State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller (30 page)

Grant sealed the deal with a kiss.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

As he did every Thanksgiving Day, Stone took
over the kitchen. It was a tradition that he was proud of—using the
cooking skills that had been passed down the generations of his
family and too often ignored by him to give his wife a break from
slaving over the stove. While Joyce always griped a little about
it, being comfortable with her own cuisine, overall she seemed to
appreciate Stone becoming a once a year chef.

The entire family was there for the holiday
feast. Anna and Chad had come home from college and Joyce’s parents
drove down from Oregon, where they had moved a few years ago.

Manuel Gonzalez was still on the loose,
having managed to evade the dragnet across the city for more than a
week. Stone considered that he might have left Northern California,
if not the entire state. But something told him that the man was
still there in the Eagles Landing area, waiting to be caught like a
mountain lion.

It was only a matter of time.

Just as it was that Stone would be able to
determine whether or not Chuck Murray had played any role in the
death of his wife, Adrienne.

Stone was barely aware of the phone ringing
as he poured the sweet potato batter into two pie crusts. When
Joyce stepped into the kitchen doorway, a dour look creased her
face.

“It’s for you.”

“Can you take a message?” he asked on a sigh.
“I have my hands pretty full right now.”

A moment later Joyce was back. “It’s Gordon,”
she said sullenly. “He says it’s urgent.”

Stone frowned. He had made Joyce a promise
that there would be no police business today. Not with the kids and
her parents there.

Maybe it was not so urgent that his partner
couldn’t delay whatever was on his mind till tomorrow.

“Yeah, Chang,” Stone grumbled into the phone.
“What’s up?”

“Gonzalez was been spotted by one of our
cruisers,” Chang spoke loudly. “He’s inside a Kelbow Supermarket
not far from your place. Thought you might want to be there when we
make the arrest.”

Stone moistened his lips. “You’re sure it’s
Gonzalez?”

“He was seen leaving a car that matched the
description of the last one he stole.” Chang sneezed nastily into
the phone. “The license plate checked out.”

Stone thought about it for a moment. He
wanted this bastard so badly he could almost taste it. Nothing
would give him greater pleasure than to personally slap the cuffs
on Manuel Gonzalez for the murder of Adrienne Murray and his
girlfriend, Claudia Sosa, for starters. And, with any luck, he
could be back home before they began to miss him too much.

“I’m on my way, man,” he told Chang.

Before Joyce could say anything—and she had
been watching him all the while like a hawk—Stone kissed her
regretfully on the mouth.

“I’m sorry, hon. Duty calls. Looks like we’ve
got the bead on the man who’s likely killed at least three women
that we know of. I have to go.”

“Where—?” One hand clung to Joyce’s hip like
it was stuck there.

Stone told her, as he always did in a
potentially dangerous situation. But they both knew it came with
the territory. Didn’t mean he had to like it.

“You be careful, Stone,” she pleaded, fear
dancing in her eyes. “If anything were to happen—especially on
Thanksgiving Day.”

“Nothing will,” he told her comfortingly. Not
if he could help it. “I won’t be long.” Stone handed her his apron,
knowing she knew what to do with it. “I love you—”

He heard the words repeated back to him even
as Stone was dashing out of the room and hoping they could finally
get this son of a bitch before anyone else felt the cold steel of
his blade.

CHAPTER FORTY

Beverly squeezed the cart past another in the
too small aisle. As had become customary for her during the
holidays, she had put off getting some key essentials till the last
moment. This year was no different. She was making roast beef and
baked potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner, with a green salad and
apple pie. But she had forgotten a few odds and ends like salad
dressing and dinner rolls; along with a few snacks. Thank goodness
some stores were staying open later on holidays.

Grant had been invited to have Thanksgiving
dinner with them and had accepted gratefully, anxious to get closer
to Jaime. Beverly wanted that as well and felt that Grant had
already taken some steps in the right direction, as had Jaime. She
could imagine the day when they would be together as a real family
and share all the holidays.

