“You mean the tattoo your attacker had on his pubic hair area the night he attacked you?”
Again Maxine paused, not wanting to say the wrong thing, but under oath to be truthful. “Yes.”
“You’re sure about that?” Ortega pushed her.
“Objection!” Beverly stood, trying to mitigate the damage before it got any worse. “The witness is obviously not sure she’s looking at—”
“Overruled,” Grant said lowly, refraining from looking at Beverly. “The witness will answer the question.”
“Perhaps this will help you,” Ortega said, and he handed her a second photograph. This one showed the tattoo from a slightly different angle and included the man’s penis.
Maxine looked from one picture to the other. The penis she saw was flaccid and she could not remember her attacker’s penis when it was not hard. But the lizard tattoo was indelibly etched in her mind like a nightmare that wouldn’t go away.
The photographs had to be of Rafael Santiago’s private parts. I wish I could see the face of the person in these photos, to be sure.
Could she have possibly identified the wrong man as her attacker?
But when Maxine went back to her identification of Rafael Santiago—first in a mug shot catalog and then a police lineup—she was certain she had picked out the right person. She would never forget that face and those eyes for as long as she lived.
Or the tattoo of a lizard that kept her sane in the darkest hour, even while epitomizing what that man had put her through.
“Yes,” Maxine said with renewed faith, “that’s the tattoo I saw on him—” Her eyes shifted towards the defendant, as if to leave no doubt.
Beverly’s mouth dropped. She knew that this bombshell threatened to blow their entire case out of the water. And who knew what effect that might have on her career as a trial lawyer?
A headache was beginning to develop and she feared it would only get worse.
Ortega quickly took the photographs from the witness and handed her another. “Is this the man who raped you and killed Judge Crawford?” he asked straightforwardly.
Maxine scrutinized the face, as if it was actual human flesh and not a picture. She saw the face she’d seen in her head over and over again.
It was his face.
Wasn’t it?
Unless he had a brother. An identical twin.
But Beverly had never suggested such during their preparation for the trial. Wouldn’t she have said something if she were in doubt about the man Maxine positively identified? Hadn’t the DNA evidence backed up her testimony?
On the other hand Maxine questioned whether or not the defense attorney would show her these pictures if they were of his client.
Maybe he was simply trying to confuse her. Make her doubt what she saw and who she saw attack her.
She looked again to the Assistant D.A. whose face betrayed concern, but was otherwise motionless.
“The witness will answer the question,” directed the judge.
Maxine closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was hoping the image would somehow be different. More or less like the defendant.
But it was the same.
“I cannot say for certain,” Maxine finally responded, deciding it might be best not to give the answer she believed to be true in her heart.
Ortega’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve already identified the tattoo worn by your assailant, Mrs. Crawford,” he snapped. “Now I suggest you take another look at this face and tell the court if this is the man you identified in a police lineup as your rapist and husband’s murderer.”
Maxine studied the picture again and looked up twice to see Rafael Santiago leering at her. The two had to be one. She couldn’t let him get away with this.
Looking up at the defense lawyer, she said in a barely audible voice, “Yes...”
“I couldn’t hear you,” Ortega pretended, demanding, “Can you repeat your answer for the jury?”
Tears streamed down Maxine’s face as she turned to the jury box and lifted her voice an octave, uttering, “Yes, it’s him...”
Ortega took the photograph from her and faced the jury, while announcing gleefully, even what he had trouble believing was true, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a picture of a man named Manuel Gonzalez. He’s currently being held in a Wilameta County jail on multiple murder and sexual assault charges—”
The courtroom was abuzz on that note and Judge Nunez called for an immediate recess.
Beverly sank back into her chair, this unexpected turn of events leaving her nauseous and uncertain where they went from there.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The hastily arranged lineup was ordered by the D.A., pending the results of a DNA test performed on Manuel Gonzalez. This, after Judge Nunez had granted a continuance to Beverly in order to further investigate the State’s case against Rafael Santiago.
In her heart of hearts, Beverly believed they had the right man in custody, even if her key witness to the crime was second-guessing her positive I.D. of Santiago. Photographs, no matter how clear, could be misleading. Misinterpreted. Unsettling. Especially under the pressure of an intimidating, grueling cross-examination.
But I saw Manuel Gonzalez with my own eyes and could barely tell him and Rafael Santiago apart. So why couldn’t Maxine be just as uncertain, given the obvious similarities between the two men, right down to their lizard tattoos?
Beverly knew from experience that a victim’s first instincts were usually the correct ones. That along with enough direct and circumstantial evidence against Rafael Santiago would have been enough to get a conviction in most instances.
And still would be in this case, she believed, should Gonzalez’s DNA fail to match that of Santiago’s as expected.
But what if that weren’t the case? What if they were identical twins, though both had vehemently denied it, as had Isabel Santiago, the woman believed to be Santiago’s birth mother?
Then we’ve got a real problem. With the same DNA and no fingerprint evidence to link either man to the scene of the crime against the Crawfords and Manuel Gonzalez confessing to the murder and sexual assault, the case against Rafael Santiago would crumble.
