State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller

by Flowers, R. Barri

  “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 watch
ed 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?

  I don’t believe for one minute that Chuck didn’t recognize Gonzalez, the detective mused. On the contrary, something told Stone that the man knew exactly who Gonzalez was well before looking at his picture. The question was just how well did the two know each other?

  And had it cost Adrienne her life?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you orchestrated the whole thing,” Beverly said over the phone, a hint of suspicion in her tone. She had phoned Grant the moment she got back to her office regarding his judicial assignment of the Santiago trial. It was an hour later that he returned her call.

  “But you do know better,” Grant replied lightheartedly. “As much as I’d like to take credit for positioning myself to preside over you in the courtroom, it was strictly Judge Thompson’s call.”

  “I suppose,” she hummed. Realistically Beverly knew that criminal trials were assigned to judges randomly or based on their current load. But that didn’t mean the rules couldn’t be broken. Had they been here? If so, why?

  “Besides, when you think about it,” Grant said without apology, “who is more appropriate to be the judge in Judge Sheldon Crawford’s courtroom than the man who took his place?”

  Beverly couldn’t argue about the merits of his appointment. Or the irony. Still, the notion of Grant presiding over this trial—her trial—made her uneasy for some reason.

  “You know, we might just have a little conflict of interest here,” she pointed out for his reaction.

  “Not that I can see.” Beverly could picture Grant dismissing this with a quick bat of the eye. “There’s nothing that says lovers can’t be in the same courtroom at the same time,” he said. “It’s not like we haven’t done it before—”

  “I didn’t mean that.” Or did she? Beverly’s palms suddenly grew damp. The fact was they had always been on the same team before. On equal footing. Now he was in a position to exert authority over her.

  Not to mention show favoritism one way or the other during the proceedings. After all, Grant would be standing in judgment over a man who had also once threatened his life. Might this affect Santiago’s chance for a fair trial?

  Although Beverly had no problem gaining any edge she could over her opponent, she wanted to win this case fair and square. It was the only real way to savor the victory, like tasting fine wine without the bitterness.

  I don’t want you to use us to get him. Or am I just being overly paranoid for no good reason?

  As it was, she knew that as the judge Grant was not the jury nor were the lawyers. His power in the court had checks and balances. Meaning Rafael Santiago’s guilt or innocence was not something Grant had sold authority over. Even then, Beverly knew deep down inside that the man she had fallen in love with was an honorable, above board person.

  “Relax, Bev.” Grant’s voice was as smooth as silk and confident. “We’re both professionals. And we both want to see justice served, not make up our own brand of justice along the way. Santiago will have every opportunity to prove his innocence, without prejudice on my part.”

  “Well that’s a relief,” Beverly joked. “For a moment there I was afraid you might show some bias against me during the heated proceedings.”

  A hearty laugh boomed into the phone. “I promise I won’t treat you any different than I would any other attorney, Ms, Mendoza. But I wouldn’t mind one bit if you treated me just a little kinder than you do most judges—”

  Beverly found herself laughing. She had always been respectful to judges, so long as the same was returned. But she appreciated Grant’s crafty way of putting the situation in its proper perspective.

  It was not about her or him. It was about Rafael Santiago.

  And, to a certain extent, Maxine Crawford.

  Beverly watched her phone light up, indicating another caller. “There’s someone on the other line,” she told Grant. “Hang on a minute and I’ll get rid of the person—”

  Before he could protest, she put him on hold.

  “Beverly Mendoza. May I help you?”

  “Ms. Mendoza,” the voice said edgily, as if carrying a great weight, “this is Lynda Flanagan of the Suncrest Nursing Home—”

  “Yes...?” Beverly said, her heart suddenly pounding hard. She expected the woman to say that her father had passed away. Though this was something Beverly had braced herself for, it was nothing she wanted to hear anytime soon.

  “I’m afraid I have some distressing news—” Lynda seemed to be trying to find the words to express it. “Your father is...missing.”

  “Missing?” said Beverly, baffled. “What do you mean missing?”

  “He seems to have just walked away,” she said tonelessly. “The nurse was watching him in the yard one moment and then he was gone—”

  Beverly’s temples throbbed. She could not believe what she had just heard. “How does a seventy-four-year-old Alzheimer’s patient simply vanish?”

  “We’re doing everything we can to find your father, Ms. Mendoza,” Lynda said apologetically. “I’m really very sorry about this—”

  “Sorry—!” Beverly shrieked into the mouthpiece. “You let my father just wander off to who knows where—and all you can say is you’re sorry?” Her eyes burned like acid. “If anything happens to him, I’m holding you and your staff fully responsible! Do you understand me?”

  “Perfectly,” she stammered.

  Beverly hung up with rancor and took a moment to compose herself before remembering that Grant was still on the other line.

  Her voice was shaking like a leaf as she told him, “Seems as though my father has run away—”

  * * *

  Grant joined Beverly and Jaime in canvassing the neighborhood in search of her father. In spite of half the nursing home staff and the police also looking for him, so far there was no sign of Alberto Elizondo. It was as if he had simply vanished off the face of the earth.

  “Do you have any idea
where he might have gone?” Grant asked Beverly. They had spent the past two hours seemingly going around in circles.

  Beverly crinkled her mouth. “I don’t think Papa has any idea where he might go,” she said sadly. “He could be anywhere—”

  “How far can an old man go?” Grant strained his eyes to look out into the distance in the dwindling late afternoon sunlight.

  The thought that her father could be lying in a ditch somewhere, hurt, all alone, and unable to call out for help petrified Beverly.

  What if Papa has died? She tried not to even think such thoughts, praying that they would find him alive, if not well.

  “Maybe Grandpa is trying to go home,” suggested Jaime, looking miserable with concern.

  Beverly wished she could reassure him that this would all turn out right. But she knew she couldn’t. Alzheimer’s disease had a way of destroying everything in its path like a tidal wave. Her father had been swept up in it and there was no turning back. She could only hope that they could delay the inevitable.

  This required locating him before it was too late.

  “Papa’s old home is farther away than he could ever go,” she told her son despondently. Beverly guessed that the house she grew up in was at least five miles away and out of reach for a man who’s memory had been pretty much wiped out.

  “But you told me that sometimes Gramps was his old self.” Jaime’s voice broke as if he were about to cry. But he refused to break down, trying to be strong. “So maybe he got lonely and wanted to be where he felt more comfortable and loved—”

  “I only wish that were true,” Beverly said sorrowfully, for at least they would know where to find him.

  “I’ll bet Grandpa did go there,” Jaime persisted, optimism in his voice mixed with angst, “looking for Grandma.”

  “I don’t think—” Beverly started to say, not wanting him to have false hope.

  “Maybe Jaime is onto something,” Grant cut in. “Your father doesn’t seem to be anywhere else, but we know he’s out there somewhere. I’d say it’s worth a try—”