Justice Served: A Barkley and Parker Thriller (26 page)

“It is when they were apparently looking for
a black BMW,” said Stuart, “which I just happen to own. Think about
it.”

Carole did and only found herself more
mystified and unsure.
I can’t allow myself to believe you were
somehow behind this, but I can’t dismiss the notion outright
either. I’d be a fool to as long as I’m in here for something I
didn’t do.

Stuart reached out to her, their hands
touching. “Listen to me, Carole, if this lunatic killer wanted to
know all there was to know about you—or me, for that matter—it
wouldn’t be very difficult to make the connection between us. A
little bit of research on the Internet would give them a running
start. They could probably figure out the rest with half a brain.”
He paused. “My guess is it’s someone who’s been at your trials
dealing with these batterers and figured that sooner or later the
police would tie us together. The killer made sure they wouldn’t
come up empty handed with the well placed bat and bracelet—likely
as a means to get some of the heat off herself.”

This made sense to Carole. Except for those
who believed she had somehow engineered her setup to make it appear
she was being framed while really being this woman from hell who
killed men, almost for sport.

Who would do such a thing to her? Where did
she possibly start in narrowing down the list? And how could she do
anything as long as she was behind bars?

“This whole thing is really starting to freak
me out, Stuart,” she said suddenly, feeling the heat as if already
being burned at the stake.

“I know,” he muttered sympathetically. “Which
is probably what the killer wants. What better way to gain some
vicarious, sick thrill than to know that the judge herself who’s
letting these creeps go free is getting a dose of what she should
be giving them?”

“Well I’m getting the message loud and
clear!” Carole said. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to be a target
for some crazy woman who’s out to destroy me and my reputation for
what she falsely believes is my inability to put the assholes away
who beat up women—”

Stuart drew his brows together. “Whatever
you’re thinking, Carole, forget it! This bitch is not a person to
play around with. She’s dangerous, deadly, and definitely unstable.
Leave the detective work to people like your boyfriend—or should I
say
former
boyfriend...?”

Carole blinked involuntarily. She was not
sure what to think where it concerned Ray. Was he her Benedict
Arnold? Or her sexy savior?

Her lover? Or loser?

The jury was still out on whether or not Ray
was the person she hoped he’d be or one he could never be.

Was he a man she could trust with her
life?

“I haven’t decided yet exactly where we
stand,” Carole told Stuart as much as herself. Something told her
that she should keep an open mind and not give up on Ray Barkley
just yet.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

“It’s the least I can do,” offered Vivian,
behind the wheel of her Lexus. “You’ve certainly been around when I
needed someone.”

Carole sat beside her. Forcing a smile, she
said: “I think I’m only just beginning to realize who my friends
truly are.”

Vivian had been waiting when Carole stepped
outside the Criminal Court Plaza after posting bail. Stuart had
guided her through a throng of reporters to the car before dashing
back to the building to be with another client.

The judge, Harvey Winston III, was not a
friend, but a colleague and acquaintance of Carole’s. The
sixty-year-old African-American former Portland city councilman had
clearly been torn in his decision on bail. Finally, he compromised
between the prosecutor’s wishes for no bail and his inclination for
a significant, but not unattainably high bail and set it at five
hundred thousand dollars.

Carole had been required to put up ten
percent, along with her personal guarantee she wouldn’t skip town
while her case was pending. She had gladly agreed to such, tapping
into her savings and being willing to beg, borrow, or steal, if
necessary—anything to avoid spending one more second behind bars as
a murder suspect.

Carole felt sick to her stomach that she had
been demeaned this way. All her adult life she had stood for fair
and honest justice. Now with one calculating move someone had
managed to put a serious dent into her accomplishments and
integrity with no guarantee she could ever right the wrongs. Or
repair the great damage that had been inflicted upon her
character.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” Vivian
broke into her thoughts. “There’s a new Caribbean restaurant not
far from here. Stuart took me there last week.”

