Justice Served: A Barkley and Parker Thriller (19 page)

“Did you really think you would get off that
easily, Eddie
asshole
?” she asked in a chilling voice.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, trying to
fight the pain and get away from this crazy woman.

“I’m the last female you will ever see, you
sick bastard,” she shrieked. “At least in this world. See you in
hell. Or maybe not—”

She swung the bat again. This time it went
right through his limp arm and landed squarely on the side of his
head. Eddie fell to his knees, his vision blurred, his head feeling
as if it were about to explode.

He was right as the next blow landed with
such force it fractured bone and spewed tissue from his head.
Another blow to the head and it splattered like a watermelon.

“You knocked out practically all of poor
Emilie’s teeth, asshole,” the woman screamed. She then proceeded to
knock out most of his teeth. “How does it feel to have the tables
turned on you? Then you raped her, you cocksucker!”

She dug the bat into his groin and then
pounded away at it mercilessly.

“I hate men who beat and rape women to
satisfy their depravities!” she blared.

Remarkably the victim was still semiconscious
and cognizant that he was about to die. The intense pain that
ripped through Eddie Jackson like cancer made him want the end to
come sooner than later.

He got his wish.

She rammed the bat flush into his face. It
imploded and with it Eddie’s life ceased to exist.

The woman was outraged. “Don’t you go out on
me, asshole. I’m not through with you yet—”

She proceeded to continue beating him to a
pulp, till there was literally nothing left but blood, broken
bones, and a distorted mass that had once been a human being.

Satisfied that her mission had been
accomplished, the woman dumped the bat on the messy pile of flesh
and bones. She then quietly walked to the batterer’s bedroom. There
she removed her gloves and clothing, putting them in the duffel
bag. She slipped on a sweater, jeans, and running shoes.

She went out the back door and into the alley
where her car was waiting. After putting the duffel bag in the
trunk, she climbed into the front seat and drove off.

For a millisecond she regretted what had
happened just as she had with the other bastards she delivered
straight to hell. But this misgiving was overcome by a sense of
purpose and duty. She considered herself the avenging angel for all
women who suffered at the hands of men. She couldn’t let them off
the hook, even if the courts saw fit to, any more than they showed
mercy on the women they beat and brutalized.

She blended in with traffic and appeared to
be merely another rush hour driver simply looking to get to the
safety and comfort of home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Carole arrived home at five-thirty sharp. She
was tired after a long, exhausting day, and looked forward to
having a hot bath and a glass of wine. She kicked off her mules and
began rummaging through the mail when the phone rang.

“Hello,” she answered on the third ring.

There was a grunting, gasping noise.

“Hello—” she repeated.

“Carole,” said the rushed voice, “this is
Vivian Wolfe—”

Carole sensed by her labored breathing that
something was wrong. “What is it, Vivian?”

“I think I’m having a miscarriage,” she
slurred. “There’s blood and—”

“Where’s Stuart?” asked Carole
frantically.

“I don’t know,” cried Vivian hysterically. “I
tried to reach him at his office, but he wasn’t there. I didn’t
know who else to call.”

“It’s all right.” Carole tried to remain
calm. “I’ll call 911.”

“Can you come over?” pleaded Vivian. “I don’t
want to go to the hospital alone.”

“You won’t have to,” promised Carole. “I’ll
be right there.” She paused. “What’s your address?”

Without giving much thought to anything else,
Carole quickly dialed 911 for an ambulance. She had no experience
dealing with pregnant women, but knew enough to recognize that time
was of the essence. Maybe it was not a miscarriage, she prayed, and
the baby would be unharmed.

Carole called a cab. With any luck, she would
arrive at the house at the same time as the ambulance.

She wondered where Stuart was at a time when
his wife needed him most.

* * *

Carole felt a bit nervous as the cab pulled
up to the residence. She had never been to Stuart’s house, which
he’d purchased shortly after getting married. Though he and Vivian
had invited her over, it somehow didn’t seem right, considering the
nature of her previous relationship with Stuart. And wanting to get
on with her life.

