Justice Served: A Barkley and Parker Thriller (9 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The jogging trail provided breathtaking views
of the Willamette River with the Cascade Mountains peeking out of
mounds of thick, white clouds. The morning itself was sunny and
birds could be heard singing, as if for an audience.

This was hardly noticed by Carole, her mind
preoccupied with work and working out as she did her daily run. She
had been jogging for ten years now and loved pushing herself as
hard as she could, as if to slow down would make it that much
harder to catch up.

The results had been a sculpted and taut body
that was the envy of women half her age. It also gave her a sense
of personal achievement and satisfaction that could not be matched
even in the courtroom.

She was so focused that she had not heard the
runner come up behind her until right at her heels.

“What’s up, Judge Cranston?”

Carole looked over her shoulder at Stuart
Wolfe. He smiled, looking athletic in a tee shirt, shorts, and
well-worn running shoes. She smiled back, and saw that he was
taking in her attire of a short-sleeved top, running tights, and
running shoes.

“Hi, Stuart,” she said on a breath. “What’s
up with you?” She was almost afraid to ask, given the recent
troubles with his wife.

“Thought I might find you here.” He pulled
alongside her. “I have some good news. First, I wanted to thank you
for talking to Vivian.”

“No problem,” Carole told him. At least not
yet. She hadn’t honestly known what might come from her chat with
Vivian, other than that it had made Carole reassess her thoughts
about having a family someday.

“She’s decided she wants to have the baby
after all.”

“I’m happy to hear that, Stuart.” Carole
showed him her teeth in a genuine display of joy for them both.
“I’m sure you’ll make a great father and Vivian will make a great
mother.”

“So would you,” Stuart said warmly.

Carole felt a slight chill at the notion. “I
wouldn’t be too sure about that,” she said. “I bite back when I’m
bitten.”

He laughed uneasily. “Well, as far as I know,
it takes a while before babies can put some snap into their
bite.”

“I wasn’t referring to babies,” she said
cynically. “I was talking about men who take it upon themselves to
back women into a corner they can’t get out of.”

Stuart’s face darkened. “Is that what I was
doing?”

Carole grinned weakly, deciding she didn’t
like where this was going. “Forget it. Maybe I’m just living in the
past too much, thinking about things that might have been and never
will be.”

“Listen, Carole,” he said sympathetically,
“beating yourself up over things for which you have little to no
control is wasting energy that could and should be put to better
use.”

“Beating myself up,” she groaned, as if given
a low blow. “There’s enough of that going around these days without
it being self-inflicted.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I hear you.
Definitely the wrong choice of words. Sorry.”

Carole playfully poked his rock hard
shoulder. “You should be, Mr. Criminal Defense Attorney. If you
keep putting yourself into deep holes, pretty soon you’ll never
find a ladder long enough to climb out.”

Stuart chuckled warily, and said: “Hate to
stay on this same track, but it appears as if we have a bona-fide
vigilante on our hands.” His brow dripped with sweat as he frowned.
“A man who was a partner in the firm represented on an assault
charge was found beaten to death last night. Blake Wallace.”

Carole lifted her eyes with surprise.
“Really? I presided over his trial. I expected a conviction, but
the jury felt otherwise.”

“I think this is the fourth murder of an
accused batterer this year. The press is calling it
justice
served
to protect the innocent and vulnerable from these
bastards.”

“Maybe they’re right,” she said gingerly.
“Our justice system does seem to be failing abused women.”

His gaze fell on her. “But is cold-blooded
murder the answer to helping them? Or is this angel-in-disguise
really doing more harm than good?”

Carole increased her speed as Stuart
struggled to keep up. “Officially, no, murdering the bastards is
not the answer.” She drew in breath. “Unofficially, this country
needs a wake up call that can draw attention to the plight of
battered and broken women.”

Stuart’s eyes widened. “I can’t believe I’m
hearing this from your lips,
Judge
Cranston. Don’t tell me
you really think executing these men is somehow justifiable
homicide?”

