Justice Served: A Barkley and Parker Thriller (10 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Lee’s Chinese Cuisine was located,
appropriately, in the heart of Portland’s Chinatown. It had been a
favorite of Carole’s for the past two years, having always loved
Chinese food. But this was the first time she had invited someone.
She wasn’t sure why she had, as she gazed across the table at the
detective. Perhaps it was his laidback devilishly good looks. Or
that it seemed as if she somehow knew him on a deeper, more soulful
level than their limited acquaintance would suggest. Or at least
she felt in touch with the man’s character, which she interpreted
as naturally cynical, cautious, fiery, cerebral, and unsettled.

Very much like her.

But, above all else, she found Ray Barkley to
be charming in a masculine, living on the edge way; seeming to
exude confidence—a trait that many men she’d known were decidedly
lacking.

The fact he had come to see her alone
suggested to Carole that the detective was his own man, and not a
puppet to his partner’s whims, whatever they might be. Already she
found herself intrigued by him, and suspected the same was true for
him.

So let the games begin.

His molten gray eyes assessed her. It was as
if Mr. Barkley had conflicting emotions over what he wanted from
her.

Or what she may have wanted from him.

Carole found she could relate as the same
thoughts went through her head.

“So I understand there was another murder?”
Carole decided to break the ice carefully. “Blake Wallace—”

Ray nodded. “Yeah,” he sniffed. “Same as the
others. Beaten to death with a baseball bat and one hell of a
purpose.”

Carole furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry to hear
it, Detective Barkley.”

He leaned forward, giving her the benefit of
an intense gaze. “Are you really?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she responded calmly.
Don’t let him rattle you. He’s just doing his job
. “Just
because a scumbag like Blake Wallace can hire a good lawyer to get
him off for beating his wife to a pulp does not mean I believe in
vigilante justice.”

Ray paused, as if unsure where to go from
here. “With all due respect, don’t you find it just a bit peculiar
that each of the victims spent time in your court before getting
off?”

“Not really,” Carole answered with a slight
twist of her lips. “I handle hundreds of cases involving domestic
violence each year. Many of them resulted in convictions. The fact
that four defendants with a history of abusing women happened to
‘get off’ and then get murdered hardly suggests a pattern that
couldn’t easily be related to other factors well beyond my
control.”

“Such as?”

“Such as being male, living in Portland,
being arrested by Portland police officers, being discussed on
local TV news, and in newspapers.” She jutted her chin. “In other
words, these men had common factors a killer could have easily come
upon outside of my courtroom.”

“You have a point there,” Ray conceded. “All
the same, you have to admit it’s not too farfetched to think some
disturbed person with an axe to grind against batterers has somehow
latched onto your courtroom, hoping to see justice served. And when
it isn’t, decides to do something about it.”

Carole added sugar to her tea while
considering his words. Finally she responded in the only way she
could. “You’re more than welcome to any information I have on
people who work in my courtroom, detective,” she told him. “Or, for
that matter, any member of my staff—all of whom I can vouch for
insofar as their integrity and dedication to the job. Personally, I
think you’re barking up the wrong tree. My guess is whoever is
killing these men is far less obvious than to make his or her
presence known so easily.”

“In my business, I’ve learned that killers
often think everyone else is stupid,” Ray told her with a catch to
his words. “That means they tend to overlook the gaps in their
actions until they get caught.”

“Unless, of course, they want to be caught,”
Carole countered, aware that he was playing a sort of cat and mouse
game with her. Well, it takes two to tango. “Isn’t that what most
serial killers want at the end of the day? That is after they’ve
made their point, if only to themselves.”

The waitress interrupted the conversation in
bringing them both sweet and sour pork, egg rolls, and steamed
vegetables with oyster sauce. It gave Ray the chance to ponder the
poise in which the judge handled herself. She seemed to have all
the answers, though not necessarily the right ones. This impressed
him, but not half as much as the lady herself. There was something
about Carole Cranston that captured his fancy. He hadn’t felt so
taken with a woman in longer than he cared to remember. He wasn’t
quite sure if it was a good or bad thing in this instance.

