State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller by R. Barri Flowers Read Free Book Online Page A

rang the doorbell. He thought of the
other night at the hospital and Grant Nunez almost defending her
honor, as if Maxine Crawford were his lover. Even that didn’t seem
totally absurd, in spite of Nunez’s apparent thing going on with
Beverly Mendoza, as reported through the grapevine. Maxine Crawford
was obviously a good deal younger than her late husband and, by
most accounts including his, a good-looking lady. Perhaps Nunez had
more than a legal interest in the widow’s health and welfare.
    The intriguing possibilities ran through
O’Dell’s mind for a moment or two before the door opened. Maxine
Crawford stood barefoot on the other side, wearing a full-length
lavender chenille robe and a towel wrapped around her hair. Her
face was free of makeup, but showed little sign of the ordeal she’d
been put through, save for a slight ruddiness on the right cheek of
her light brown face.
    Obviously she still had a lot to deal with,
the detective mused, feeling a trifle guilty he had to intrude upon
her at this time.
    He took out his I.D. “Mrs. Crawford, I’m
Detective O’Dell, Eagles Landing P.D., Homicide. I’m investigating
your husband’s death.” And your survival in spite of the sexual
attack . He paused for some reason while she kept her brown eyes
pinned on him as if they had nowhere else to go. “I tried to talk
to you at the hospital last night, but—”
    “Come in, Detective.” She turned and walked
away.
    O’Dell switched the book of mug shots he held
from one hand to the other and went inside, closing the pine door
behind him. The Tudor home was as impressive on the inside as out,
from what he could see, right down to the European furniture and
expensive artwork hanging on the living room walls. Certainly a
hell of a lot more than he could even dream of with his salary. Now
he knew why judges became judges. It meant easy street, if this was
any indication.
    That was, until the master of the house ended
up with his brains blown out.
    “Would you like some coffee, Detective?” his
host asked.
    “That sounds good,” he responded, the aroma
drifting from the kitchen invigorating.
    “Cream? Sugar?”
    “Just sugar.”
    While she disappeared, O’Dell visually
inspected the security. Or lack of.
    According to their initial investigation,
there had been no sign of a forced break in. Meaning that the
attacker either had a key or was invited in. The latter seemed an
unlikely possibility, considering that the Crawfords were having
sex when the attack occurred. Unless, of course, the killer had
been invited in beforehand. But, noted O’Dell, the Mrs. had told
the police that no one was in the house except them when they
retired to their room.
    At least not that she was aware of.
    O’Dell ventured across the cork flooring over
to the security system on the wall off the foyer. Surprisingly it
was an older, cheaper model than some of the current high tech
systems that seemed made for a house like this. Which was odd,
considering everything else he’d seen looked to be as modern and
high priced as they came. There was evidence that the system had
been tampered with, causing the alarm to malfunction when it was
needed most.
    Whoever went after the judge obviously
knew what the hell he was doing. And did it without a hitch.
Except for the fact an eyewitness was inexplicably left behind.
    Was this by omission? Had the perpetrator
somehow been scared off before he could finish the job he
started?
    “Your coffee, Detective.”
    O’Dell turned and saw Maxine Crawford
standing there. She held a tray with two cups of coffee. He lifted
one off the tray.
    “Thank you.” He saw that she had removed the
towel from her head, leaving long, tar-colored individual braids
cascading freely across her shoulders.
    “We can talk in here,” she said, and led him
back to the living room. She put the tray on a rectangular glass
coffee table and took a seat on a white leather couch.
    O’Dell sat on the adjoining loveseat.