Carole could feel her heart racing and it
wasn’t from jogging. She responded caustically: “All I’m saying is
do you really think we’d even be talking about battering, abuse,
and domestic violence if someone out there hadn’t chosen to make
examples out of them on a dramatic stage?”

Stuart pondered this for a long moment.
“Probably not,” he granted. “That still doesn’t give
someone—anyone—the right to go after these men like a hunter
killing deer.”

“Agreed,” Carole said, knowing it was what he
wanted to hear. She wasn’t sure where she stood on the issue from
top to bottom.

“The cops are all over this.”

“I know,” she said pensively. “They’ve
already been to see me. At least two of them.”

Carole immediately thought about Detective
Barkley and got a tingly feeling. She wondered just how dangerous
it was to even imagine being with him intimately.

“And...?” Stuart seemed keenly
interested.

“And I couldn’t really help them in their
investigation,” she said evasively.

“They’re not going to stop until they find
the person,” he told her banefully.

Was he warning her?

With a defiant look, Carole said flatly: “Who
says they ever will? If she’s smart—assuming it’s a female we’re
talking about here—she’ll know when enough is enough and disappear
into the woodwork, having made her statement loud and clear.”

Carole immediately shifted course, crossing
the track onto jade-green grass. She turned and saw Stuart still on
the track, running in place, mind buzzing, no doubt.

“Duty calls,” she told him. “I’m due back in
court in less than an hour. I’ll see you.”

Even as she ran across the grass and onto the
sidewalk, Carole could feel Stuart watching her every move till
she’d disappeared from sight.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“I’ve got something I think you might find
interesting,” Nina said, making her way into Ray’s office.

He looked up from some paperwork and detected
the glow in her eyes, as if she had just won the lottery.

“Has my retirement with full benefits come
in?” he joked wistfully, sitting back in his leather desk
chair.

She laughed. “Only in your dreams. Did some
checking up on Esther Reynolds. Seems like the woman killed her
husband, Sam Reynolds, fifteen years ago. Cracked his skull wide
open with a hammer, citing years of physical and mental abuse.”

“Well I’ll be damned.” Ray sat up and took
the file she had in hand.

“She was charged with murder and went to
trial,” Nina said. “Some hotshot lawyer got her off using a
battered woman’s syndrome defense.”

He raised a brow. “Guess the jury bought it,
huh?”

“Probably with good reason. Esther had a
restraining order against Reynolds, which he apparently violated
one time too many and paid the ultimate price.”

“Well it definitely shows Esther Reynolds is
more than capable of killing if she sets her mind to it,” Ray said.
“But the pattern somehow still doesn’t fit.”

Nina frowned. “So maybe she decided a bat
would inflict even more pain and damage than a hammer.”

“That’s debatable. But it does give us an
opening to get inside her head, as well as the legal means to find
out who else in that shelter may be hiding something.”

Nina plopped onto a chair. “There’s another
thing to think about,” she said with a catch to her voice. “Guess
whose courtroom Blake Wallace was acquitted in?”

Ray only needed to look at the satisfying
quiver of her lower lip to put two and two together. “Judge Carole
Cranston?”

“You got it.”

“It’s just a coincidence,” Ray said
quickly.

“I don’t think so,” Nina said
matter-of-factly. “There may be such a thing as a coincidence in
two cases, even three—but definitely not four!” The last words flew
from her mouth like sputum. “We’re still waiting for that list the
honorable judge promised to provide us. If you ask me, I’d say
she’s somehow involved in this.”

It was a thought that left Ray feeling
uncomfortable. A sitting criminal court judge a serial murderer? A
vicious vigilante underneath that black robe and hot body?

No way! He would not and could not believe it
until proven otherwise.

“Why don’t I go talk to the judge?” he
volunteered, admittedly welcoming the opportunity to see the
attractive lady again even if the circumstances were less than
desirable.

“Sure you can handle it, Barkley?” Nina
asked. “Wouldn’t want you to be way over your head on this one.”
She laughed lasciviously.