“Hope you like it, Detective Barkley,” Carole
told him with amusement, watching as the sweet and sour sauce
melted on his tongue.

“It’s damned good,” Ray admitted, cracking a
smile. “Look, why don’t you call me Ray, Judge Cranston,” he
suggested, wanting very much to change the formal tone they had
established.

She wet her lips sensually. “All right, Ray.
But only if you’ll call me Carole—at least outside the
courtroom.”

“Sounds like a plan to me, Carole.” He lifted
his teacup to toast. She followed.

“So tell me, do you have any suspects in
these killings?”

Ray ran his fork through the steamed veggies,
wondering how forthcoming he should be. He decided there was little
harm in sharing some information with the lady. After all, as far
as he knew they were both on the same page with regard to the law
and justice. And just maybe in other areas as well.

“We’re looking to speak to an
African-American woman who was seen at a bar Roberto Martinez was
at the night he was killed. She may have also been seen driving
away from the parking garage where Blake Wallace was murdered,” Ray
added, for her reaction, though there was no proof to back that
up.

The reality was the witness could not be
positive whether the driver was black or white, much less female or
male. But Ray’s gut instincts told him that the woman in the bar
and the driver were one and the same.

He removed the sketch of the woman from his
jacket. Studying it for a moment, Ray had to admit that at a glance
there were some physical similarities between her and Carole
Cranston. If you took away the blonde wig, weave, or whatever the
hell you wanted to call it, and sunglasses, it didn’t take much of
a stretch to believe the woman in the drawing could be the judge.
But then it was just as likely, if not more, that any tall, built
like a sexy brick house female in the city who happened to be
African-American could fit the bill.

He passed the sketch across the table,
intrigued to see her take on the depiction. Carole lifted the
sketch and examined it as one might an artifact from the Ming
Dynasty.

“Look like anyone you know?” Ray asked
evenly.

Carole shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she
said tonelessly. “But it isn’t a very good picture, is it?”

“It’s the best we’ve been able to manage thus
far,” he muttered.

“I’ll keep this, if you like, and show it
around,” she offered. “If she has any association with the court,
someone may be able to identify her.”

“Good idea.” Ray found his mind wandering. He
wondered if the judge was seeing anyone. He didn’t see a ring on
her finger, suggesting she was not married. But that didn’t mean
there was not someone in her life. Why wouldn’t there be? She was
certainly the complete package.

He turned his thoughts back to the subject at
hand, asking impulsively: “Are you familiar with the Rose City
Women’s Shelter?”

“Yes,” declared Carole without prelude. “It’s
partly my business to be aware of the city’s shelters for battered
women. I have recommended more than my fair share of women to that
and other shelters, knowing it could well mean the difference
between life and death to some.”

Again Ray was impressed by Carole’s coolness
and sincerity under fire. He wondered how he could have even
considered that she might have somehow been the Vigilante Batterer
Killer, as the press had dubbed the murderer. This lady had too
much on the ball to be moonlighting as a serial killer.

Carole almost seemed to be reading his mind.
She smiled softly, glanced at her watch, and said: “Well, I have to
get back to court. I’ve got a full schedule this afternoon.”

“Yeah, I have my hands full too with this
case,” Ray muttered, hating to see the lunch end. He’d enjoyed
spending time with Carole Cranston. He waved for the waitress to
bring the check.

Carole frowned. “Listen, I probably won’t be
able to get those names to you till tomorrow. I hope that’s all
right?”

“No problem,” Ray told her maybe a bit too
agreeably as his mind was already conjuring up ways he could see
her again in a less formal setting than his office. The courthouse.
Or even a restaurant.

“Great,” she said, finishing her tea.

The waitress came and Carole pulled out her
platinum American Express card.

“I can take care of this,” said Ray, reaching
quickly for his wallet and cold, hard cash.

