State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller (8 page)

“And good morning to you, too.” Beverly
looked at her with an amused smile.

Jean scowled. “It’s been anything but good
this morning.”

“I can see that.” Beverly glanced at the
messages. “At least there’s the rest of the day to look forward
to.”

Jean rolled her hazel eyes. “Yeah, I can
hardly wait.” She looked at her calendar. “You’ve got an
appointment at eleven with Walter McIntosh.”

Beverly recalled setting up the meeting with
the investigator for the D.A.’s office. But that was before the
recent developments took precedence. “I have a lineup to go to.
Reschedule it for tomorrow.”

“Not a problem, for me anyway. Maybe Mr.
McIntosh might beg to differ.”

“I doubt that. Usually it’s Walter whose busy
plate is too much for me to keep up with,” Beverly said.

She went into her office. It was a good deal
smaller than Dean Sullivan’s, but big enough for Beverly to feel as
if she belonged. Her wraparound desk was in typical disarray with
open file folders, closed ones, a couple of trays filled with
papers, and her laptop. Law books lined the shelf on the back wall
and a single file cabinet stood in one corner.

She sat in her ergonomic desk chair and
glanced out the window. The view was largely of other buildings in
downtown Eagles Landing, though if she stretched her neck Beverly
could make out the peak of Mount Tulan surrounded by some puffy
clouds.

Her thoughts turned to her father. She hated
the helpless feeling of watching him decline right before her very
eyes. He barely recognized her now and had no memory at all of
Jaime. Her son had trouble dealing with it, choosing mostly not to
deal at all.

But she had to. Alberto Elizondo was still
her father and Beverly owed it to him to do what she could to make
him feel as comfortable as possible and know that he did have a
family out there who cared about him.

Beverly made a few phone calls thanking those
who had lent their support, expertise, or testimony in her last
case. Aside from a common courtesy, she was also networking; well
aware that it never hurt to maintain ties with people you might
have to work with again.

Afterwards Beverly focused her attention on
Rafael Santiago and Maxine Crawford. The two were about to form the
centerpiece of her professional life and preoccupation. She
accepted the challenge. She never liked to lose a case, especially
one involving such violence and a high profile victim. But she was
careful not to take anything for granted, knowing that surprises
seemed to always wait in the wings, ready to potentially burst
forth and jeopardize a trial at any time.

The mere notion left Beverly just slightly on
edge.

CHAPTER TEN

The car—a shiny, new
cream
Chevy Cobalt—sat unlocked in the parking lot, as
if the owner had every intention of coming back to it, but never
made it. At least that was what Stone imagined, surveying the
vehicle, careful not to touch anything. From all indications, there
was no sign that it had been broken into or vandalized.

But the fact that the car had apparently been
there all night did not bode well for Adrienne Murray. Had she gone
running after work? Stone stared across the lot at Belle Park, a
popular park for runners and non-runners alike, narrowing his eyes
to block out the sunlight.

Someone could have been stalking her, Stone
mused, waiting in the park for her expected run. Then what? Had she
been abducted? Left for dead somewhere?

He had to consider the possibility that
Adrienne Murray could already be a victim of foul play. Were this
the case, Stone had to first look back at the husband, knowing that
in spite of his apparent concern, most adult female murder victims
were slain by their romantic partners.

So what type of relationship did the Murrays
have? Had Chuck Murray actually done away with his wife?

Stone walked back to his car and got on the
radio. “Gordon,” he spoke calmly to the detective roaming the park,
“you see anything suspicious in there?”

“Not yet, Stone,” he responded. “Just the
usual litter, some kids necking, people swimming, hanging out—”

“Well, keep at it.”

It occurred to Stone that in some rare cases
people had been known to disappear completely and voluntarily from
one life to start another. Sometimes they were even declared
officially dead. Only to find out later they were alive and well,
having staged their own disappearance.

That didn’t seem to be the case here. It
didn’t figure that a person would walk away from a brand new car as
part of an elaborate plan to disappear into the woodwork.