Jaime had become more open to the prospect
that it might be a good idea to have someone special as part of
their lives on a permanent basis.

He also wanted to bring home for Thanksgiving
someone who had long been a part of their lives—his grandfather.
Beverly thought it was a terrific idea and Grant agreed. She knew
Alberto Elizondo would never be the same person who raised her, but
he would always be her father no matter what. He deserved to spend
a day of thanks with his family. He’d had a full life and loving
family, and for that they had much to be thankful for.

Having collected her groceries, Beverly stood
at the checkout counter. In her peripheral she saw a man walking
out the door. She turned to look at him and saw that he was already
looking at her. His dark eyes were cold and sinister.

Beverly froze. He looked very much like the
man from Burger King.

Who happened to be a carbon copy of Rafael
Santiago.

A shiver ran up and down Beverly’s spine. Had
he followed her there?

Is this the man who broke into my house?

The police were of the opinion that the
burglar was a professional thief who had burglarized some nearby
homes recently.

But could he have also been a murderer? A
rapist?

A stalker
?

Chill
, Beverly ordered herself,
borrowing a phrase from Jaime and his friends. Rafael Santiago was
solely responsible for what he was being charged with. No matter
how many other people looked like him.

And she had no proof that this other man had
broken into her house and followed her to the store or
elsewhere.

He probably wasn’t even looking at me.
Not everyone who happened to turn her way was actually staring at
her.

By the time Beverly paid the elderly clerk,
the man was gone. The bagger—a carrot topped, gangly boy of around
seventeen—noted the uneasiness dotted on her face like moles.

“Would you like me to walk out with you,
Ma’am?”

She gave it some thought, but decided her
fears were unfounded. And since she only had a single bag, he would
be better off helping someone who really needed assistance.

“Thanks,” she told him. “I’ll be fine.”

Beverly carried the bag with one arm while
taking looping steps towards her car. She noted that there were a
surprisingly large number of cars in the lot, though the store had
seemed practically empty.

At the driver’s side door, Beverly reached
into her purse for the key. She had not heard a sound, except for
maybe the wind, when suddenly a figure came at her at blinding
speed. He rammed into her, causing the bag and purse to fly from
her hand.

“Don’t make a sound,” a man ordered into her
ear. The voice had a Latino accent.

He was behind her, but close enough that
Beverly could feel his hard body pressed into hers. She heard the
sound of a switchblade open so close to her face that it may have
nicked her cheek.

“I have a knife,” he said, as if to make no
mistake about that. “Scream and I’ll rip your throat out!”

Beverly was trembling, but knew she had to
hold her composure. Was he the man she had seen in the store?

The same man from Burger King?

Why her?

Am I any more special than the next person a
burglar, rapist, or murder chooses to accost?

God, help me get through this
.

The man reeked of the acrid smell of smoked
crack cocaine and musty body odor. She had become familiar with
these scents as a prosecutor who had visited crime scenes and jails
more times than she could count.

A crackhead.
The most dangerous type
of offender. They were often unpredictable.

And scary.

Whatever Beverly may have thought about this
bastard, it wasn’t worth losing her life over.

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” she told
him. “Just don’t hurt me.”

“Why not?” he laughed coarsely. “So you can
go back to that fat ass kid of yours and get cozy with the black
dude?”

Beverly could barely contain her
emotions.

It was him!

The man who had broken into her house. He
knew about Jaime.

He had to be the same man she had seen at
Burger King, Beverly decided. He must have followed her that day.
And today as well.

If I could just get the gun out of my
purse
. Beverly noted that the contents of the purse had
remained inside it on the ground. She dreaded to think what might
happen were her assailant to check the purse.

“My son is my life,” she pleaded, her heart
racing. “You can have the car, the purse, the groceries...just let
me go—”

He kissed her cheek with icky wet lips. “In
your dreams,
bitch
!” The man put the knife to her throat.
“‘Cause it’s
you
I want
and
the car. Now we’re both
gettin’ in and you’ll drive where I tell you to—”

The one thing Beverly knew was she could not
get in that car with him. If she did, in all likelihood she would
be signing her death warrant. So long as she was out in the open,
she stood a fighting chance.

