* * *
In bed that night, Stone tried sleeping but found himself unable to. Too many thoughts were drifting in and out of his head. Chuck Murray had been arrested without incident, still claiming innocence. He was later released when it became clear that they just didn’t have enough to hold him.
There appeared to be no connection between Penelope Grijalva and Adrienne Murray, aside from the similarities of their deaths. Like Adrienne, Penelope had apparently had sex with her killer, albeit Stone suspected it may have been voluntarily in Grijalva’s case. At least initially. DNA tests would show if the same man had intercourse with both women.
Joyce, sensing he was awake, wrapped her arms around him. “What is it, Stone?”
“I’m not sure,” he yawned miserably. “Someone is out there killing young women and I don’t know who the hell I should be looking for.”
She kissed his bare shoulder. “It’ll work itself out, honey,” she said in a motherly tone. “It always does.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. The problem was that if it didn’t soon, there would be more victims. More lives shattered.
Could Chuck have snapped after killing his wife? Stone wondered. Could he have set his sights on other young women who reminded him of her?
Stone contemplated if Chuck Murray was in cahoots with someone else. Or was he, like his wife, an innocent victim of tragic circumstances and bizarre coincidences?
Trouble is, I don’t believe in coincidences. Most things that happened were not by pure chance, but by design. Meaning these women were likely killed by the same person who knew exactly what he was doing.
There was no reason to believe he planned to stop any time soon. Unless caught or killed first.
Stone turned to his wife and pressed his lips against the warmth of her bosom. She was wearing Dolce and Gabbana perfume and it was invigorating. He kissed her naked skin, feeling her nipples harden.
Lowering himself down her stomach with kisses, Stone moved down further till he was between Joyce’s legs. He started kissing her there, then licking, aroused by her taste and her reaction to him.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she gushed, grabbing onto his head and holding it firmly in place while he brought her to orgasm, her body shaking wildly and breath quickened.
Stone felt the surge within about to explode, but contained it till he could get inside his wife’s body. Moving back up her, he planted kisses everywhere before reaching her mouth. She attacked his lips feverishly.
“Make love to me, Stone,” she uttered.
Stone could barely hold back, so strong his desire. Once he entered Joyce, he came almost instantly, but continued to propel himself into her for the joy of being intimate with the woman he loved.
Joyce clung to him, wrapping her legs around his buttocks, making love to him as their damp bodies tingled with mutual satisfaction and the muted sounds of sex rang in Stone’s ears.
After Joyce climaxed a second time, Stone pulled himself out of her and lay next to her as they held each other. He felt temporary relief from the stresses of the job and satisfaction in knowing that Joyce was always there for him, no matter what.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Hold my calls, Jean,” Beverly directed her secretary over the speakerphone. She clicked it off.
Sitting across from her desk was Maxine Crawford. She was conservatively dressed in an expensive mint skirt suit and wore very little makeup, but was still stunning. Her ebony box braids were gathered into a long ponytail and hung to the side.
Beverly was slightly in awe of the judge’s widow, physically speaking, though hardly wanting to be in her shoes otherwise. She had asked Maxine to come in to routinely go over some of the details of her assault and witness to her husband’s execution.
She met Maxine’s eyes. “Can I get you some coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.” Maxine smiled faintly.
Beverly headed towards the coffee pot in the corner of the office where Jean made fresh coffee every morning. “Sugar...cream?”
“Just cream.”
Beverly fixed two coffees, handing Maxine one before retreating back to her desk chair. She wondered briefly what Maxine would do with herself now that her husband was dead. There was no indication that she had an outside career and there were no children to care for at home. Not that she would be hurting for money. Beverly imagined that Judge Crawford had probably left her a great deal of it between his pension, insurance, and investments. As she was only in her mid thirties, Beverly suspected that Maxine might well marry again someday and even have children, if she wished.
“The case will be going to trial soon,” Beverly began. “I know this isn’t easy, but we need to go over again what happened that night—”
Maxine nodded, as if she had braced herself in advance for what was to come.
“You and Judge Crawford were in bed when Rafael Santiago broke in. Correct?”
“Yes.”
Beverly glanced at her note pad, though she already knew what she wanted to say. “And what were you doing?”
Maxine swallowed. “My husband and I were making love,” she replied without apology.
Beverly got a visual image, even if she wished she hadn’t. “Did your husband use a condom?” Again she knew the answer, as Judge Crawford’s semen was found inside her vagina and anus, but Beverly had to go through the motions. If at all competent, she fully expected the defense to try every trick in the book to paint the defendant in a brighter shade. That included going after the Crawfords, their sex life, and anything else that could cast doubt on the events of that night.
Maxine looked Beverly straight in the eye when she answered succinctly, “No. Sheldon never used them; there was no need to. He’d had a vasectomy years ago.”
“I see.” That certainly had not come to light previously. Had his first wife not wanted children or was it his choice? She couldn’t imagine being without at least one child. Jaime made it all worthwhile. Beverly was sure she would have had more children, had she married again. Grant had never spoken of having children of his own. Why? Did he not want any...ever?
