State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller Page 3

  Until then, she would be there for him as his father had not been. And never would be.

  Jaime wiped his mouth with a greasy napkin and slurped Root Beer through a straw. “Want some?” he asked, as if an afterthought.

  “I think not,” Beverly responded, wrinkling her nose at the notion. She drank bottled water instead.

  Jaime giggled. “Didn’t think so.” He sipped more soda.

  Beverly stared at her son, without making it too apparent. He had her brown hair, though a shade darker, in a short crew cut that was all the rage at school. Jaime had his father’s dun colored eyes and thick brows. At twelve, he was already nearly as tall as she was and on the chubby side. Even his feet—size nine and a half—were big for a boy his age. Beverly considered that perhaps Jaime was just a normal oversized kid in today’s society where most things seemed to be excessive and large. In fact, his baggy jeans and oversized jerseys actually made him look leaner than he really was.

  “You didn’t tell me how the case went.” Jaime looked across the dining room table, as if genuinely interested, surprising Beverly.

  For the most part her son had shown little interest in her law work. He had been far more impressed with his best friend Paco’s mother, who Jaime thought was hot, and always around as a stay at home Mom to do things with.

  Perhaps he’s beginning to appreciate what I do for a living, Beverly mused, even at the expense of being able to spend more time together. Maybe someday Jaime would even follow in her footsteps and become a lawyer.

  “Well, we won,” she told him, still feeling victorious, as if having won the national championship. Especially when thinking of how she and Grant had celebrated the occasion.

  “I’m glad.” Jaime gave her a proud, crooked smile.

  Beverly smiled back warmly. “I’m happy to hear that.”

  His smile seemed to evaporate. “How much did he help?”

  She raised a brow. “You mean Grant?”

  Jaime knew they had worked together on the trial and had gone out on a few dates, though Beverly was sure her son had no inkling of the extent of their relationship. She’d planned to tell him that she was seeing Grant, once she felt Jaime was ready to hear it. Maybe this was the time.

  “Yeah, him.”

  “Actually Grant helped quite a bit as co-counsel.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “In fact to be honest, I’m not sure we could have won without him.”

  Jaime leaned back in his chair so his head rested against the wall behind him. “Oh...” He stared thoughtfully. “Are you sleeping with him, Mom?”

  Beverly’s spine stiffened. “Jaime!” Her face colored. Just who have you been talking to about sex? Or do I even want to know? “That’s not the type of question a boy asks his mother,” she snapped.

  Jaime shrugged. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Was that the same way Dad looked at you?”

  Beverly bit her lip. “Grant and I are friends and colleagues,” she told him, deciding now wasn’t the right time to say more. “And your father was too busy looking at himself to notice me for the most part.”

  “But he noticed you at least once, didn’t he?” Jaime shot her a cold, crude look.

  Beverly could barely believe he was talking to her like this. Obviously her son was being told more about intimacy between a man and woman than she was comfortable with at this stage of his life.

  “Yes,” she responded sharply. “And after that he didn’t want to have anything to do with me—or you—” She was always straight with Jaime where it concerned Diego. She saw no need to paint a pretty picture about his father for false consumption. There wasn’t anything pretty about abandonment, disappointment, or betrayal.

  “We’re doing just fine the way we are,” pouted Jaime. “We don’t need anyone else in our lives.”

  Meaning she didn’t need anyone else in her life except her twelve-year-old son who was growing up way too fast. There had not been anyone else in her life for a very long time. She had dedicated herself almost entirely to Jaime and her career for longer than she cared to remember. Add to that in the last two years, her father, with his declining health.

  Wasn’t that enough? What more did her son want from her?

  Beverly wondered if it had been a mistake to spoil Jaime for so many years with undivided affections and perhaps too little attention given to respecting one’s elders. Could he ever accept another person in her life, including his ailing grandfather?

  Well he would have to, as she wasn’t willing to go back to the way things had been without romance and sex in her life. Grant was someone Jaime would have to contend with sooner or later if things remained on course as they were.

  The phone rang, breaking the silent standoff.

  “I think that’s for me,” Beverly uttered, though in no way feeling that was a certainty. Lately Jaime had been on the phone enough that she was sure he’d soon be demanding his own cell phone. She reached for the cordless on the table.

  She could see from the caller I.D. that it was Grant, making Beverly feel even more guilty of neglecting her son. After taking a breath, she said, “Hello.”

  “Flip the TV to channel 4.” Grant’s voice had a tense catch to it.

  “What’s on?” Beverly watched Jaime curl his lip perceptively and leave the table, disappearing down the hall. A moment later she heard his bedroom door slam, giving her a shiver.

  “You won’t believe it,” Grant said evasively. “A real shocker! Hurry up!”

  “All right, just a minute.”

  Her curiosity piqued, Beverly went into the hall, glancing once at Jaime’s closed door before moving towards the sunken living room. She’d purchased the single-level patio home nine years ago, right after passing the bar. It was in a beautiful old Eagles Landing neighborhood, separated somewhat from other homes by coastal redwood and lodgepole pine trees.

  Grabbing the remote off the rustic log coffee table, Beverly pointed it at the flat screen plasma TV.