She tried to look around for help, but could
not see much from the position of her upturned face with the knife
at her throat.

She needed to stall him.

“Who are you?” Her voice almost sounded
friendly and made her want to gag.

“Your worst nightmare,” he growled
mockingly.

“You were at Burger King, weren’t you?” She
got bold. “And you followed us home? Then broke into my
house—?”

He laughed derisively. “You’re smart, lady,”
he confirmed. “Maybe too damned smart as an assistant district
attorney! But it don’t matter, ‘cause you ain’t gonna tell no one
about Manuel—”

Beverly could feel the blade tickling her
throat. She knew that if she so much as twitched it would slice
into her skin. Suddenly the very real thought of dying at
thirty-two flashed across her mind like a horror movie.

Could she actually die before her father?

Who would take care of Jaime without her?

She could envisage his getting married,
having children, a successful career—all without her being able to
enjoy it as a proud mother.

And how would Grant fare if she were no
longer in the picture? Would some other attractive, smart, and sexy
woman take her place in his life? Would she become little more than
a distant memory to him?

Beverly decided that she was not ready to
meet her Maker. Not this way.

“I won’t tell anyone about you, Manuel,” she
said, managing to keep her voice at an even keel.
Manuel
who?
“I’ll go wherever you want me to...do whatever you
want—”

This seemed to inspire him as he pulled the
knife back ever so slightly. “Let’s get in your car, Beverly,” he
breathed obscenely into her ear. “We’re going for a drive.”

“All right,” she agreed. “My keys are in my
purse.”

Beverly squatted to get her hands on the
purse, but he lifted her up before she could reach it and the gun
inside.

“Not so fast,” he said roughly. “What the
hell’s in the purse that you were itching to get to? You wouldn’t
happen to have a gun in there, would you, Ms. Lawyer?”

“No, there is no gun,” she lied. “Just my
keys and normal stuff women keep in their purses.”

If I can just grab the purse, I can end
this the right way
.

But her captor clearly thought otherwise and
once again had the knife up to her throat.

“Oh yeah?” Manuel growled. “We’ll see about
that, bitch.”

From the corner of her eye, Beverly seemed to
detect movement. She couldn’t be sure if it was an illusion or her
mind playing tricks to somehow give her false hope.

A customer from the store, perchance?

The police? Perhaps someone had seen what was
going on and called 911.

But how could they have gotten there so
soon?

Manuel was so self-absorbed that he didn’t
seem to notice the presence of anyone.

I have to keep him preoccupied
.

“Why don’t you get my keys out of the purse
then, Manuel. I’m not going anywhere. You’re the one with the
knife.”

He breathed against her ear. “Yeah, and don’t
you forget it!”

Even with his macho behavior, Beverly sensed
nervousness in the man, as if he suddenly felt exposed. Or perhaps
it was the drugs playing with his mind. Either way, she had no
intention of waiting to see how this played out. Especially since
it was likely to end badly for her as things now stood.

“Get the damned keys, bitch,” Manuel ordered.
“And hurry.”

Just as he had loosened his hold on her and
Beverly saw the opening she was looking for, a voice boomed from a
loudspeaker.

“Manuel Gonzalez, this is Detective Palmer of
the Wilameta County Sheriff’s Department. Put the knife down and
step away from the lady—!”

Manuel did just the opposite. With lightning
quick speed, he had once again looped a powerful arm around
Beverly’s neck, placing the knife threateningly under her chin.

“No way, man,” Manuel shouted defiantly. “She
stays with me. Try anything and I’ll cut her throat. I swear
it!”

Beverly watched as law enforcement suddenly
descended upon them like vultures. She immediately recognized Stone
Palmer. They had worked together briefly on the Suzanne Landon
case. He seemed like a nice man and one she couldn’t be happier to
see, albeit in a less than ideal situation for her.