Justice Served: A Barkley and Parker Thriller (29 page)

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she
told him succinctly. “Besides, if it is Jacqueline Lewiston,
hopefully we’ll find her and my safety will no longer be an
issue.”

Ray faced her with a raised eyebrow.
“
We’ll
find her?”

Carole held his gaze. “Damned right,” she
said. “If you think I’m going to just sit around and be a potential
target while someone tries to frame me for murder or make an
attempt on my life, think again!”

Ray did think about it. He could have
insisted she stay out of it as official police business. But he
knew Carole had a right to at least be there when they snapped the
cuffs on the suspect. He’d make sure she was well out of harm’s
way.

Perhaps this would also be a good way to try
and make amends with her, and salvage what they had. If the damage
was not irreversible.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

“Looks like Jacqueline Monique Lewiston just
might be our killer,” Nina said humbly, her gaze spraying
regretfully to Ray and Carole. They were standing around Nina’s
desk. “Found out some rather disturbing things about her...”

“Such as?” Ray prompted her.

“Nine years ago she snapped after being
battered one time too many by her renowned civil attorney husband,
Derrick Lewiston. She literally beat him to death with a wooden
bat. She was charged with murder and found not guilty by reason of
insanity. Spent nearly eight years in a mental hospital before
being declared sane again. She was released six months ago.”

Ray looked stunned, as did Carole.

“She must have really done one helluva a con
job on those shrinks at the hospital,” said Ray in disbelief.

Nina nodded. “Yeah, I’d say they screwed up
big time on this one. I guess I did, too,” she said with an eye on
Carole. “I’m really sorry for putting you through this, Judge
Cranston.”

Carole managed a smile. “Don’t worry about
it, Detective Parker,” she said diplomatically. “What’s done is
done. You were only doing your job. Some people—or at least one
person—seem to think I screwed up by allowing some accused or
convicted batterers to go free. I was only doing what my job called
for. I suppose the down side comes with the territory for us
both.”

“So we’re cool then?” Nina asked
hopefully.

“Yes, Detective,” Carole said evenly, peeking
at Ray, “we’re cool.”

A smile of relief spread across Nina’s
face.

“Now that we’ve made peace amongst us,” Ray
said between them, “I think it’s time to focus our attention on the
person behind the vigilante murders. Let’s go pick up Jacqueline
Monique Lewiston—”

There were no dissenters.

* * *

They drove to an address on Philmore Street
in the Hayworth District of the city. Backup units accompanied
them. The suspect was considered armed and dangerous, but they
still wanted to try and take her alive.

So long as no one’s safety was
compromised.

The cottage style apartments were surrounded
by well-kept shrubbery and walkways, resembling a college campus.
Ray and Nina led the assault on the first story unit in question,
leaving Carole at a safe distance in the car. Guns were drawn and
in ready position.

The lights were on inside, indicating that
someone was home. On the porch was some rotting leftover wood from
winter and a couple of half-soaked newspapers.

Ray knocked once on the door, then yelled:
“Police! Open up!”

Moments later the door opened and an elderly,
frail, white man appeared, looking like he was about to have a
heart attack.

“What is this about?” he asked in a
frightened, thick German accent.

“We’re looking for Jacqueline Lewiston,” Ray
blared, wondering if they might have the wrong address, but not
taking any chances. He kept his gun pointed at the man, who was
trembling badly.

“There’s no Jacqueline Lewiston here
anymore,” he stated. “She moved out two weeks ago.”

Ray regarded his partner who hunched her
shoulders, as if stumped.

“My wife and I just moved in last week,” the
man stammered. He scratched his wide pate. “What did she do—rob a
bank or something?”

“If only,” Ray muttered.

It took them about two minutes to verify the
man’s story and vacate the premises, realizing that Jacqueline
Monique Lewiston was still very much on the loose. She had, to no
one’s surprise, left no forwarding address.

She was again one step ahead of everyone
else.

* * *

“You want to do
what
?” boomed the
voice of the man in charge of the homicide/robbery division.
Lieutenant Vernon O’Neal was a twenty-five year veteran of the
Portland Police Bureau. At five-eleven, he was built like a milk
chocolate house and had a gravelly voice from years of smoking
cigars.

“I want to act as a decoy,” repeated Ray
tonelessly.

They were gathered for a strategy session
aimed at capturing Jacqueline Monique Lewiston, now unanimously
believed to be the psychopathic Vigilante Batterer Killer.

“You’ve either lost your damned mind,
Barkley,” growled O’Neal, standing in front of the room, “or you’re
one brave son of a bitch.”

A spatter of uneasy chuckles filled the
room.

But Ray was not laughing. He had given this
some serious thought. It seemed like the best way to flush this
killer out into the open, without putting others at risk. At worst,
he believed, if she suspected they were on to her, she’d probably
disappear into the woodwork of any big city in America and continue
her self-appointed mission. Or never be heard from again. Either
way, it would be disastrous to the Bureau—not to mention men across
the country. Including those who had never even harmed a fly, let
alone the women in their lives.

