Justice Served: A Barkley and Parker Thriller (20 page)

“Did you see anyone else?” Ray asked.

“Not that I can remember.”

“What about cars?” Nina looked at her. “Did
you see any that you can identify? Make? Model?”

Stella flushed with embarrassment. “I’m
sorry, but I can’t help you there either,” she uttered regrettably.
“I’m usually pretty good at details, but I guess my mind was
preoccupied—”

“Did Eddie give you any indication he was
expecting company?” Ray asked, though he doubted the man had any
knowledge of his deadly visitor.

“No,” Stella said. “Eddie Jackson kept to
himself for the most part.”

“Maybe there was someone at the courthouse
that he talked to?” questioned Nina. “Or seemed unusually attentive
toward?”

Stella considered this. “Only Judge
Cranston,” she said nonchalantly. She added: “But, of course,
that’s not what you wanted to hear, is it?”

Nina and Ray exchanged glances, each
thoughtful.

Ray looked at Stella and said: “We believe
whoever killed Jackson probably attended his trial or stayed close
to it. The killer probably either followed him home or got there
before he did. Anything at all you can remember or tell us might
help us find whoever did this to your client.”

Stella fidgeted. “I’m sorry, but this has
really freaked me out. I actually thought about Eddie Jackson being
a possible target of this vigilante killer, but the fact it
actually happened—”

“Unfortunately it may not be the last time it
happens,” warned Ray. “As long as the killer remains on the loose,
no man in this town can afford to let his guard down.”

“There’s nothing else I can tell you,” Stella
voiced, “that I haven’t already said. Except—”

She hesitated, prompting Nina to urge her on.
“What...?”

Stella gazed away and back again. “Well,
Eddie sort of came on to me just before I dropped him off. It was
kind of eerie and uncomfortable. I remember thinking that he wasn’t
the type of man I could ever be interested in.” She sighed. “I
guess in a strange way, someone else was—”

Ray sneered. “Yeah, whoever put Jackson out
of commission had an unnatural interest in abusive men.”

“I really hope you catch her—soon!” Stella
said. “It’s reaching the point where many lawyers are beginning to
question the wisdom of getting their clients off, only to see them
killed by someone who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—accept the outcome of
the case.”

“Maybe you should try switching to the other
side,” suggested Nina dryly. “It seems prosecutors are in a no lose
position these days. They either win the case outright or do so by
a self-appointed judge and jury.”

Stella shook her head. “Thanks, but no
thanks. I like to know I win or lose my cases fair and square.”

Ray concurred. Unlike the woman they were
looking for, who didn’t give a damn about fair and square. She
played only by her rules where she had every advantage over her
opponent. Including a wooden bat she wasn’t afraid to use. Over and
over again...

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Emilie Evans worked at a department store in
Southwest Portland. Ray and Nina found her stocking shelves. The
thirty-three-year-old former girlfriend of Eddie Jackson was nearly
six feet tall and of medium build. She had big brown eyes and
jet-black hair pulled back severely into a short ponytail. Her
brown skin had an ashen tint and her nose was crooked from having
been broken.

The detectives identified themselves and
Emilie smiled awkwardly, revealing her recently replaced teeth.

“I guess I was expecting you,” she said,
putting some cleaning products on the shelf. “Eddie’s brother
phoned me with the news.”

“Is there somewhere we can talk?” asked
Ray.

“Sure,” Emilie said, wiping her hands on her
pants. “It’s time for my break anyway.”

They went outside the store, where Emilie lit
a cigarette.

“So I guess you want to ask me about Eddie?”
she asked, exhaling smoke through her nostrils.

Ray studied the victim’s ex. “Had you seen or
spoken to Jackson since his release?”

“No.” Emilie sucked on the cigarette. “I had
no reason to. We were through. After what he did to me, I never
wanted to see him again.” She sighed. “To be honest with you, I was
afraid he’d come after me after I testified against him.”

“Only someone came after him with a bat
instead,” noted Nina. “Do you know anything about that,
Emilie?”

