Before Beverly could get to the front door, it was opened and Grant stepped out. “We were wondering if you’d gotten lost,” he joked. “We actually considered starting Thanksgiving dinner without you—”
He stopped himself short and furrowed his brow as she stepped into the light coming from the foyer. Only then did Beverly become consciously aware of her somewhat disheveled appearance. She had tried to make herself look presentable as best as possible, but found she was too upset to care.
“What the hell happened to you?” Grant put his hand under her chin, which had been slightly nicked by the knife and drawn blood that had dried.
“Where are Papa and Jaime?” she asked first, not wanting them to hear or see her like that.
“They’re in the den watching TV.”
“Good,” Beverly said. After sucking in a deep breath, she managed, “I was almost kidnapped—”
* * *
Beverly explained every frightening detail of her encounter with Manuel Gonzalez to Grant in the privacy of her bedroom, including being rescued by Stone Palmer and the Sheriff’s Department brigade.
“Good heavens!” Grant exclaimed, incredulity creasing his face in several places. “That bastard could have—”
“But he didn’t,” Beverly reminded him even as her pulse boiled at the prospect. “The police were after Gonzalez. They think he killed at least three other women. Thankfully the stolen car he was driving was spotted in the store parking lot.”
Grant was sure his blood pressure had risen after hearing that his girlfriend had nearly become a murder victim. He was familiar with the police investigation into Gonzalez, suspected of stabbing to death his girlfriend and two other women. But from what he understood, the victims were all living in his vicinity. But that didn’t mean the killer couldn’t have broadened his range and targets.
“Why’d the bastard choose you to go after you?” Grant asked, as if Gonzalez needed a reason.
It was something Beverly had asked herself more than once. She had no answer, except for maybe pure chance and being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Even then she suspected that the question from Grant was really more rhetorical, since he knew it could just as easily have been any female Gonzalez happened to run into by accident or design.
“He’s the same man I saw at Burger King, Grant.” Beverly felt dirty in her clothes and wanted to take a shower. “Gonzalez admitted that he had followed us home that night and broke into the house.”
Grant’s gaze betrayed feelings of anger and regret.
Beverly broke down, as her emotions came to the surface. “I never felt so helpless as when he had the knife to my throat and wanted to take me somewhere. All I could think of was never seeing Jaime again. Or you—”
“It’s all right, babe,” said Grant, doing his best to comfort her and still his own ire threatening to boil over. I should have been there to protect her from that asshole. “The son of a bitch is never going to get the chance to ever hurt you again.” Not if Manuel Gonzalez wound up in his courtroom.
“He’s like the spitting image of Santiago,” Beverly told him. “Grant, the two could be twin brothers—if Santiago had a brother!”
Grant used the back of his fingers to gently wipe the tears staining her cheeks. “Doesn’t matter whether they’re kin or not,” he stated firmly. “The full weight of the law will be brought down on both of them so they get everything they deserve.”
Beverly sniffed and gazed up into his eyes. He had been every bit as strong and supportive as she had imagined. She was happy that he was there for her when she needed him most.
“I have everything I deserve,” she said softly, “in you.”
Grant relaxed his jaw, kissing her. “We’ll see about that. Right now, I suggest you take a quick shower, change clothes, and get back out there and feed your family. Otherwise they may stage a mutiny.”
Beverly laughed. “You’re right.” It was time to get back to the true spirit of Thanksgiving.
* * *
The meal was served in the dining room and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Beverly noted that even her father seemed almost like his old self, joking and laughing. But inevitably he would become disoriented and not know where he was or who they were.
“Why can’t Maria be here?” Alberto asked, his craggy face dreary.
“Grandma is in heaven, Grandpa,” Jaime said sympathetically, stuffing a buttered roll in his mouth.
“Heaven?” Alberto put his finger to his mouth, as if wondering where exactly that was.
“It’s a place where all the angels gather,” Beverly told him. “A place where you’ll be someday, Papa.”
“You think so?”