“I don’t doubt it, but it’s mine to take care
of,” insisted Carole, handing the card to the waitress. “I invited
you, remember?”

Ray wasn’t used to someone else footing his
bills. But then he wasn’t used to a woman like Carole Cranston.

“I remember,” he conceded. When the waitress
had disappeared, Ray took a bold leap, suggesting: “Maybe I can
return the favor, Carole. Why don’t you let me make you dinner
tomorrow?” He knew he was going out on a limb here—considering
they’d barely gotten past first base in getting to know one
another—but went for it anyway and hoped he didn’t fall flat on his
face.

Carole seemed surprised by the invitation,
and was slow to respond.

Feeling as if he was squarely on the spot and
hoping to make the best of an awkward moment, Ray added: “I make a
pretty damned good steak with all the trimmings. You can bring the
list of names with you then. Save us both a trip to your office or
mine.”

A bright smile lifted Carole’s high cheeks.
“Sounds like an offer that’s hard to refuse,” she said. “You’ve got
yourself a date, Ray. But I get to bring the wine.”

“You drive a hard bargain,
Your
Honor
,” he joked. “It’s a deal.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“What did the good judge have to say?” Nina
cornered Ray in the coffee room at the station that afternoon.
“Anything interesting?”

He thought about it and said casually: “Not
really.”

Nina sneered. “So what
exactly
does
that mean? Did she or didn’t she?”

Ray looked her directly in the face. “She’s
clean, Nina,” he said positively. “If there is any courthouse
connection to these killings, Carole’s not the source of it.”

Nina batted her lashes. “Oh, it’s
Carole
now, is it? What happened to
Judge
Cranston?”

He sighed. “Lay off, Parker! I’m not in the
mood.”

“And you think I am?” She slammed her coffee
mug so hard on the counter that half the coffee spilled. “This
isn’t about your damned libido, Barkley, and how many conquests you
can add to your list. It’s about catching a serial killer.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Ray spat
defensively.
Cool it. Don’t say anything you’ll regret
.

Nina narrowed her eyes. “I’m seriously
beginning to wonder.”

“Well don’t,” he told her firmly. “I know how
to do my job, thank you very much. I’ve been at this just a little
longer than you, Nina.” He stirred cream in his coffee. “Carole or
Judge
Cranston, if it makes you feel better, is no longer a
suspect as far as I’m concerned. The lady is no more the vigilante
killer than you are!”

Nina gritted her teeth. “If you’re wrong
about this, it’ll be your ass on the line, not mine!”

You’re really pushing it
. Ray tried
hard to keep his temper in check. But he needed to get to the
bottom of what he considered an unwarranted attack from his
partner. “What the hell is this all about, Nina?” he asked bluntly
“You jealous or what?”

She rolled her eyes and snickered. “Don’t
flatter yourself, Barkley. Nothing to be jealous over that I can
see. What we had ended a long time ago. Who you choose to play
house with is your business.”

“Then why the pit bull act?”

“You have to ask?” Her lower lip hung down in
disbelief. “We’re searching for a psycho female killer who hand
picks her victims right out of the judge’s courtroom! I just don’t
want to see you screw things up by losing sight of that
reality.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Ray told her,
seeking to convince himself as well. “I want this killer as much as
you do.”

But there was no denying he also wanted
Carole Cranston in another way.

Were the two desires compatible?

* * *

Nina drove in utter silence while her
partner, quiet as well, seemed as if he was in deep space. Why had
she jumped all over him, coming across as a bitch? Could she really
be jealous of Carole Cranston? Admittedly, she had the type of body
Nina could only dream of having. Not to mention, as a prominent
judge, it made being a detective first grade seem like second hand
stuff.

Nina wondered if she would be naturally
jealous of anyone Ray Barkley was interested in, even when not
conscious of it.

Was that what this was all about? Did she
want Ray back for herself?

No damned way!
’ Yes, they had been
good together for a short while. Maybe in another life and another
time and place, they could have given it a go and run with it.