Where the hell was she?
Stone was
growing worried that there was more than a misunderstanding or
vanishing act here to account for Adrienne Murray’s
whereabouts.

He went inside the building that housed the
telemarketing firm where Adrienne Murray was last seen, according
to the husband. Looking at the business index board, Stone spied a
variety of businesses sharing the space including a realty company,
janitorial service, investment firm, and ELNC Systems,
Inc.—Adrienne Murray’s place of employment.

He took the elevator up to the fifth floor
and walked down a thin corridor till coming to the ELNC Systems
office. A pretty, young receptionist greeted him inside.

“May I help you?” She brushed away thick
blonde bangs obscuring her vision.

He flashed his I.D. “Detective Stone Palmer
of the Sheriff’s Department. I’m following up on the disappearance
of one of your employees...Adrienne Murray—”

She frowned. “I’d heard that Adrienne was
missing. I hope nothing bad happened to her—” Color filled her pale
face. “You should probably to talk to our manager.”

Stone nodded. “Good idea.”

He followed her to the manager’s office where
a Latina woman met him. She was in her early thirties and wearing
way too much makeup on a sallow face. Her blonde bob somehow did
not seem to go with the rest of her.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Claudia Sosa.”

The receptionist identified him before Stone
could, and the purpose of his visit, leaving them alone.

“I last saw Adrienne yesterday just after
six,” Claudia explained calmly. “She seemed perfectly fine
then.”

Stone jotted this down. “Do you know if she
went jogging in the park after she left?”

“Yes, I think she did, actually. Adrienne ran
about three times a week, changing clothes in the bathroom.”

“Does she ever go jogging with anyone?” Stone
looked at her intently.

Claudia rolled her eyes. “Not from this
office. It’s an all female office and, aside from Adrienne, none of
us are exactly into working out, if you know what I mean?”

“I think I understand,” he said uneasily.
“Has anyone ever come here to visit Adrienne that you know of?”

“Yes. Her husband. He probably stopped by
more than he should, given that this is a business we’re
running.”

Stone took that down. “No one else?”

“No one that I can recall.”

Meaning maybe someone other than the husband
could have visited Adrienne. Stone was looking for even the
slightest lead.

“Could you show me where Adrienne
worked?”

Claudia blinked. “Sure.”

Stone was taken to a partitioned cubicle,
similar to maybe two dozen others. Each had a small desk, computer,
and phone.

There was nothing particularly suspicious
about this cubicle. It was orderly and showed no signs of friction.
Stone used a pencil to nudge open a desk drawer at random. Inside
was a purse that he pulled out.

“Is this Adrienne’s?” he asked Claudia.

“Yes,” she identified it. “She usually leaves
it there when jogging.”

Stone took a cursory look inside, not wanting
to contaminate potential evidence of a crime. There were the usual
things: wallet, keys, makeup case, checkbook. Again, no sign that
anything was missing.

Just Adrienne Murray.

She had obviously gone to the park, but had
not come back.

They both looked up as Detective Gordon
Chang, a ten-year veteran of the department, came barreling towards
them like an out of control freight train. He was thirty-four, with
short black hair, and a stocky frame.

“Found something out there,” he said, his
java eyes dilated.

“Will you excuse us for a moment?” Stone
asked Claudia. Reluctantly, she moved away.

In a conspiratorial low tone, Chang said,
“Saw what appears to be blood, not far from the lake.”

In spite of his first instinct, Stone took a
low-key approach to this news. “Maybe it wasn’t blood,” he
suggested. “At least not human blood. It could have belonged to an
animal.” He knew for a fact that there were always dogs running
loose in that park—and some had been hurt through owner neglect or
deliberate actions on the part of others. Even rabbits and deer
managed to find their way through the park in search of food.

“I doubt
this
came from an animal,”
Chang said with a sniffle. He removed a plastic bag from his
pocket. There was a piece of aqua fabric in it, about three by
three inches. It appeared to be nylon and its ragged nature
suggested it might have been ripped from a garment. Holding it up,
he said, “This was found near the blood. Looks to me like part of
a—”

“Running suit,” Stone finished bleakly. He
had one himself with the same texture. Still wasn’t proof that
Adrienne had run into harm’s way. But things were not looking good.
He called Claudia back over to them. “Do you know what color
clothing Adrienne wore when she went running?”