“You’ve got your mind in the wrong place as
usual, Parker,” Ray countered defensively, thoughtful of their
history. “I think I can manage to handle the judge just fine.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she quipped.

He wondered if he had detected the slightest
hint of jealousy in her tone.

* * *

The rain was coming down in buckets by the
time Ray arrived at the Criminal Courts Plaza parking lot. He
grabbed his umbrella, opened it, and jogged across the wet concrete
till he was inside the building. There he got himself together,
including hand pressing the creases out of his blue suit and
smoothing the bristles of his mustache, before taking the elevator
up to the second floor judge’s chambers.

Ray entered the outer office where Carole’s
assistant sat, seemingly looking for something to do.

“I’m here to see Judge Cranston,” he told the
forty-something heavyset woman with a brunette flat twist. A
nameplate on her desk read: Sheeba Zambotha.

She batted fake eyelashes at him. “Do you
have an appointment?”

He suspected she already knew the answer, but
responded: “It’s official police business.”

“Who shall I say is here?”

“Detective Ray Barkley.”

After muttering a few words over the phone,
Sheeba said civilly: “Judge Cranston said to send you in.”

He nodded with a slight smile and was
directed to go through two doors before entering the judge’s
chambers. Carole Cranston was awaiting him as if to greet a
dignitary.

“Detective Barkley,” she said effortlessly.
“Nice to see you again.” She extended a hand, which he shook.

The softness of her hand against his
calloused skin was soothing and Ray felt as though he could hold
her hand forever.

“Same here,” he told her, as words seemed to
have disappeared from his vocabulary. He forced his hand away from
hers.

It took Ray only a moment to size Carole up,
as if for the first time. Her stylish individual pixie braids
curved nicely beneath her chin and seemed tailor made for a
heart-shaped face that had high cheeks and a maple sugar glow to
it. Umber eyes appraised him even as he regarded her. She had a
dainty nose and full lips and wore little to no makeup. Without the
robe, he saw a vibrant woman’s body that looked to be in tiptop
physical condition in an expensive looking ash-colored suit and
ornamented sandals.

She was
hotter
than hot, no two ways
about it. He was sure Judge Carole Cranston was well aware of the
effect she had on men outside the courtroom. Inside the courtroom
was another question altogether.

“Looks like you got caught in our little rain
storm,” she said, her gaze falling on his clothing that had still
managed to get and remain wet in spite of his best efforts to the
contrary.

“Yeah, you could say that,” he responded
weakly.

Carole smiled with amusement. “So what can I
do for you, Detective Barkley?”

Ray collected his thoughts, admittedly
discombobulated in the gorgeous lady’s presence. Even her perfume
was intoxicating.

“Actually I came to see if you had a chance
to gather the names of regulars in your court,” he told her
equably.

Carole put her hands to her mouth,
discountenanced. “Oh, I’m sorry. It completely slipped my mind.”
She looked at her watch. “Why don’t I bring it by your office this
afternoon?”

“That sounds fine,” Ray responded, hiding his
disappointment that she hadn’t seemed to grasp the gravity of the
request, considering people were dying after leaving her
courtroom.

“Look,” she uttered, favoring him, “I was
just about to go for lunch. If you’re hungry, you’re welcome to
come.” She paused. “It will give you the chance to ask whatever
else may be on your mind.”

Ray felt his armpits grow sweaty. He knew
this was an offer he could not refuse. But was it one he
should?

Had the judge decided to stay one step ahead
of him? Or was she playing catch up here?

Could the lady really be in the thick of this
thing?

Was she coming onto him for all the wrong
reasons...and none of the right ones?

Or
am I fishing for something that
isn’t really there?

What was clear to Ray was that he was
definitely attracted to Carole Cranston and he’d be a damned fool
not to at least make an attempt to see if the feeling was
mutual.

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t had lunch
yet,” he told her, a crooked grin playing on his lips. “And I do
have an appetite on me!”

Carole smiled. “I’m sure you do.” She wet her
lips. “I hope you like Chinese food—”

I do now, baby.
Ray would learn to
like whatever food worked for her.