State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller (7 page)

O’Dell was determined to not let that happen
in this case, for the wife’s sake and Judge Crawford’s memory. The
suspect, once in custody, would not be seeing the light of day
again any time soon. Not if he could help it.

What judge in his or her right mind would
give this asshole bail? None, given the gravity of the offenses,
including the execution-style slaying of a sitting criminal court
judge.

But first they had to get the one responsible
for it.

Before he hurt someone else.

CHAPTER NINE

“How’s your science class coming along?”
Beverly asked her son during the drive to school. Or in other
words, was he doing any better in the only class that seemed to
give him the most trouble besides math.

“Okay,” he drawled unconvincingly, his Eagles
Landing baseball cap tilted onto his brow, seemingly obscuring his
vision.

Beverly didn’t want to baby or embarrass him.
But she wanted to make sure his grades did not slip to the point of
failure. “If you need my help, just tell me,” she said gingerly.
“That’s what mothers are for.” And fathers, too, assuming they were
they still in the picture and responsible enough to care.

“I don’t need your help,” Jaime insisted.
“I’m figuring it out myself.”

Beverly hoped that was the case. “I’m glad to
hear that, Jaime, really.” She glanced in his direction. He turned
to look out the window.

She didn’t press the issue for now, realizing
that he really was trying hard. The A on his math test demonstrated
that.

Beverly recognized that her son had reached
an age where he was becoming more and more independent and at times
distant. It scared her in some ways that he would someday not need
her at all. In other ways it thrilled her that he was becoming a
young, responsible man right before her very eyes.

It had been two days since they were at odds
over the nature of her relationship with Grant. Since then things
had remained lukewarm between them, though she had gone out of her
way to assure Jaime that her friendships with men had absolutely
nothing to do with
their
relationship.

Even then Beverly knew full well that her
relationship with any man had
everything
to do with Jaime.
He was the important person in her life. The child she had given
birth to. She would never place that in jeopardy. Her fervent hope
was that in the long run he would be pleased that she wanted some
stable and trustworthy companionship and be supportive.

Until then, she would not rock the boat when
it came to balancing her life as a parent and intimacy with a
man.

Beverly’s thoughts turned to another touchy
issue that was unavoidable between them.

She turned toward her son. “I’d like to go
visit your grandfather on Saturday.”

“I don’t wanna see him,” Jaime groaned with a
frown.

“You have to,” she asserted, turning her eyes
to the road and back to his profile. “He needs us, just like you
and I need each other.”

“He doesn’t need us! Gramps doesn’t even know
us anymore.” Jaime slouched and pouted.

“That’s all the more reason why we have to
try and keep whatever faint memories he has left alive.” Beverly
was nearly to the point of tears as she thought about her once
robust father—who prided himself on having a razor sharp memory and
fit body—now being reduced to a rambling, incoherent person she
hardly recognized. “He’s my father, Jaime,” she uttered firmly.
“And
your
grandfather. No matter how hard it is, we can’t
ever lose sight of that fact.”

Jaime lowered his head. “I still love
Grandpa.” He dabbed at his eyes that had begun to water.

“And he still loves you,” Beverly assured
him, “even if he doesn’t always remember.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes, each
collecting their thoughts.

Jaime broke the quiet, seemingly forgetting
about the previous conversation. “Can I go to Paco’s house after
school?” He raised his cap.

“What about your homework?” She pulled up in
front of his school.

“I’ll do it over there,” he answered. “Or
when I get home.”

“What time will you be home?”

He shrugged. “Probably eleven.”

“Make it ten,” Beverly said, exercising what
control she still had over him. Even that seemed a bit late for a
twelve-year-old to be out on a school night. But she realized that
some tolerance in today’s active times was almost mandatory.

“No problem,” Jaime muttered, opening the
door. “See ya.”

“See ya,” she repeated his words as he
slammed the door shut and shuffled toward the building with other
students.