Especially with the eyewitness no longer sure which man she saw the lizard tattoo on.
Beverly hoped that by seeing both suspects in a lineup together, Maxine Crawford would bolster their case against Santiago by picking him again as her attacker.
Santiago and Gonzalez were separated in the lineup by two other Hispanic men and one tanned, white detective who could have passed for Hispanic. All were of similar build and height, while wearing the same orange jail issued attire.
Present in the viewing room were Beverly, Maxine Crawford, and Detectives O’Dell and Palmer. Both men had been cooperative in sharing information from their respective investigations and their determination to get to the bottom of this unfolding drama involving two men charged with murder and sex offenses.
“Take a good look at every man,” Beverly ordered Maxine. “If you need to look a second and third time, do it. And don’t pick out the man you think we want you to,” she added, glancing at the lineup herself. “We have to know that you can positively identify the actual man who broke into your house and committed the crimes against you and Judge Crawford. Even if that man is someone other than Rafael Santiago—”
Maxine sucked in a long breath as she peered through the one-way window. She was easily able to separate the two men who most fit the image from those who did not. She looked from one man to the next.
Unlike the photographs, she was better able to discern the differences between the men. One was slightly taller, the other a shade heavier. One had a curlier hairstyle, the other more straight and trimmed hair.
But she had not paid as much attention to these characteristics at the time the crime occurred.
Only the face of the man.
His penis.
And the lizard tattoo in his shaven pubic area.
T
he faces were very similar. Maxine tried not to quiver, but couldn’t help herself. So were the eyes—dark and sinister. Each seemed to be glaring at her as if they could see her, daring her to pick him. Or not.
She wanted so badly to put this dreadful nightmare behind her. Yet Maxine knew this would be impossible so long as the man who did this to her and Sheldon was not held accountable.
But what if she identified the wrong man?
Would the other go free...come after her...rape her again, and then kill her?
Maxine strained her eyes as she tried her best to see the man she had seen that night. She rested her gaze on Number Two. He seemed to be mocking her, much like the rapist-murderer.
“Can you ask Number Two to smile?”
O’Dell shouted into the microphone, ordering the man to put a smile on his face.
Maxine shook. She could see him smiling when he was raping her and when she had orally copulated him.
It was the same self-satisfying grin he wore when he shot Sheldon three times.
Turning to Beverly, she asked diffidently, “Can you ask him to pull down his pants please.”
Beverly could see the detectives inside the room rolling their eyes and probably allowing their imaginations to run wild.
She had O’Dell bring the suspect up to the window and expose himself.
Maxine looked above his circumcised penis, in spite of the erection, honing in on the area above it. There was a little more hair there now, but she could still make out the lizard tattoo with its multi colors against his sallow skin. It almost seemed to glow back at her.
She gulped and raised her eyes to the cold face of the man. A wicked half grin parted his lips and seemed entirely amused by the whole ordeal.
As if the devil in disguise.
Then, without warning, he slapped his foot on the floor, causing her to jump back involuntarily as if the man were about to break through the window and assault her. He then began to laugh loudly.
Maxine remembered that laugh, its particular nuance. It rang in her ears like the night he viciously sexually had his way with her.
“That’s him!” Maxine heard the roar of her voice echoing in her head.
“You’re sure about that?” Beverly stared at Number Two, unnerved by his ruthless, calculating demeanor.
“Yes.” Maxine did not back down. She was sure this was no mistake. “That’s the man who hurt me...murdered Sheldon—!”
Beverly winced and regarded the detectives.
It was Manuel Gonzalez.
* * *
Beverly met Grant that afternoon at a coffee shop in downtown Eagles Landing.
Both sipped on cappuccino as she broke the depressing news to him.
Grant, who had steadfastly thought Santiago was the perpetrator almost from the start, could not hide his shock and disappointment. “I can’t believe she really picked Manuel Gonzalez out of the lineup this time.”
“I know,” muttered Beverly, sharing his sentiments. She also knew that as a judge he was obliged to be objective in going with the ebb and flow of this case. But as a human, he was entitled to his own feelings on the matter.
She was also bound by the rules of evidence, testimony, and, yes, positive identification of the suspect. Yet these had to be supported by each other to make or break a case.
“On the other hand, you could see this coming after she failed under cross-examination to keep the focus on Santiago,” muttered Grant. “I don’t think Maxine Crawford really knows who she saw, given the resemblance between the two men. You could hardly tell them apart yourself.”
“Don’t remind me.” Beverly rolled her eyes, remembering that Gonzalez tried to kidnap her and worse. He was also sure to be convicted on three counts of murder and related charges. But that still didn’t mean he killed Judge Crawford and sexually assaulted his wife.
“When will the DNA test results come in?” Grant asked her over his cup.
“Should be any time now.”