  A female anchor, Nancy Novak, stared dramatically at the screen, while stating painfully, “In a recap of our breaking story, Superior Court Judge Sheldon Crawford was shot to death at his home tonight.” Beverly’s heart sank. “His wife, Maxine Crawford, was rushed to the hospital. No word yet on her condition. The assailant is apparently still on the loose and considered armed and dangerous—”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  He came in the back door of the duplex, hoping to avoid the usual confrontation with his old lady that seemed to be the story of his life these days. His clothes were wet and muddy. There was even some blood on his pants.

  Damn!

  He stepped into the kitchen and went over to the sink. He could hear the TV upstairs and figured it was safe to try and clean himself up a bit.

  But she would never let him off that easily.

  “Where were you?” The voice blared out of the shadows like a sonic boom.

  He jumped, though wishing he hadn’t, and faced her as she came into full view. A scowl ran the length of her olive face. Her dark blonde hair was worn in a layered bob, and a floral purple nightgown hung on wide hips.

  “Out,” he said simply.

  She moved closer, eyeing him suspiciously. “What the... You look like hell! Where have you been?”

  “At the lake.” It was true, in part. The rest she was better off not knowing, for her own sake.

  “You’ve got dirt all over you,” she spat, giving him the once over with narrowed chocolate eyes. “What the hell happened?”

  He sniffed. The smell of death was repugnant even to him. “You don’t really wanna know.”

  Her gaze rested on the dark red spots on his jeans. “You’re bleeding.”

  He wiped at his pants self-consciously. “It ain’t no big deal.”

  She refused to leave it alone. Slapping a hand on her hip, she demanded, “What have you done, Manuel?”

  “I ain’t done nothin’!” She was starting to piss him off—sticking her nose where it didn’t b
elong. One of these days, he just might have to cut it off and shove it down her damned throat.

  She glared at him. “That’s your blood, isn’t it?”

  He had to think fast. He sure as hell couldn’t tell her the truth and nothing but the truth. If something went wrong, she could testify against him. Couldn’t she? He’d heard that even a married woman could squeal on her husband, if she had her mind made up to do so.

  And knowing his old lady, her mind might already be made up if he confided in her.

  He smiled at her crookedly. “It’s fish blood. I told you I was at the lake. Thought I’d reel in some dinner for you, baby. Things got a little rough out there, but I stuck with it.”

  She darted her eyes from side to side with serious misgiving. “So where’s the fish?”

  “Out in the car,” he told her. “I just hadn’t gotten ‘round to bringing it in. If you don’t believe me, go see for yourself!”

  Her nostrils ballooned. “If you’re lying...”

  “I’m not,” he insisted boldly. “Check it out. Save me a trip to the car. I’ll go clean up and then fry it for you.”

  As he expected, she gave him the benefit of the doubt, dragging her lazy, ass back upstairs without another word. He would drop by the market and pick up some fish. She’d never know the difference.

  Bitch.

  His secret was safe for now. Maybe forever, if he had his way, like the others.

  He opened the fridge and got out a beer, opening it and taking a giant swig in one motion.

  He thought about the sweet looking woman he’d accosted at the park. She had not gone down easily. In fact, she’d put up one hell of a struggle, battling him tooth and nails to the very end. It had aroused him like never before.

  He loved a broad with spunk—especially one who probably wouldn’t have given a Latino like him the time of day. Not until he took it and her life, as a bonus.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Beverly had agreed to meet Grant at Eagles Landing Medical Center’s emergency room, where Maxine Crawford had been taken. It was what Grant called a preemptive strike, given the attention Judge Crawford’s murder was likely to generate. The Eagles Landing Police Department would be under tremendous pressure to make an arrest and the Wilameta County District Attorney’s office to get a swift and decisive conviction.

  All else would have to take a back seat for the time being.

  The fact that Judge Crawford’s last trial had taken place that very afternoon in a case Beverly had successfully prosecuted along with Grant, meant that they would be on the hot seat on this one.

  Was that trial connected to the judge’s death? Beverly wondered, entering the doors to the ER. Maybe it was some form of payback for upholding the guilty verdict against Suzanne Landon. But who would do such a thing after the fact?

  Beverly had told Jaime she wasn’t sure when she would be back, wishing the timing had been different. She was confident that in his own way he understood that her career obligations sometimes included working after hours and with little to no warning. Fortunately Jaime had reached the age where he could take care of himself for short lengths of time when she wasn’t there, though she always tried to be there when he got home from school and most evenings. She was proud of him for his maturity and responsibility, even if he may have grown up a little too fast for her comfort.

  There were still outstanding issues the two of them would have to resolve. And one of them included Grant.

  Beverly spotted Grant pacing around in the lobby as though he had lost his best friend. As far as she knew, he and Judge Crawford were only casually acquainted, which was more than her own relationship with the judge. She knew him only in the courtroom. Even then, Sheldon Crawford struck her as somewhat distant and unapproachable.

  When Grant saw Beverly he met her halfway, giving her a lightning quick hug. “Thanks for coming.”