Beverly waved goodbye, though he never saw
it, and drove off. She turned her attention to her other life as an
assistant district attorney. It consumed more of her attention than
she sometimes cared for it to. On the other hand, it was what she
had worked long and hard for and loved her job. With any luck,
along with skill, she could go as far as she wanted.

Beverly thought about Maxine Crawford. She
had been released from the hospital yesterday. The police had
spoken to her, but there was no word on if there were any viable
suspects at this point. She wondered how many people wanted the
judge dead badly enough to kill him.

Could there be others on the hit list,
too?

* * *

Beverly parked in the garage of the Criminal
Courts Plaza. She headed to the elevator, briefcase in hand.

She had just stepped inside when she was
practically bowled over by the District Attorney himself, Dean
Sullivan. He was sixty-three, tall, and thin in a designer gray
suit. Thinning white hair slicked backwards bordered a sagging face
with a deep tan. He rubbed his long nose and gave Beverly the
benefit of puffy China blue eyes behind silver wire-rimmed
glasses.

“Good morning, Beverly,” he said in a hoarse
voice, reflecting too many years of smoking before miraculously
kicking the habit cold turkey a year ago.

“Morning, Dean.” Beverly had always been
slightly intimidated by him, primarily because he was almost too
friendly for her comfort. It was as if beyond his charms and
easygoing demeanor lay a vicious, manipulative man, lulling people
unsuspectingly in for the kill. Of course, she was sure this was
far more her fertile imagination than fact.

The elevator doors closed and Dean pushed the
button.

“How’s Jaime?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Growing up too fast, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t I know it.” Dean looked up at the
numbers. “My son’s about to enter law school. Seems like only
yesterday he was still in smelly diapers.”

Beverly chuckled. Like many other men in mid
life, Dean had divorced his wife and married a younger woman, with
whom he had his only child. If only women could be so fortunate
with their biological clock.

Dean touched his glasses, eyeing her. “By the
way, I want to congratulate you, Beverly, on a job well done in the
Suzanne Landon case.”

Beverly blushed. Rarely had compliments come
directly from the D.A. They usually came courtesy of the Deputy
D.A.’s office, where Grant just might be less than objective given
their personal relationship. Or they were delivered from the D.A.’s
office via a general, indirect memo.

“Well, I had a little help,” she said
unevenly, in reference to Grant and a supporting staff.

“Maybe,” he allowed, “but I like
your
style, Beverly. You know how to go after them the way I used to
back in the day.”

She was starting to like this. “Just doing my
job the best way I know how,” she said modestly.

The elevator opened on the sixth floor, where
they both had offices. Beverly got off first.

“If you have a minute, Beverly, I’d like to
discuss an upcoming pending case with you,” Dean said, walking
alongside her.

As if she could refuse him in order to go
file some briefs.

“All right,” Beverly said in a stilted,
curious voice.

She followed him down the hall, where each
greeted other staffers perfunctorily. When they passed by Grant’s
closed office, Beverly recalled the last time she’d been in there,
causing her body to suddenly burn with desire. Though the
relationship had been somewhat discreet, she was sure everyone in
the D.A.’s office knew that something was going on between her and
Grant. While workplace romances were not necessarily encouraged,
the unspoken policy was to date who you wanted, so long as it
didn’t affect the job and there was not an imbalance of power that
could potentially lead to charges of sexual harassment. It seemed
to Beverly that she and Grant had the perfect recipe for romance.
She wondered if it would be the same should he climb the ladder and
become a judge.

They entered Dean’s spacious corner office.
He closed the door behind them and offered Beverly a seat on an
antique English chair. He sat on a matching chair at a forty-five
degree angle.

Beverly noted over his head an oak bookcase
filled with law books. Though piqued, she felt more than a little
ill at ease for some reason. Probably because she could count on
one hand the number of times she had been allowed into his office
since becoming part of the D.A.’s team. Obviously, things were
starting to look up for her. Or so she hoped.