She blinked her curly lashes. “If you’re
asking me if I killed Eddie or had someone else do the job, the
answer is no. I’m not stupid—not anymore, since I left that
bastard. I know I’m the first one you’d suspect. But I could never
have been involved in murder, no matter how much I hated the
person.”

“But you did hate Jackson enough to
want
him dead?” Nina asked straightforwardly, glancing at
her partner.

Emilie looked away. “No, I didn’t hate Eddie
enough to want him dead,” she responded tersely. “I’m not even sure
I hated him at all. I only wanted to be left alone and get on with
my life.”

“Can you account for your whereabouts last
night between seven and eight o’clock?” Ray peered at her.

“Yeah,” Emilie answered easily, taking a drag
on the cigarette. “I was right here. Worked the cash register from
five to nine. You can look at my time card, talk to my boss, or
whatever.”

Nina stepped forward. “Have you ever been to
the Rose City Women’s Shelter?”

Emilie drew a sharp breath. “A couple of
times,” she replied self-consciously. “For a while there I felt as
if I had nowhere else to go. The people at the shelter were really
supportive of my situation.”

Ray wondered if someone may have been too
damned supportive. “Was there anyone you can think of at the
shelter who seemed particularly hostile towards batterers?”

“Yeah,” Emilie said matter-of-factly.
“Everyone who’s ever been hit by a man. When you’re forced to live
with strangers in a place that ain’t hardly the Ritz because you’re
too afraid to go home, it makes you hostile toward all abusive
men.”

“Looks like someone did you a favor then,”
Nina said. “Eddie Jackson won’t be around to hit you or anybody
else ever again. His killer made damned certain of that with a bat
and lots of hostility.”

Emilie tossed the cigarette on the sidewalk
and ground it out with her shoe. “You’ll probably find this hard to
believe, but I really am sorry Eddie is dead. We used to be good
together—even great. Maybe after he’d had some counseling or
something he could have gotten better with his temper...and
drinking. I don’t know—” She looked down at her shoes. “I guess
none of that matters now, does it?”

“It matters,” Ray told her. He felt a certain
degree of sympathy for women like her who couldn’t seem to let go
of the men who abused and conned them, even in death. He couldn’t
even begin to put himself in their shoes any more than he could the
woman who seemed hell bent on ridding the streets of such men.

* * *

It was nearly nine o’clock that night when
Ray rang the bell at Carole’s building. He had missed her like
crazy for a few days now, but work and long hours had kept them
apart. Just as it was now bringing them back together.

She buzzed him in.

At her door Ray thought of just how lovely
Carole was—seemingly more attractive each time he saw her. But he
also saw a vulnerable side to the lady, one that he had yet to tap
into.

“Hello there, stranger,” Carole greeted him
with a smile; practically modeling the slinky periwinkle dress she
wore.

“Hello yourself, baby.”

Once inside, he kissed her hard on the mouth
and she kissed him back just as hard. He could feel her
trembling.

Or was it him shaking?

Ray pulled back and gazed into her cocoa
eyes, wishing to hell he didn’t have to spoil the mood.

“There’s been another murder—” he said
bleakly.

Carole blinked. “Eddie Jackson,” she stated
knowingly.

“Yeah,” Ray muttered. “Looks like the killer
laid out a trap for him in his house. And he fell into it like a
damned rat.”

“Any leads yet?” Carole asked steadily.

Their eyes locked as Ray considered the
question.

“Nothing that can lead to an arrest,” he told
her honestly. “This woman’s been very good at covering her tracks
and making us look bad.” That was putting it mildly.

“I wish I could help you, Ray.” Carole
furrowed her brow. “Or is that why you’re here? Do you need to know
if I have an alibi for the time of Jackson’s death?”

Ray felt knots forming in his stomach. “I’m
not here to question you, Carole.”
But since you brought it
up...

Carole seemed to read his mind. “It just so
happens I was at the hospital helping a friend try to save her
pregnancy—” Her voice trailed off. “Unfortunately, she lost her
baby—”

Ray could see how much this had affected her.
And because of that it affected him, too. He was glad, though, that
she could account for her whereabouts for others who might try to
railroad her.

