s him—” Maxine uttered in barely a whisper.
“Are you positive it’s number two?” Beverly asked her.
“Yes!” Maxine raised her voice and was more emphatic. “That man’s the one who shot Sheldon and—” Her voice broke.
“Good enough,” O’Dell said, sparing her any further indignity. “That will be all, Hector,” he shouted into the room.
The order was meant for one of the Hispanic men, a detective named Hector Oliverez, who had volunteered to be in the lineup.
“Would you like some water or something?” Beverly offered Maxine, her own throat suddenly feeling parched.
“No,” she said, looking as if she were suddenly short of breath. “Just need some fresh air.”
Grant grabbed her arm to keep her from falling on the spot. “It’ll be all right,” he tried to assure her, hoping they were not just empty words. They needed her to remain strong at this time. But could Maxine Crawford hold up under the pressure she was about to face?
“We’ve got the bastard!” O’Dell declared, turning to Maxine. “He’s never going to get the chance to hurt you or anyone else again—!”
It was a promise Beverly had heard all too often, only to see it broken time and time again because of victims backing out of their responsibility or credibility issues, mishandling of evidence, police misconduct, judicial improprieties, appeals, and even defense victories. This case was far from a done deal. But they had definitely taken an all important first step. They had themselves a bona fide, witness identified, suspect named Rafael Santiago.
* * *
“Do you want to grab a bite to eat?” Grant asked as they left the station.
“Where did you have in mind?” Beverly licked the roof of her mouth, for some reason feeling as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks.
“My place,” he said as casually as if it were a five star restaurant. “I can’t think of a better place to have a couple of broiled steaks, baked potatoes, and a bottle of red wine.” He eyed her ravenously. “Can you?”
Beverly felt her knees buckle from his persuasive stare. “No, not really.”
She missed spending quality time with him. But it had been nearly impossible of late—with the exception of their victory celebration a few days ago—given their busy schedules.
They got into a dark gray Cadillac. It matched the color of the sky, which suggested a big storm was in the making. Stormy autumn weather was just a fact of life Beverly had gotten used to in her thirty-two years of living in Eagles Landing, contrary to the image that it never rained in California. But she wasn’t complaining. She would take rain and cool temperatures any day over snow and cold.
Grant reached over and planted a wet kiss on Beverly’s mouth. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he said breathlessly. And much more. But that would have to wait till later.
Beverly had to take a moment to recover. “Maybe you should have done it earlier,” she gasped, “and saved us both some suffering.”
He laughed. “Believe me, I would have if we both hadn’t been so preoccupied with things—”
Things.
Such as preparing to become a judge? Was this when he would spring it on her? Or would that be pillow talk?
“That was smart of Dean to hand you this case,” Grant said instead, starting the ignition. “I certainly can’t think of anyone better equipped to put that asshole away.”
“What about you?” she felt obliged to ask. “Or are you losing your touch, Mr. Nunez?”
“Not exactly.” Grant regarded her. “I couldn’t have taken the case even if I wanted to,” he said.
“Oh... ?” She met his eyes expectantly.
“Conflict of interest.”
“What conflict of interest?”
Grant’s full brows descended over his gaze. “I happened to be the prosecuting attorney who convicted Rafael Santiago in Judge Crawford’s courtroom,” he said matter-of-factly. “He not only threatened Crawford, but me as well. I’m sure any competent defense attorney would have tried to beat that drum to get the case thrown out, or overturned on appeal. Why take the chance?”
“You mean it could have been you Santiago went after?” Beverly’s mouth was agape, horrified at the thought.
“Could have been,” Grant allowed, pulling onto the street. He couldn’t help but think about being shot to death while they were making love. Maybe not a bad way to die, but not exactly a good way either for someone who had his whole life ahead of him perhaps to share with the lady at his side. “Who’s to say it might not have happened sooner or later, had he not been identified?”
Beverly shivered at the prospect that Grant could have been killed and she could have been raped. I don’t even want to think about it.
“Thank goodness Maxine Crawford was able to pick Santiago out of two lineups,” she uttered in complete agreement, feeling even more determined to see to it that the full weight of the law was brought down on the suspect.
Ironically the very fact that Maxine Crawford identified her attacker was contingent upon Santiago allowing her to live, Beverly realized. Why didn’t he kill her after sexually assaulting her? Was it that he simply didn’t give a damn that she might be able to finger him? Or did he feel so cocky that he somehow believed it was only a snowball’s chance in hell that Maxine would ever be able to tie him to the crime?
Well, he was dead wrong.
* * *
Grant lived in a Colonial house overlooking Eagles Lake with plenty of bay windows and magnificent views of the water and surrounding land. He enjoyed living away from the city center and having his own little piece of paradise.
They barely made it past the ceramic-tiled foyer and inside the Great Room before their hunger pangs gave way to more urgent physical needs. Standing between an octagonal lamp table and left-arm sectional loveseat, Grant and Beverly began kissing feverishly. Their hands were all over one another.
Beverly had a sharp intake of breath when Grant nibbled on her ear while sliding a hand underneath her dress and between her legs. She cupped his face and brought his mouth back to hers, attacking it again, wanting as much of him as possible.
Grant enjoyed the sweet taste of Beverly’s thin lips, his hands grabbing onto her panties covered buttocks and bringing their bodies closer together. “You’re really turning me on, lady,” he hummed, feeling hot all over.
“I think it wor
ks both ways, Grant.” Beverly watched deliriously as he put his mouth on her linen dress, atop a breast and onto a nipple. “In fact, I’m sure of it!”
“In that case, I’d say we’d better do something about it—and fast!”
“Say no more,” she uttered, hoping they could make it to the bedroom before things got too steamy.
They didn’t, settling for a Tibetan rug next to the limestone fireplace. Each began ripping at the other’s clothing till both were stark naked and admiring one another lustfully.
To Grant, Beverly was the picture of perfection with all the right curves and bends in all the right places. Her breasts, while not exceedingly large, were high, full, and tantalizing. He noted the almond colored triangle below her slender waist and longed to taste the delicacies within.
Beverly regarded Grant’s hard body, as he stood tall like a modern day gladiator. She turned to his full erection, marveling at its size and magnificent state of readiness to pleasure and be pleasured. A twinge of excitement coursed through her at the notion.
They started kissing open mouthed and Beverly wrapped her arms around Grant’s neck. Slowly they sank to the rug, their mouths managing to stay attached. Then Grant abruptly moved away and planted hot kisses down Beverly’s stomach and below her belly button. He opened her legs and began to kiss her there.
Beverly winced when his tongue licked her most sensitive area again and again, causing her body to levitate with delight.
“You taste so delicious,” Grant murmured, enjoying making her wet and ready for him.
“Oh...Grant—” Beverly murmured as she felt herself coming.
She took a moment to come back to earth before pulling him up and wanting to give back what he gave her.
But Grant resisted, grabbing Beverly’s shoulders. “Not this time, baby. I want to climax inside you.”
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