Dean wrung his hands nervously. “I’m sure you
heard about the tragic and senseless death of Judge Sheldon
Crawford—”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, Sheldon was a personal friend of
mine,” he began. “I knew Maxine, too.” His brow furrowed. “I just
received word that the police have honed in on a suspect and they
plan to make an arrest shortly.”

Beverly was happy to hear that. “Who is
it?”

“Rafael Santiago. Judge Crawford sent him to
prison for murder twelve years ago. He was released last month. The
bastard vowed revenge against Sheldon when he was sentenced and
apparently made good on his threat.”

Beverly contemplated that. It would have to
be proven in a court of law, no matter how guilty the suspect
appeared to be. But she assumed that was what this meeting was
about.

“What evidence do they have?”

Dean considered this. “Maxine Crawford picked
him out of a photo lineup,” he said, as if this cinched the
deal.

“Anything else?” Beverly had seen more than
her fair share of cases where victims picked the wrong person from
mug shots in which practically every arrestee looked the same. She
presumed there was corroborating evidence to back up the victim’s
identification of the suspect.

Dean looked at her as if resenting the
question. “Detectives are putting together the necessary evidence,
circumstantial and otherwise, to tie Santiago to the crime.” He
removed his glasses. “I want you to prosecute this one,
Beverly.”

“I’ll be glad to,” she said, knowing that the
Suzanne Landon verdict had given her a leg up on this one. Though
Grant could very well have said the same thing. So how did she get
so lucky?

“And there will be
no
plea bargains!”
insisted Dean. “We have to send a message to all the Santiagos out
there that you don’t go around killing judges and raping their
wives and expect to get off with a slap on the wrist. This is a
death penalty case all the way if there ever was one.” He took a
breath and peered. “Think you can handle it?”

She needed no time to think about it. “Yes,”
she said emphatically, in spite of the intense media scrutiny this
trial was sure to generate.

He flashed a satisfied half smile. “That’s
what I wanted to hear. Feel free to choose anyone on staff as your
co-counsel. I’ll move people around if I have to.”

Beverly could think of only one person she
wanted as second chair during the trial. Grant Nunez. They worked
well together in and out of court. There had never been a problem
with egos between them, though he had been at it longer than her.
Furthermore, it was Grant who was the first one at the hospital to
get the jump on investigating Judge Crawford’s murder. It could
come in handy.

“Thanks,” she said appreciatively to her
boss.

“First off,” he told her, “you’ll need to get
down to Police Headquarters this afternoon. After they pick up
Santiago, he’ll be placed in a lineup for Maxine to positively
I.D.”

“I’ll be there,” Beverly assured him.

“Good.” Dean put his glasses back on and
stood, seemingly indicating the meeting was over.

Beverly got to her feet. She wanted to say a
few more words, but decided they could wait for another time. She
headed for the door.

She stopped in her tracks when Dean called
out her name. She faced him.

He removed his glasses again theatrically. “I
thought you might be interested in knowing that I’ve recommended to
the governor that Grant replace Judge Crawford on the bench.”

Beverly was stunned, if only because of the
suddenness of the news and the circumstances that had brought it
about. She had always known that Grant was headed in that direction
and was very happy for him. Did he know he was being considered for
the appointment? Had he known when he asked her to meet him at the
hospital?

“That’s wonderful news!” Beverly said with a
smile.

“Yes, it is.” Dean smiled back, and then
frowned. “I just wish it could have been under more favorable
conditions. Of course, Grant has yet to be offered the judgeship.
Until he does, let’s keep this under wraps, okay?”

“I understand,” she said, while thinking,
Do I?

* * *

Beverly stood before her secretary’s desk.
Jean Arness was nearly sixty and had been with the D.A.’s office
for twenty-five years. Beverly cringed at the thought of being in
any one place that long. But then again, if it was something you
loved, why not?

Jean, shaped like a Christmas tree with a
gray bouffant, looked up behind glasses. “You’ve got about ten
messages here,” she groaned, handing them to Beverly one by
one.