“I don’t think so,” Carole told her. “I just
want to go home, take a nice long hot shower, and go to bed.”
And feel sorry for myself. Alone.

Carole almost expected Vivian to argue that
she had to eat, but Stuart’s wife did not.

Instead she said: “I can understand that. It
must have been awful in there.”

Carole bristled. “Awful doesn’t even begin to
describe it,” she grumbled. “Try a living hell.” Actually she knew
she had been treated better than a typical jail inmate. Being a
prominent judge who had put many others away had allowed her at
least that much. But that did little to keep her from feeling like
a damned caged animal during her short stay.

“I hear you, girl,” Vivian said. “Especially
for something you didn’t do.” She turned the corner a little too
sharply, causing the tires to squeal. “Sorry. Sometimes I drive a
little crazy.”

Carole had on her seatbelt, but was startled
nonetheless, gripping the seat impulsively. Her mind went beyond
the unsteady driving, more piqued by Vivian’s words:
For
something you didn’t do
. She wondered how Stuart’s wife could
be so sure of her innocence.

Could Vivian have actually stolen the
bracelet from her condo when she dropped by...and then planted it
in the front seat of Stuart’s car? If so, why?

Could this possibly be about my past with
Stuart and some sort of insane animosity?

Or might it have more to do with her being a
judge and vindictiveness related to abusers who walked from her
court as free—but still far from innocent—men?

Carole regarded Vivian thoughtfully. “I’m not
guilty of these crimes,” she affirmed. “But someone is...”

“Yeah,” Vivian muttered in agreement. “I just
hope the police get real smart before this killer has everyone in
town accusing each other while she remains free to keep killing
these bastards.”

Carole glanced at her suspiciously. She
managed to sound nonchalant when she said: “Stuart and I were
trying to figure out how on earth someone got my bracelet and put
it in his car without the alarm going off or anyone being
seen—”

Was this about jealousy? Carole recalled
Vivian’s apparent outrage when she saw her and Stuart embracing.
Could Vivian have misinterpreted Stuart’s show of friendly concern
for romantic feelings? Even love?

But the most pressing question at the moment
was whether or not Vivian could have resorted to murder?

Five
times...

“If you ask me,” said Vivian with a catch to
her voice, “someone who was clever and daring enough could have
broken into your condo and stolen the bracelet. I’ve read that most
locks can be picked in a matter of seconds, if you know what you’re
doing. Of course, the person would also have to know your
schedule—like when you wouldn’t be home.” She stopped at a light.
“It wouldn’t take a genius or pro to plant evidence in Stuart’s car
to try and set you up. I’m always getting on him about keeping it
unlocked with the alarm off. But he never listens. He also likes to
park away from other cars so his pretty BMW doesn’t get scratched.
Can you believe that?”

Carole shuddered. “Sounds like you’ve got it
all figured out,” she said without inflection.

Vivian shrugged. “Hey, it’s just a theory.”
She pressed down on the accelerator. “I suppose every armchair
detective has one.”

Carole was starting to get a bad feeling
about Stuart’s no longer pregnant wife. Was Vivian being influenced
by too many mystery novels and movies o was she speaking more from
actual knowledge than theory?

“But I still haven’t figured out why this
bitch would try and frame you,” Vivian said, shifting her eyes.
“Must be someone has it in for you since you represent the system
and men who beat their women half to death and seem to get away
with it almost every time—”

“So it would seem,” Carole said through
pursed lips.

But who?

Was it Vivian? A woman who acted like her
friend, but also showed a darker side.

Or someone else I’m connected to?

Vivian drove up to the building. “I’d watch
my step if I were you,” she said, concern in her voice. “Something
tells me this vigilante broad may not stop here. You could become
their target next—”

A target?

The thought unsettled Carole.
Is she
warning me about herself
as a perpetrator?

Beyond that, Carole contemplated the notion
that a serial killer of male batterers was really targeting her.
What for?
To punish me for their sins, real or otherwise?
Hadn’t she already been punished enough for what her father had
done to her mother?