“Count on it,” declared Grant, forking a tender piece of roast beef. “And it’s a place where Beverly and Jaime will also be one day. Isn’t that right, Jaime?”
Jaime chuckled. “Yeah, but if it’s all the same to you, Your Honor, I’d rather stay here amongst the earthlings for a bit.”
Grant laughed. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “Something tells me you still have quite a few of these delicious meals left to enjoy.” He scooped up some candied yams. “Frankly, I’m with you, Jaime. Let’s see if we can bribe Beverly into hanging around a lot more years herself, if only for her cooking.”
“Yeah, let’s do it.” Jaime laughed boisterously.
Grant followed suit. Even Alberto joined in, prompting Beverly to burst into laughter also. She couldn’t help but think that this was about as good as it got: sharing a Thanksgiving Day meal and joy with her family. That included Grant, who had shown that he wanted to be part of the world she had created for herself. And she wanted him there every bit as much.
She savored the thought of there being permanency to what they had about as much as Beverly abhorred the thought of what could have turned out to be a disastrous Thanksgiving. She had the feeling that an angel was on her shoulder, protecting her from evil men like Manuel Gonzalez and Rafael Santiago. It was up to prosecutors like her to do their part in putting these men away. Or live with the consequences.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Two days later Stone walked into an interrogation room at the county jail. A handcuffed and shackled Manuel Gonzalez was sitting at the table accompanied by a burly, mean looking guard. Gonzalez was wearing the standard inmate orange garb. Unlike the night of the arrest, the crackhead appeared calm, almost content.
He nodded at the guard, who then left, and glanced at the one-way mirror. On the other side Lieutenant Kramer and Chang watched.
“You’re in a lot of trouble, Manuel,” Stone told him, playing the good guy before the bad ones came in. He put a tape recorder on the table, turning it on.
“Think I care?” Manuel snorted.
“Not really. But I do.” Stone narrowed his eyes. “And the family members of the women you killed care, too.”
Manuel said nothing, staring straight ahead, as if in a trance. He had waived his right to an attorney during questioning, but Stone knew this could change at any time, so he had to try to get as much out of him as he could.
“Let’s talk about Adrienne Murray.” Stone turned a chair backwards and sat across from the suspect. “You remember her, don’t you? You waited for her outside her office building—the same office where your girlfriend Claudia Sosa worked—”
He detected a bit of remorse in Manuel’s brown eyes for killing his girlfriend, if not Adrienne.
“Then you raped and sodomized Adrienne Murray, stabbed her repeatedly, and dumped her body in the lake!” Stone’s voice grew rancorous. “Does that ring a bell?”
Manuel sneered. “Yeah, so I did it, man, okay!”
“No, it’s not okay, man!” Stone said, as though speaking to a nine-year-old. But it was an important first step, as he was confessing to the crime after being read his rights. “It’s never going to be okay! Not for her husband, Chuck Murray, who loved Adrienne more than life itself—”
Stone watched him react to this as he hoped Gonzalez would.
“You knew Chuck Murray, didn’t you?” he asked. “He visited the building where his wife worked almost as much as you did.”
Manuel laughed snidely. “Yeah, I knew him. So what?”
“Were you friends?”
“Yeah. Right.” Manuel paused, rolling his eyes. “All right, I did it for him—”
“Did what?” Stone glanced at the tape recorder, then the one-way mirror.
“I offed his old lady,” Manuel declared bluntly.
Stone peered at him. “Are you saying Chuck Murray hired you to kill his wife?”
“Yeah, man.” Manuel swallowed. “That’s what I’m sayin’.”
Stone inhaled a deep breath and leaned forward. “Now why would Chuck Murray pay you to sexually assault and kill his wife?” he asked with some skepticism.
Manuel turned hard eyes on him. “To teach her a lesson, man. He said she was messin’ around on him and playing with his head. He was afraid she was gonna leave him. He wanted her dead, but not before I treated her like the whore he thought she was—”
Stone’s palms grew sweaty. Part of him had wanted to believe Chuck was innocent of any wrongdoing. The other part had seriously doubted that was the case. He’d obviously been obsessed with his wife. But had that really lead to a murder-for-hire?