“Good. I’m betting that the results will not support Gonzalez’s confession which, from what I understand, seems to be a half-baked effort to avoid the death penalty. It won’t work.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” agreed Beverly. The entire thing still made her nervous and left her case hanging for the moment as if in midair. “How do you think the jury will react to this, even if the DNA still points squarely at Santiago?”
Grant put his arm on the table. “I think they will act responsibly and let the evidence speak for itself—especially DNA evidence that would put the perpetrator right at the scene of the crime. The fact that two men look so much alike that their own mothers would have trouble telling them apart, assuming different mothers, I doubt the jury would fault Maxine for her confusion. They certainly won’t let Santiago walk once it becomes clear that Gonzalez’s desperate attempt to save his own neck failed to hold up under scientific scrutiny.”
Beverly licked cappuccino from her lips. “Looks like you left the D.A.’s office just in time. I think I’ve got an open and shut case and disaster strikes.”
Grant chuckled. “Don’t put the cart ahead of the horse, Bev. The case is still yours to be won or lost. But you can’t expect Ortega to roll over and play dead. He has every right to challenge your case against his client, even if he’s grasping at straws in my unbiased opinion.”
“Well, we’ll see about that,” she said, her confidence returning. “I just want this to be over quickly, so...”
“So what?” Grant asked after Beverly hesitated.
She gazed at his eyes. “So I can turn my attention more to my boyfriend and son.”
He frowned. “I hope that doesn’t mean you plan to retire early.”
She smiled. “It doesn’t. I think I still can do some good in bringing down the bad guys for years to come. But I also have a life and want to devote more time to it. Is that so bad?”
Beverly wondered if she sounded like a clinger to him, wanting more than he did out of the relationship and as a mother.
Grant smiled at her, reaching out to touch her hand. “Doesn’t sound bad at all. In fact, I was thinking the same thing.”
“You’re not just saying that?” A doubtful look danced in her eyes.
“Not at all, baby. I think we both could use more time together and away from all the headaches of the legal profession. In fact, I was thinking that after this case is over, maybe we could head to Cancun or Maui for some R&R.”
Beverly smiled dreamily. “That sounds really nice and I’d love it.”
“Glad to hear.” Grant lifted his cup and sipped coffee happily. “Oh, and by the way, who says I won’t find the courtroom from the bench’s perspective just a bit stiff and want to go back to being a trial lawyer?”
“Yeah, right,” she laughed. “That’ll be the day.”
Grant laughed back. Truthfully he had no intention of returning to the legal profession any time soon. But he would never say never, especially if he really got the ache to get back out there and fight like hell for justice.
Or if it meant losing Beverly, something he had no intention of ever doing. Right now he just wanted to be there to support her in this difficult and suddenly complex case she was embroiled in. No matter which way the pendulum swung.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Stone was still mulling over Manuel Gonzalez’s confession to yet another killing and sexual assault. In this one he claimed to have murdered criminal court judge Sheldon Crawford and sexually assaulted his wife. Maxine Crawford had validated his confession by picking Gonzalez out of a lineup, in spite of having previously identified another man as her rapist and the killer of Judge Crawford. Rafael Santiago’s trial was now underway.
At least it had been up until this latest wrinkle in the State’s case against Santiago, Stone thought. He was en route to the Wilameta County crime lab where the results had come in on Manuel Gonzalez’s DNA. Everyone involved was holding their collective breath on this one. No one wanted to believe
that the D.A.’s office had screwed up and put the wrong man on trial. But then letting the right man off the hook would have been an even greater injustice.
Personally Stone had his doubts about Gonzalez’s involvement in this other crime. Yes, he’d seen the uncanny resemblance between him and Santiago. And both men had the lizard tattoos and penchant for sexual violence.
Not to mention the crimes occurred the same night.
But the M.O. was all wrong here.
From his experience, killers did not like to vary their way of killing people. It had something to do with a comfort zone.
Gonzalez preferred knifing and strangling his victims over shooting them. There had been no guns found at the apartment he and Claudia Sosa shared.
That was not to say it was inconceivable that he had shot Judge Crawford and tossed the murder weapon. Sometimes killers proved to be highly unpredictable.
But were that the case, why would Gonzalez go after the judge and his wife? What possible connection could there be between the two crimes that night?
Furthermore, Stone had a problem with the time line. Based on the estimated time of death in both murders, he had driven the distance from Belle Park to Judge Crawford’s house. If Manuel Gonzalez had committed the crimes against the judge and his wife, he would have had to clock it there on mostly county roads and city streets at about seventy M.P.H. after killing Adrienne Murray.
Though possible, Stone was not about to bet the house on it. He couldn’t afford to bet against it either, considering the gray area between what they knew and didn’t know about the actual events that took place during the course of a crime spree, including sometimes under or overestimating the time frame.
All the speculation could be eliminated if the DNA tests showed that the semen and hair found at the scene of the crime could not have belonged to Manuel Gonzalez.
Stone hesitated to think beyond that. He finished off his coffee, tossed the cup into a plastic trash bag in the back of the car, and headed outside.
It was a cold, dreary day and Stone could see his breath as he walked up the steps of the building.
State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller Page 28