Now someone is coming after me for just
doing my job.

When will the madness end?

She unfastened her seatbelt and glanced over
at Stuart’s young wife, wondering if Vivian was capable of
orchestrating this entire thing. Could Stuart have actually been in
on it, too?

Or was she looking at the wrong suspects,
simply because they were in the right place with the right
opportunity?

With a forced grin, she told Vivian: “Thanks
for the advice and ride. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Could she really be so certain of that, given
the dangers that suddenly seemed to lurk around every corner?
Carole feared that she was caught up in the classic tale of denial
that so many potential victims used to try and escape what was
staring them so clearly in the face.

She got out of the car and waved as Vivian
drove away.

As she headed towards the building, Carole
knew she had a lot to think about. One was getting back her good
name.

Another was seeing if what she and Ray had
was real or if it was just a figment of her imagination and her
body’s reaction to his touch.

Most of all, she had to try and figure out
who hated her enough to want to take the fall for the vicious and
malicious murders of abusive men.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

“You’re pissed at me, aren’t you?” Nina asked
Ray.

“Would it make you feel better if I said I
was?” he asked. They were at a coffee shop in the heart of downtown
Portland.

She shrugged. “I’d just rather hear it from
you, rather than speculate that my partner hates my guts because I
caused his judge girlfriend to go down on this one.”

“I don’t hate your guts, Nina,” he told her
sincerely over the rim of his coffee cup. “You did your job the way
you thought it had to be done. As far as Carole is concerned, I
wouldn’t put this down as a done deal just yet.”

Nina raised her eyes. “Oh, really?” she said
skeptically. “Why not? She’s got motive, opportunity, and working
knowledge of the dead batterers and their living victims. Not to
mention her association with both the court and the shelter. Throw
in some strong circumstantial and direct evidence with the lady’s
signature all over it, and I’d say it looks pretty damned
convincing to me.”

“It looks like anything but that to me,” Ray
countered, realizing he was going out on a limb here. He was
confident it was with just cause. “We’ve got a bat with no
fingerprints tying it to Judge Cranston that could have been put
there by anyone. It just happens to conveniently have Roberto
Martinez’s blood on it, though we both know the bat that was used
to kill him was left at the scene. Add to this a cultured pearl
bracelet, which Carole never denied was hers, that mysteriously
shows up inside the seat in a car both she and the car’s owner
claim she’s never even been in. If this doesn’t smack of a damned
setup, I don’t know what.”

Nina sneered. “Don’t fight me on this one,
Barkley,” she warned. “You’ll lose.”

Ray gripped the table. The last thing he
wanted was to screw things up between them and put in jeopardy what
had, for the most part, been a good partnership as well as
friendship. But even that was not as important to him as righting
what he saw to be a terrible wrong. He wasn’t about to sit idly by
and watch Carole take the rap for something he felt certain she was
innocent of.

“I went to see Carole,” he admitted, knowing
it was not advisable under the circumstances.

“You what—?” Nina’s head snapped back as if
she had run into a door. “Have you lost your damned mind, Barkley?
The lead investigator in a serial killer case does not play
footsies with the lead suspect...not at this stage of the process
anyway. You know that, Ray! What the hell’s gotten into you anyway?
This can’t be all about falling for the judge to the point that
you’ve lost all perspective—”

Ray stiffened. “It’s far from that, Parker!”
he insisted, even if knowing that feeling as he did about Carole
had definitely figured into his thinking. “My gut tells me that
Carole’s not the Vigilante Killer! I don’t give a damn what the
evidence suggests...”

“And how can
you
be so sure of that?”
Nina’s voice had a cynical lilt to it.

How can I be so sure of anything these
days?
Including the judgment of his partner. Maybe Nina had
lost some objectivity in her pursuit of Carole at all costs.
Whatever he didn’t know about Carole Cranston, in his heart of
hearts Ray could not believe this lady was capable of one murder,
let alone multiple homicides.