Now none of that seemed to matter. All that
was important was trying to save his unborn child’s life.

Carole rode to the hospital with a frightened
Vivian, holding her hand tightly along the way. “It’ll be all
right,” she tried to console her.

“Will it?” asked Vivian skeptically, sobbing.
“If I lose the baby, Stuart will blame me. I know it!”

“Don’t be silly,” Carole scoffed. “He can’t
hold you responsible for something that’s not your fault any more
than his.”

Vivian’s lips trembled as she said: “This
can’t be happening. Not now...not when things seemed like they were
finally starting to come together in my life—”

Carole wiped the perspiration from Vivian’s
brow and tried to remain positive. She could only hope that Stuart
would get the message they were at the hospital. She felt
uncomfortable taking his place in this delicate situation.

In the emergency room, doctors and nurses
attended to Vivian like the trained professionals they were, while
Carole paced in the waiting area. The ordeal made her wonder how
she would deal with a similar situation. Could she ever get over
losing a child? Would she ever be in a long term, loving
relationship where having a child was even possible? Or was there
no hope for that at this stage?

Stuart came running into the corridor as if
his pants were on fire. Carole met him halfway.

“I came as soon as I got the message,” he
told her, huffing heavily as if he had just completed a marathon.
“Where is she?”

Carole told him, watching the strain on his
face deepen. “Vivian said she tried to reach you...”

“I had to meet a client,” Stuart explained
defensively. “I left word at the office where they could—”

“It doesn’t really matter now,” Carole cut
in, realizing he owed her no explanation. “What’s important is your
wife needs you—”

“I know,” he lamented, running his hand
across his face. “I have to go to her...them!”

Carole followed as Stuart raced down the
corridor to the room where Vivian was being treated. A burly,
dark-haired doctor stepped out, blocking Stuart’s advance like a
defensive lineman.

“Are you the husband?”

“Yes.” Stuart’s voice was gravelly. “How is
she?”

The doctor averted his eyes, instead meeting
Carole’s. She could see by the sadness in his deeply tanned face
that the news was not good.

“I’m Doctor Sheppard,” he said, facing Stuart
again bleakly. “Afraid I have bad news. Your wife lost the
baby—”

“No, dammit!” Stuart cursed, as if his whole
world had suddenly fallen apart.

“I’m truly sorry,” the doctor said. “She’s
been sedated, but you can see her now.”

Carole was at a loss for words. She knew
Stuart was hurting and she could not put herself in his shoes. All
she could do was hug him in support. He hugged her back, as if not
wanting to let go.

Then abruptly he did and dashed into the room
to be with his wife. Carole was left alone with the doctor.

“Will Vivian be all right?” she asked him
hesitantly.

“Physically, yes.” He frowned and his mouth
hung open while waiting for the words to catch up. “Mentally, I
don’t really know...”

Carole sensed there was something else on his
mind. “What is it?”

He paused. “I probably shouldn’t be saying
this, but it’s possible she may have helped herself to lose the
baby—”

Carole thought she might not have heard him
correctly. “What—?”

Suddenly Dr. Sheppard looked as if he
regretted mentioning it. “This is strictly off the record and
likely can’t even be proven,” he stressed, “but I’ve seen cases
like this before where a mother who didn’t want a baby badly enough
was able to virtually will it out of her.”

This made no sense to Carole and she doubted
its credibility. Still, as she looked through the door at Stuart
comforting his wife, she couldn’t help but think about Vivian’s
earlier reluctance to bring a child into this world.

Was there even the remotest chance she made
this happen?

Could Vivian have subconsciously wanted to
lose the child and found a way to do so short of an abortion, as a
sort of self-fulfilled prophecy?

Or am I just being influenced by a doctor’s
overactive imagination?

Feeling it was best to leave Stuart and
Vivian alone to share their grief, Carole left the hospital.

Though the prospect of Vivian possibly
playing a role in terminating her pregnancy was troubling, to say
the least, it was not something Carole wanted to be involved
with.

