State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller (37 page)

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
.

The 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