  Beverly nodded, while thinking that he looked tired and ill at ease—unlike this afternoon when he was full of life and comfortable with her...inside her.

  “Have you found out anything?”

  “Nothing.” He threw his arms up in disgust. “The doctors aren’t talking about her condition. Maxine Crawford could be dying in there for all we know.”

  “What did the police say?” Beverly could see what looked to be detectives just down the hall. She thought she recognized one as Detective Joe O’Dell of the Eagles Landing Police Department’s, Homicide Division. They had worked together on a case or two. He had proven himself to be a thorough cop and an excellent witness.

  “Doesn’t look like she was shot,” said Grant. “Just bruised and in shock.”

  Beverly curled her lashes. “Who wouldn’t be in shock, under the circumstances?” She tried to imagine what it would be like to see your husband murdered right in front of you. She wondered why the assailant didn’t kill the judge’s wife, instead leaving an eyewitness to the crime who could testify against him. Had Mrs. Crawford gotten a look at him? Was it a male? Beverly had just finished a case where the culprit was a female. Who says it wasn’t a woman who offed the judge? “Do you think this could have had anything to do with the case we just tried?” she asked.

  Grant scratched his cheek. “Hadn’t really thought about it,” he said artlessly. “Judge Crawford has undoubtedly made more than his share of enemies over the years.”

  “But it was the timing of the attack,” Beverly said. “What if someone acting on behalf of Suzanne Landon decided to take out their revenge on her conviction by killing the judge who presided over her trial?” Even while saying it, Beverly realized that since the penalty phase had not yet taken place, there seemed little point in killing the judge beforehand. Unless the killer believed it would somehow make a difference in sentencing.

  “I didn’t get the feeling that Suzanne Landon had much of a fan club,” Grant voiced dismissively. “Besides, if she wanted to get anyone, it would be the people who convicted her of first degree murder!”

  He favored Beverly with narrowed eyes, as if to point the finger at the two of them. The notion left her slightly unsettled.

  “My point is that Landon is probably not behind Crawford’s death.” Grant’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t make it any less disturbing.”

  Beverly agreed. So who hated the judge enough to want to kill him? Could be anyone who ever came into his courtroom, she decided.

  Danger lurked at every turn for those who worked in the criminal justice system. It came with the territory. She herself had come face to face with death as a result of a case she had worked on. The most recent time was last year when a serial rapist on trial and out on bail actually cornered her in a bank parking lot. He had managed to threaten her with bodily harm and may have actually put words into action had a bank employee not come to the rescue.

  Since then Beverly had carried a loaded .40 caliber Glock in her purse, and was prepared to use it if she had to.

  Surely the judge must have had a gun, given the routine threats he probably received. Obviously he never got the chance to use it.

  Beverly cringed and gazed up at Grant. “Were you friends with the judge?” she asked curiously.

  He shook his head. “Not really. I’ve played racquetball with him on occasion while talking shop unofficially, but never socialized much outside of that. Why?”

  “No reason.” She twisted her lips musingly. “Just thought since you were here, you might have some inside information on why the judge was attacked.”

  Grant favored her steadily. “Yeah, I wish it were that simple. I don’t know any more than you do. I came to try and stay ahead of the curve in learning just what happened at the judge’s house tonight and how the D.A.’s office might approach it.”

  Beverly considered Judge Crawford’s wife for a moment. They had never met, but she had heard that Maxine Crawford was a good deal younger than her husband. And gorgeous. Might the attack have been directed towards her?

  “It was a good idea to see what we c
an learn before everyone else does,” she said.

  “I thought you would agree.”

  They watched as Detective O’Dell walked toward them. He was pushing forty, tall, and had dark Rastafarian locks.

  “Hello, Joe,” Beverly greeted him.

  He nodded politely. “Beverly. Nunez. You here to interview the judge’s wife?”

  Grant pursed his lips. “Not exactly. That’s your department, isn’t it?”

  O’Dell smiled slightly. “It is. I suppose Judge Crawford has high friends in high places.”

  “Not friends,” Beverly pointed out. And not at high as the judge was before being brought down to earth. “Just friendly observers.”

  “I see.”

  “So what have you got on this one?” Grant asked.

  O’Dell scratched his brow. “It appears that Judge Crawford was shot to death at point blank range with what looks to be a small caliber handgun. Half his face was blown away.” He paused, glancing uneasily at Beverly and back again. “He and Mrs. Crawford were in bed having sex at the time. Not sure if the judge ever knew what hit him.”

  Beverly swallowed. She had seen enough horrific crime scenes to last her a lifetime. But the thought of death occurring under such intimate, pleasurable circumstances sent shivers up her spine.

  “Did Maxine Crawford know what hit her?” she inquired.

  O’Dell seemed to ponder the thought. “Haven’t really had a chance to get a statement from her yet. At this point it looks like she’s damned lucky to be alive.”

  Grant bristled. “Yeah, right. You call watching your husband’s head explode luck?”

  The detective’s coal eyes shot him a nasty look. “I do when you consider the alternative.”

  Beverly felt obliged to step between the two, as if they were about to come to blows. “Hopefully Mrs. Crawford will be able to identify whoever did this,” she said wistfully.