She had her own demons to face.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Eddie Jackson had been dead for approximately
twelve hours, according to the medical examiner. His brother, who
had a key to the house, found his badly beaten, bloodied, and
disfigured body. Police technicians combed the place for possible
evidence, with yellow crime scene tape cordoning off the
property.

“Someone sure worked this dude over,” groaned
Ray as he observed the latest handiwork of the so-called Vigilante
Batterer Killer. The bat—coated with blood and what looked like
brain matter from practically top to bottom—was her calling card,
leaving little doubt as to its purpose as the murder weapon. It lay
near the head of the corpse, as a reminder of the damage the
murderer had inflicted on it in specific, and the entire body of
the victim in general.

“Looks like our killer is getting bolder,”
remarked Nina. “She’s even willing to follow her victim home now
and do them in.”

“Maybe she already had the place staked out,”
Ray suggested, “and was waiting here when Jackson arrived.”

It didn’t take much digging to learn the
decedent had just copped a plea, ending his trial prematurely. Or,
for that matter, that it all took place in Judge Carole Cranston’s
courtroom.

All of which disturbed Ray, but did nothing
to make him believe Carole was involved in any way. Though clearly
someone wanted them to think in those terms.

“If our killer was at the trial,” he said,
“she would have had plenty of time to beat Jackson here, then take
him by surprise.”

“I agree.” Nina nodded thoughtfully. “And
I’ll just bet this was the surprise of his life—or should I say
death...
”

Ray sighed. “He probably didn’t even had a
chance.” That was the advantage the killer had over her victims:
catching them off guard and unable to react before it was too
late.

They sidestepped the body like it was a
poisonous snake and made their way outside, where permission was
given to remove the deceased.

Walking towards their car, Nina said: “We’re
definitely dealing with a woman who believes in making sure the
deck is heavily stacked in her favor.”

Ray’s brows furrowed. “All the more reason
why we have to catch her while we still have a few cards up our
sleeves.”

Nina looked at him dubiously. “You aren’t
hoarding any cards you haven’t told me about, are you,
Barkley?”

“Would I hold out on you, Parker?” he said
earnestly. “I think not.”

She gave him the evil eye. “So what’s up with
these cards?”

He faced her. “Well, we know our killer’s
connected in some way to the shelter and the court, as well as
indirectly to who she’s targeting. And we know she has more than
likely been abused by one or more men, probably badly enough that
she has nightmares about it, which she turns into a private hell
against others who fit the bill. That gives us something to work
with and maybe more than she realizes. Now all we have to do is try
to get one step ahead of the killer.”

Nina sneered. “Try telling that to our
superiors. I’d say they’re probably sweating bullets about now.
Wondering if we have our heads stuck up our asses.”

Ray tried to smile, but couldn’t. Not when he
knew she was right. It wasn’t just batterers whose lives were on
the line. They were also on the spot with this case. The longer it
took to catch this elusive killer, the tighter the noose would be
around their necks.

He put his hands to his throat, as if feeling
the increasing pressure.

* * *

Stella Howard had been the last known person
to see Eddie Jackson alive, aside from his killer. Ray and Nina sat
in her office on the fifth floor of the Ticknor Building downtown,
hoping she might be able to provide information that could be
helpful.

Ray studied the small stature of the
attorney. He tried to imagine her as a murderess. What better cover
than to represent scum like Jackson only to kill them later?

For some reason this very thought made him
think of Carole. She also had the perfect cover for a killer, given
her association with the court and outside interest in domestic
violence—right down to being a contributor to the Rose City Women’s
Shelter. But he knew that reality gave way to such far-fetched
macabre scenarios. Neither Carole nor Stella fit the psychological
profile of a serial killer or psychopath. In Stella’s case, even
her body type was inconsistent. The tall, statuesque woman they
were looking for was far less balanced and much more cunning and
dangerous.

“I dropped Eddie off at his house at around
seven-thirty—” Stella was saying, sitting behind her mahogany desk,
seemingly too large for her. Her wide-eyed look betrayed the shock
of his death.