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” she lamented. “Sometimes the world
is just so unfair.”

“I know,” he told her sympathetically.

“Even worse is that I’m not sure she really
wanted the child she lost,” Carole reflected. “Certainly not as
much as her husband did. Now they’re both being punished for
it.”

“Losing a child isn’t punishment, Carole.”
Ray put his hand on her soft elbow. “It happens. And in most cases,
there’s not a damned thing you can do, but deal with it.” He sensed
she felt some sort of guilt, as though this was her fault. He was
seeing a whole new side to the lady. One that showed just how much
she cared about life over death. Not the type of woman capable of
taking life.

Carole seemed to take comfort in his words as
Ray wrapped his virile arms around her.

They kissed again, this time for a longer
duration and a more profound sense of need. Ray could feel the
stiffness of Carole’s body give way to the tenderness of his touch.
They ended up in the bedroom where they made love.

The sex was more passionate than ever, their
bodies in harmony with their minds. Each raised the height of their
intimacy to a new level of lovemaking, occupying all their thoughts
and attention from head to toe and everything in between.

Ray and Carole were pressed against each
other on their sides, panting and grasping, limbs intertwined this
way and that, desperate to achieve every ounce of satisfaction from
one another as if tomorrow would never come. When it was over, all
that was left was the slow and pleasing recuperation, as though
returning from a fantasy vacation. Or perhaps a sixth dimension
where all was right with the world.

Ray wondered if this was something akin to
heaven on earth. He had never known anyone like Carole Cranston.
Never had feelings for a woman like he was starting to feel for
her. This frightened and exhilarated him at the same time. Was she
the person he’d been waiting for all his life? Was he what she
really wanted? Or were they both in over their heads?

“Have you ever thought about having a family,
Ray?” Carole broke into his reverie.

Ray looked down at the top of her head
resting on his shoulder. “Thought about it once,” he admitted. “But
not too deeply, since I had a wife who was too damned busy thinking
about herself to notice. Hasn’t been anyone serious enough in my
life since to do much thinking along those lines. How about
you?”

Carole absorbed the question for a moment. “I
once thought I would never be ready for a family,” she said. “My
husband didn’t seem to object much. And my career seemed to affirm
my choice.”

“And now?” he asked with interest.

She sighed. “Now I think a family might not
be such a bad thing, but only if my man felt the same way and it
was practical within the scheme of our lives.”

“Spoken like a true judge.” Ray chuckled,
surprised that he could talk about this so naturally, as if he had
no qualms about the issue of family. And maybe he didn’t with the
right lady in his life.

Carole blushed. “Well let’s face it, I don’t
have that many years left before the decision to have children will
be taken out of my hands. I guess I’m hoping it doesn’t reach that
point.”

Ray knew he had Carole at a decided
disadvantage in that regard, and felt a trifle guilty about it.
Still, he hardly considered her over the childbearing hill just
yet. He put a hand on her exposed right breast, caressing it.
“These days, many women are having children well into their
forties,” he said comfortingly. “So I don’t think you have too much
to worry about, as far as having to make any snap decisions.”

Carole moaned as Ray’s finger circled her
nipple. “Hold on now,” she said, “I’m not going to be one of those
forty plus women giving birth for the first time, thank you. The
idea of being in my sixties when my children are ready for college
doesn’t have a great deal of appeal.”

“I heard that,” Ray conceded. “Then they
might accidentally call you
grandma
.”

“Not without a
grandpa
handy, honey,”
Carole countered, and laughed thoughtfully.

Soon both were laughing at the odd notion
before settling down into touching and holding, in between some
kisses.

Ray found himself thinking about what it
might be like to have children—
their
children. As long as
they had their mother’s looks, everything would be perfect.

He wondered if this was territory he should
circumvent. Or was he merely entertaining thoughts that had been
easy to avoid when there was no one who commanded his attention the
way Carole Cranston had managed to?

“So what are we talking about,” he ventured
forth curiously, “one, maybe two kids?”

Carole did not hesitate when she responded:
“One
or
two kids.” She studied him. “Why, are you ready to
become a daddy, Mr. Police Detective?”