State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller (27 page)

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—”

In this instance it was two against one and
Beverly was happy to succumb to their wishes as a measure of
desperation.

* * *

When they got to the house, Beverly had
butterflies in her stomach. The Spanish eclectic home with its
carved stonework and red tile roof reminded her of when she was
young and both parents were hard working, healthy people. Now her
mother was dead and father was who knew where.

God, please let him be here
, she
prayed, though considering it a long shot at best.

Jaime rang the bell and Grant held Beverly’s
hand for support as the door opened. Beverly gasped when she saw
her father standing there, looking very much like he belonged.

“Oh, Papa,” she cried. “We were looking all
over for you.”

Beverly embraced her father and felt his
tears as well.

“He came here saying this was his house,”
explained Sonja Clemente, the current occupant. She was petite and
in her early fifties. “He expected to find Maria here. I knew he
was lost—”

She had already called the police who were on
their way.

Beverly felt a mixture of relief and sadness
that it had come to this. “You had us all so worried, Papa. You
shouldn’t have left the nursing home.”

Alberto wiped the tears from his crinkled
eyes. “I just wanted to be near Maria,” he sobbed. “She’s here, you
know.”

“I know, Daddy,” she sought to pacify him,
but agreed that her mother would always be there in spirit.

Indeed, Beverly could almost feel her
mother’s presence somehow guiding her father to safety. She smiled
at him through watery eyes. In spite of being inadequately dressed
for the five-mile walk, he did not seem the worse for wear.

“We weren’t going to let anything bad happen
to you, Grandpa,” said Jaime, elated that it was his suggestion
that led them to find him.

Alberto looked at his grandson with an
appreciative, if not confused, smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“I gave him something to eat,” Sonja said.
“He had no trouble finishing it.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” Beverly told her
gratefully.

“None of us can,” Grant concurred, happy that
this hadn’t turned out worse. Beverly had enough on her plate
without having to lose her father, too.

“I’ve been there,” Sonja said sentimentally.
“Both my parents were also in the same condition.” She was careful
with her words, so as not to have Alberto hear anything too
disheartening that he might be able to comprehend.

When they took him back to the nursing home,
all were ecstatic to have Alberto back safe and sound. Including
the other residents, where they were all one big, happy family
again.

But Beverly was not happy that the staff had
been negligent, nearly causing a real tragedy.

“I expected my father to be taken care of
here,” she spoke harshly to the director, Mildred Irwin. “How could
you let him walk away, with no one trying to stop him?”

Mildred was in her late forties, tall and
athletic in build with short red hair. “I can’t tell you enough how
sorry I am,” she expressed, sincerity in her freckled face. “The
nurse that was on duty has been fired. Apparently your father
scaled a six foot fence designed to keep the residents in the yard.
That’s never been done before. It was as if he had a purpose and
was determined to see it through...even in his diminished
capacity—”

“Papa was always pigheaded,” Beverly
admitted. It was amazing that, of all the things her father could
retain, he somehow remembered how to make his way to the house
where he and her mother had spent their wedding night. “I guess
some things never change, no matter what...”

But that was not enough to let the nursing
home off the hook. She dreaded the thought of a repeat
performance.

“What assurances can you give me that this
will never happen again?” Beverly asked the director
straightforwardly.

“We’re adding four feet of fence to the top
in the yard,” Mildred promised. “The ten foot high barrier should
make it virtually impossible for anyone to scale it successfully
without being noticed. Also, we’re hiring some additional staff to
be able to better keep track of all the patients when they are out
for some exercise.”

Why hadn’t they done that from the start?
Beverly wondered. It could have saved a lot of grief and
frustration. Better late than never, she decided, choosing to give
them the benefit of the doubt as a place that had otherwise been
good for her father.

She, for one, was resolved to pay much closer
attention to the surroundings and safety of him as well as to the
commitment of the staff to treat her father and others with dignity
and respect.

When they left the nursing home, Beverly
assured her father that she and Jaime would never be too far
away.

In her mind Beverly added Grant to that
pledge, who had come running when she called, and seemed very much
like a man who wanted to be there for the long haul.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Walter McIntosh walked into Beverly’s office,
seemingly looking over his shoulder, as if he were being followed.
She had been anxiously awaiting the results of his investigation,
if only to eliminate any potentially embarrassing disclosures
during the trial by the defense. But something told Beverly that
Walter, like her, was walking a tight line in what he could do.

Or would do.

He had a thick file folder in hand.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” Beverly
observed.

Walter was not smiling when he said, “You
don’t know the half of it.”

“Enlighten me then,” she said, staring up at
him from her desk.