Claudia scratched her head. “I’m not really
sure—sorry.”

He showed her the material in the bag. “Does
this look familiar?”

Claudia’s eyes widened. “It might...” Her
voice dropped. “Do you think it’s from Adrienne’s clothes?”

Stone tossed her an austere look. “That’s
what we were hoping
you
could tell us.”

She was suddenly shaking. “The color looks
right,” she gasped. “But Adrienne has a couple of jogging suits she
likes to wear. Maybe she was wearing the other one—”

Something tells me she wasn’t
. Stone
realized that denial seemed to be the way most people coped with a
possible tragedy. Including cops. Till the facts spoke for
themselves.

“Thanks for your help,” Stone told the
manager, though unsure just how helpful she’d been. He declared
Adrienne’s cubicle an unofficial crime scene, meaning nothing was
to be removed or touched pending further investigation.

Outside Stone directed Chang to get a search
team out to comb the park. He also wanted to get the name of every
person who worked in that building; especially those who were at
work yesterday. Maybe someone saw something. Or knew something.

Or someone.

Could even be that Adrienne’s disappearance
was directly attributable to another employee in her place of
employ, Stone considered, if a long shot.

“I think I’ll go pay the husband a little
visit,” he said to Chang. “Maybe Murray will be able to shed more
light on a situation that’s looking dimmer with each passing
moment—”

* * *

Stone drove to an old Victorian house on
Rosewood Avenue in Wilameta County. A black extended cab pickup
truck was parked in the driveway.

Before Stone could get to the porch, the door
opened and Chuck Murray came out. His face was contorted. “Is my
wife dead?” he asked in a slurred voice.

“We’re not certain—” Stone wondered if his
obvious drinking was in preparation for bad news. Or was it to mask
what he already knew? “Mind if I come in?”

“Yeah, sure,” Chuck muttered, as if
forgetting his manners.

The interior of the house was stuffy, but
well kept. Stone noted the simple contemporary furnishings in the
living room. He spied framed pictures of Adrienne and her husband
on the mantel.

“Can I get you a drink or something?” asked
Chuck, looking flustered and disoriented as he picked up a glass
and took a sip.

“No thanks. Can’t drink on duty.” Stone gazed
into his bloodshot eyes. “Besides, looks as if you’ve already had
enough for the both of us.”

Chuck made no attempts to deny it. “Can you
blame me, man?” His mouth hung open like it was being pulled down.
“The woman I love is missing...probably dead and buried—”

Having never experienced the feeling of his
own wife missing, Stone knew he couldn’t exactly relate. Yet he
could relate to some degree as a detective who had been there, done
that, with unfortunate results. His concern here was that Chuck
Murray was acting more like a man who knew his wife was not coming
back, rather than hoped she would. Why was that?

“I guess I can understand why you might feel
the need to get drunk,” Stone said, hoping it might keep the man
talking.

“It’s helping me cope,” said Chuck, licking
his lips. “You know?”

Not really, but maybe you’ll enlighten
me
. Stone casually walked to the mantel and lifted an eleven by
fourteen photograph of Adrienne Murray. “You take this?”

“Yeah.” Chuck was boastful. “I like to take
pictures in my spare time. Call it a hobby.”

Not a bad hobby, Stone had to admit. Taken
fairly recently, Adrienne was all smiles and teeth and seemingly
happy. He wondered how often Chuck had photographed his wife. And
under what circumstances? He put the picture back and faced the
husband.

“So what did you find out?” Chuck asked
nervously.

Stone approached him. “Well, for one, your
wife did go jogging after work...” he began sorrowfully, “and
apparently never came back to pick up her car—”

Chuck buried large hands in his face, as if
sensing the worst. “I knew I shouldn’t have allowed her to run in
that damned park! Especially at night with all those winos and gang
bangers hanging out there.”