They needed more than this asshole’s words of complicity on Murray’s part. Especially when Gonzalez would say anything if he thought it might help him down the line.
“Why would you agree to kill Adrienne Murray?” Stone’s lips were a straight line.
“Why not?” Manuel shrugged without emotion.
“That won’t cut it, Manuel!” Stone glowered at the suspect. “Unless you’re straight with me, you’re going down on this one all by your lonesome—”
Manuel lifted his cuffed hands and scratched his face vigorously. “I owed him money, man,” he said unevenly.
Stone reacted. “Money for what?”
“He was a dealer.”
“You mean he dealt in illicit drugs?” Stone wanted to confirm.
“Yeah—crack, heroin, weed, you name it,” Manuel said. “I owed him. This was a way to wipe the slate clean. I got what I wanted...he got what he wanted. Simple as that.”
Stone could almost see his colleagues in the other room with their heads spinning. Chuck Murray a drug dealer? And a conspirator in the rape and murder of his wife?
It seemed almost too good to be true. Except for the fact that Stone had sensed all along that Chuck Murray had it in for his wife. And he’d used a crack addict to do his dirty work for him.
But he still needed more than just words and gut instincts to go after Murray.
“Do you have any proof to back up these claims?” Stone asked.
Manuel showed his dingy teeth. “He didn’t give me no receipt, if that’s what you’re askin’, man. Why would I lie?”
“Good question. Why don’t you tell me, Manuel?” Stone fixed his face. Since there was never any talk of a deal being offered and little likelihood that would change any time soon, there seemed to be little gained at this point by implicating Chuck Murray just for the hell of it.
“He showed up in the hood,” claimed Manuel, “with some cheap crack. Ask around. They knew him as the white amigo ‘cause he like stood out from Latinos with his chalky white skin—”
Stone pondered that. “What about Penelope Grijalva? Are you saying Chuck was involved in her murder, too?”
Manuel lowered his eyes. “I ain’t gonna lie about it,” he said flatly. “That bitch I did myself. She got what she wanted. It felt real good killing her. You know, like the feeling you get when gettin’ yourself off—”
A real psycho asshole, mused Stone, distressed that he even had to give him the time of day.
He set his jaw. “Did it also feel good when you stabbed your girlfriend twelve times?”
Manuel gazed bleakly at him. “Hey, she left me no choice,” he asserted. “I was high...scared. I panicked, man—”
Strangely, Stone believed that something inside Gonzalez made him regret having to kill her. Claudia Sosa was probably the one person in the world who actually cared about Manuel Gonzalez and this was how she was rewarded? With three women dead, the man was facing a sure death sentence himself as surely as the death sentence he had given them.
And, if Gonzalez’s allegations turned out to be true, Chuck Murray would be next in line for a lethal injection.
* * *
Street snitches confirmed that Chuck—alias the white amigo—was indeed a major cocaine dealer in and out of the Latino hood. That and Manuel Gonzalez’s taped statement were enough to get an arrest warrant issued for Chuck Murray on suspicion of conspiring to murder Adrienne Murray.
Murray’s attorney was notified that the arrest was imminent, agreeing to bring his client in. When that didn’t happen on schedule, Stone, Chang, and a few Sheriff’s deputies were dispatched to Chuck’s house.
Stone arrived, feeling depressed and disappointed. He had listened to this man profess his innocence. Now it turned out Chuck Murray had been guilty of far more than they had imagined. Putting crack out on the streets of Eagles Landing would undoubtedly cause more deaths, pain, and misery. And maybe spawn a new era of Manuel Gonzalezes who would be willing to kill to support a habit.
The house was surrounded and Murray was ordered to come out with his hands up. When there was no indication that he was prepared to do this, his attorney intervened, hoping to get him to surrender before force was used.