Did she really want any more at this point in her life?
Beverly refocused back to the business at hand. “Was there anyone else in the house that you know of before you went to bed?”
Maxine pursed her lips. “No.”
“Did anyone else have a key to your house?”
“Just the housekeeper,” Maxine answered.
Beverly touched her nose. “And how often did she come over?”
“Three times a week.”
“Did she come that day?”
“We gave her the day off.” Maxine’s eyes turned thoughtful.
That may have saved her life or spared her some other type of victimization. Unless her absence was part of some larger conspiracy to commit murder.
“And her name is?” Beverly asked.
“Josephine Canseco.”
“How long has she worked for you?”
“Josephine worked for Sheldon for many years before we married.” Maxine regarded Beverly sharply. “If you’re suggesting that she had anything to do with this—”
“Not at all,” Beverly responded quickly, the implication being that because she was Hispanic, the housekeeper could have known Santiago. Did she? “Just getting all the facts straight.” And trying to make sure this was not an inside job. “Do you normally lock your doors when home?”
“Yes...”
“But not always?” Beverly thought she detected hesitation in her voice.
Maxine tightened her jaw. “Who locks their doors every time they’re home?”
I do, for one. Beverly knew that Jaime was guilty of leaving their doors unlocked, if not outright open, from time to time in spite of her admonitions. Did that make it any more excusable?
“What about the windows?” There was no sign of forced entry.
Maxine shot her a fierce look. “Are you blaming us for what that man did?”
“Of course not,” Beverly tried to reassure her, even if it may have come off that way. “We just need to figure out how the suspect entered your house when there’s no indication that he broke in.”
Maxine seemed to tremble as she put the coffee mug to her mouth. “I really couldn’t say,” she uttered. “He just seemed to come out of the woodwork—”
“Could you or Judge Crawford have inadvertently left a door unlocked or a window open that night?” Beverly asked straightforwardly, dismissing the woodwork theory. Either that, or Santiago had a key for easy entry.
“Sometimes we opened the windows a crack to let air in,” Maxine admitted, pausing. “We didn’t always close them before we went to bed.”
Beverly wrote this down. She tasted her coffee. “When did you first become aware someone was in your bedroom?”
Maxine cringed. “When I heard the first popping sound and felt my husband react.”
“You mean the shot?” Beverly asked, to be sure.
“Yes.”
“While you were making love?”
“Yes.” Maxine’s voice quavered.
“And what did you do?”
“There wasn’t much I could do underneath my husband’s weight!” Maxine made a face. “I screamed. I was...terrified.”
“I’m sure you were,” Beverly said, speaking as a woman, trapped in an unenviable situation. “Then you heard a second popping sound or shot?”
“Yes.”
“What happened next?” Beverly played with her pen, hating to make the victim go through this again, but not wanting to miss anything that could be important later on.
Maxine was glass eyed as she said, “Sheldon somehow managed to crawl out of bed with two bullets in him. He tried to get his gun from the nightstand. But he shot him again pointblank. This time fatally—” Her voice broke.
“What then?” Beverly knew the defense would be even more demanding of the explicit details. I hate this part of the preparatory process.
“I thought I was going to die!” Maxine rolled her eyes, as if she couldn’t believe she was still in one piece, alive and well, all things considered. “Why didn’t that bastard just kill me, too?”
“I don’t know,” Beverly answered honestly. She often asked herself the same thing when one person was killed and another that could testify against the perpetrator was spared. Was it divine intervention? Or total stupidity on the part of the assailant? Had it been Rafael Santiago’s wish that Maxine suffer for the perceived sins of her husband? Beverly sighed, leaning forward. “The important thing is you were spared and Santiago will pay for his crimes.”
“Will he?”
“Yes,” Beverly tried to assure her. “We have a strong case against him, including your testimony. We’ll make sure that Rafael Santiago never does to anyone else what he did to you.” Maybe he’ll even get a taste of his own medicine once behind bars.
Maxine could only hope that justice didn’t turn a blind eye in this case. She wasn’t sure if she could ever recover from the horrors she’d witnessed and experienced. Sheldon deserved better, no matter his faults. So did she. But there was no going back. Whatever the future held, she would have to deal with it and try not to let it break her completely.
Beverly regarded Maxine considerately, before saying, “I have to ask you a few questions about the attack on you—”
Maxine dabbed at her eyes, though there were no tears. “I understand.”
“Was there forced vaginal penetration?”
“Yes,” she mumbled.
“Did he use a condom?” Again Beverly already knew the answer, given the evidence her attacker left behind.
“No.” Maxine fidgeted.
“Did he sodomize you?” Beverly gazed across the desk.
“Yes,” Maxine’s voice cracked. She thought about the sex acts she’d had with Sheldon beforehand. They had often experimented in trying to keep their sex life exciting. It pained her to think of how such acts had turned ugly when forced upon her.
“Was there oral copulation?” Beverly asked.
Maxine struggled for words. “Yes.”
Beverly took a moment before proceeding. “Was Santiago holding the gun the entire time he was assaulting you?”
“I think so...”
“Were you in fear of your life throughout the ordeal?”
“Yes—I fully expected him to shoot me afterwards.” Maxine wrung her hands.
“Did you ever try to stop him from hurting you?” Beverly had to ask.
Resentment flooded Maxine’s eyes. “What the hell was I supposed to do to make that happen?” she challenged icily. “The bastard had just killed my husband. I did whatever he wanted me to do to stay alive. I had no other choice—!”
“Of course you didn’t,” conceded Beverly, feeling like the enemy, rather than the one person who could put Rafael Santiago away. Would she have done anything different had she been in her shoes? I hope I never have to find out. “Would you like some more coffee?”
Maxine moved her head swiftly from side to side. “I just want this to be over with as soon as possible.”
“I understand,” Beverly told her with empathy. “But it can’t be—not until the man who did this to you and Judge Crawford is held accountable for his actions. And we need your testimony to make that happen.”
Maxine nodded. “I know,” she murmured.
Beverly composed herself. “Was he wearing anything on his hands?”
“Gloves.”
“What type of gloves?”
“Leather.”
“Did he remove his clothes during the attack?”
“Only his pants.” Maxine gave her a sideways glance.
“What type of pants?”
“Jeans, I think.”
Beverly noted this. “What about his underwear?”
“He wasn’t wearing any,” Maxine responded in an undertone.
“Were there any distinguishing marks you noticed on his body?” Beverly asked.
Maxine closed her eyes. “He had a scar on his thigh.”
“Left or right thigh?”
“Right.”
“Any tattoos?”
Maxine froze, envisioning this. “There was one...”
“And where was that?”
Maxine hesitated. “Below his waist—where his pubic hair would be—”
Beverly raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying Santiago’s pubic hair was shaved?”
Maxine nodded.
This certainly hadn’t come out before for some reason. What an odd place for a man to shave and put a tattoo. Then again, there seemed to be no place on a body that was off limits these days. So why not the pubic area?
She looked at Maxine. “Can you describe the tattoo?”
After a moment or two, Maxine answered, “It was some sort of reptile...like a lizard—”
Beverly wrote that down. Was there something symbolic about having a lizard on your shaved pubic area?
“What color was it?”
“Green, red, and black,” Maxine responded almost mechanically.
“Do you think you’d recognize the tattoo again if you saw it?”
“Yes.” Maxine sighed. It was something she couldn’t forget even if she wanted to.
Good to know. That could be critical in the absence of the murder weapon in further identifying the suspect as her attacker.
“Had you ever seen Rafael Santiago before that night?” Beverly asked while tasting her now cold coffee.
Maxine pursed her lips. “No.”
“You’re sure?” Beverly pressed, not wanting to find out later that her knowledge of his anatomy came earlier. Not that she had any reason to disbelieve the victim’s story.
“Yes,” Maxine responded curtly.
Beverly swiveled her chair. “We’re just about through, Maxine,” she said, sounding like her physician. “Just need to ask you a few personal questions. You don’t have to answer them, but the defense is likely to ask simil
ar questions and the judge might permit him to. I just don’t want any surprises.”
“I have nothing to hide,” Maxine insisted testily.
“Judge Crawford was quite a bit older than you,” Beverly noted. “Why did you marry him?”
“Because I loved Sheldon, plain and simple.” Maxine held her gaze. “Other men only wanted me for my body or what they thought I could give them. But never my mind and soul.”
And Judge Crawford was different? Beverly pondered skeptically. He married a woman twenty years his junior for her mind and soul? Couldn’t he have found someone closer to his own age who fit the bill? Or did it help that she happened to be beautiful as well?
But who am I to say it wasn’t true?
Beverly met Maxine’s eyes and asked, “Have you ever cheated on your husband?”
Maxine stared at the question dourly. “No! I was faithful to Sheldon till the end.”
“Was he faithful to you as well?”
To this Maxine was not as quick to respond. “My husband is dead, for heaven’s sake,” she groaned. “What possible difference does it make?”
“Maybe none,” Beverly conceded. “Or it could mean that Rafael Santiago had an accomplice in killing Judge Crawford. Even a woman,” she pointed out. “It could have been blackmail. Or was motivated by revenge—”
“Sheldon was not having an affair!” Maxine’s brow creased in two places. “We had our issues like everyone else, but infidelity wasn’t one of them. Sheldon and I were happy together for the most part, no matter what anyone else chooses to think. I never gave him any reason to want to be with another woman.”
Men didn’t always need a reason. Even if a wife were willing to have oral, anal, or any other sex act her man chose to engage in. Sometimes variety, fantasy, and opportunity were more important to men than having a wife ready and waiting at home.
But was Maxine always ready and waiting for the judge’s sexual desires? Beverly wondered.
And was Sheldon Crawford really as faithful as she claimed? Or had he hooked up with a woman who turned out to be the mistress from hell, with Rafael Santiago as her partner in crime, complete with a lizard tattoo where his pubic hair should be?
State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller Page 13