Jonathan Hutchinson emerged from the house within moments, his fleshy countenance looking weary. “He’s dead,” the attorney announced unceremoniously. “Looks like he killed himself—”
Inside, Stone found Chuck Murray crumpled on the bedroom floor like a collapsed skyscraper. Blood oozed from a gaping gunshot wound in his temple. He had apparently committed suicide. By his side lay a .357 Magnum.
A hastily scribbled note on the dresser read:
I never wanted to hurt Adrienne. But I was hurting, too. I was always afraid of losing her. Now we can always be together and no one can take her away.
Chuck.
The note was bagged as evidence.
Stone was satisfied that Chuck Murray had indeed solicited Manuel Gonzalez to violate and murder his wife in order to humiliate her and rid himself of his constant insecurity about their relationship. He had chosen the perfect patsy and killer in Gonzalez, who found killing to be as addictive as crack cocaine.
An unsettled feeling remained in Stone’s stomach like indigestion long after the body had been carted off and the house sealed pending completion of the investigation.
It wasn’t over yet, he told himself that night in bed. For his part, Manuel Gonzalez still had to be held accountable for Adrienne Murray’s death.
And at least two other murders.
Then there was the attempted kidnapping of Beverly Mendoza. The Assistant D.A. had likely been minutes away from being driven to her grave had luck not stepped in and Gonzalez spotted.
The thought comforted Stone. The last thing they needed was to have a dead prosecutor on their hands with a lunatic still on the loose.
Now everyone could rest a little easier—at least for tonight.
He held his wife, settling against her warm body and appreciating the fact that she was there as solace to the hard, cold realities of the world out there.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Beverly watched through the one-way glass with interest as detectives grilled Manuel Gonzalez. He had been charged with the murders of three women, including the woman he lived with. Two had been strangled and one sexually assaulted. All had been stabbed repeatedly—apparently by the same knife he had held to her throat.
Beverly felt chilled at the frightening actuality that she had been slated to become Gonzalez’s next victim. For this, he also faced charges of attempted kidnapping and assault. She had evidently b
een targeted strictly at random rather than for her position as an Assistant D.A. or anything to do with the Santiago case.
Beverly had been given extra reason to give thanks on Thanksgiving Day. If she hadn’t known it before, she did now. She had every reason in the world to be grateful for all the things in her life, for it could have all been taken away in an instant with no chance to get it back.
Her eyes latched onto Gonzalez through the window. If Beverly hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was looking right at her. Laughing at her. Telling her that this wasn’t over yet. That she had still better watch over her shoulder, for the grim reaper just might abduct her yet and do horrifying, unimaginable things to her.
And there was not a damned thing she could do about it except wait in terror until he came calling for her when she least expected it.
The truth was Beverly knew Manuel Gonzalez, for all his smugness and seemingly cool detachment, was no longer a threat to her. Or any other woman in Eagles Landing. With Stone Palmer insisting they had a strong case against him on all counts, there was little chance he would ever taste freedom again.
But what piqued Beverly more was Manuel Gonzalez’s striking resemblance to Rafael Santiago. She honestly wondered if Maxine Crawford would be able to tell the two apart. Not that she needed to.
From what Beverly knew, the similarities between Gonzalez and Santiago were strictly superficial and happenstance. Though the same age, one man was Mexican-American. The other Cuban. Their hair was cut differently, albeit the same jet-black. Both were career criminals.
But the differences were even more telling. One had killed with a handgun. The other preferred his bare hands or a switchblade as his choice of murder weapons.
Manuel Gonzalez had never been in Judge Crawford’s courtroom, by all accounts, virtually eliminating him as a suspect in the judge’s death by way of motive. Then there was the fact that his DNA was not found at the scene of Sheldon Crawford’s murder.
It was just the opposite for Rafael Santiago, who had the motive, means, and the DNA evidence, along with the victim identification to support his guilt in the slaying of Judge Crawford and the sexual assault of his wife Maxine.
State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller Page 24