“It makes sense,” he said confidently, eyeing
Nina who had been vehemently against the idea. So had Carole. “If
I’m set up as an abusive creep who gets off with a pat on the back,
I know she’ll come after me. We can go the whole nine yards,
including a rap sheet; a convincing battered wife or girlfriend,
and a trial—anything it takes to make it seem legit. If we’re
lucky, we’ll spot Monique in court or hanging around the building,
and nab her ass right then and there.”

“And what if we’re not?” O’Neal’s brow
creased in three separate places.

“Then I’ll make myself a target,” offered Ray
succinctly. “When the bitch thinks she’s luring me into a trap,
it’ll really be the other way around. It can work, Vernon.”

At least I hope to hell it will.
In
truth, Ray knew it could just as easily blow up in his face. But he
considered it worth the risk in trying to catch an elusive and
maniacal killer.

O’Neal hesitated. “I don’t know, Barkley. If
we keep this thing under wraps and she kills someone else instead
of being taken down, it’ll be
my
ass on the line.” He
peered. “Not to mention
yours
!”

Ray sucked in a deep breath. “If we publicly
identify her, it may drive her over the edge even more. She could
strike out at anyone who happens to be male. Even a female, if she
gets in her way. Hell, she could even go underground, aided and
abetted by people who believe she’s doing the right thing. I say we
try it my way. If it doesn’t work, we still know who our suspect
is.”

“Knowing who she is and finding her are two
different things,” Nina said snidely, two chairs over in the front
row. She glared at Ray. “This is my case, too, Barkley. I say we
put out the word that we’re looking for Lewiston to our informants
and the media. We can go house to house, door to door, if we have
to. Even offer a reward. Someone would come forward. Once she knows
she’s been identified, there will be too much heat to try and kill
anyone else—except maybe herself.”

Ray scowled. He knew this was her way of
looking out for his ass. Not to mention Nina’s damned stubbornness
coming out in full force. He was not deterred.

“But why take the chance she might kill again
or commit suicide?” he argued. “Why send the public into a panic
and maybe a killer as well when there may be a better means to
bring her to justice?”

O’Neal shuffled his feet. “Barkley’s right,
Parker.” He angled his eyes on Nina. “Besides, we already tried
things your way once and look what it got us—an innocent judge that
we had all but locked up and thrown away the key.”

This silenced Nina and Ray felt for her. Just
as he did Carole. He wished to hell it had never happened. Carole
had simply been in the wrong situation at the worst possible time,
making her a perfect suspect.

But all they could do now was look ahead. No
one said it would be easy to mend fences. He wondered if Carole
realized just how much he missed having her in his life. What he
wouldn’t give to just be able to kiss and cuddle her.

Maybe they could when this was all
over...

O’Neal turned his attention to Ray,
grimacing. “One shot at this,” he said tersely. “We do it all by
the book. No stepping out of line, Barkley. We don’t need any more
dead heroes. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly,” Ray responded, already putting
the plan into action in his mind.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

The cab dropped Carole off in front of the
Rose City Women’s Shelter. The day was dreary and drizzly, the sky
dark and threatening.

Carole made her way up the cobblestone
walkway. The shelter reminded her of an old English castle that had
been renovated. She could see faces peeking out from behind
curtains, as if fearing their men had come to take them back into
an abusive environment.

She had received a call from Esther asking
her to come. The call came after they had spoken on the phone
briefly for the first time in months. Their friendship had been
strained in recent years, as both had put more focus into their
jobs and less in strengthening the bond they had developed so long
ago.

Neither had spoken much about Esther killing
her husband since the trial. Both knew that it did no good to harp
on what had happened. To Carole, her friend had been left with no
choice, other than to be killed herself.

Carole had often wondered if she should have
had the courage to fight her father, maybe saving her mother’s
life. The image of her mother’s beaten, bloodied, lifeless body
lying broken on the bed beside her drunken father would haunt her
forever. Years of therapy had more or less convinced her that there
was little a seven-year-old girl could have done against her brute
of a father, aside from feel the sting of his fists herself. And
perhaps be permanently silenced like her mama. He had confessed to
the crime, sparing her from testifying against him. He died in
prison from a heart attack.

It had been years before Carole had been able
to cry for the man out of love and pity. For as much as she wanted
to hate him, she couldn’t. In spite of what he had done and how, he
was still her father—the only one she’d ever have.

Her mother must have felt the same way, she’d
imagined. She wanted only to have her family whole, willing to
sacrifice her life to make a home for her daughter and be a good
wife.

Family was something Carole had run away from
ever since. First settling on a substance-abusing, unstable
husband, then being in a few mostly meaningless, short-term
relationships designed to disintegrate. Her work had become her
family, pouring herself into it as though nothing else in the world
mattered.

Only with Ray Barkley had she finally felt as
if someone else did matter. He had given her cause to actually
think she might want to be with someone long enough to create a
life together with a family of her own.

But that had also come under fire recently,
leaving Carole with doubts and second-guessing. Could they survive
the strain placed on their relationship? Or would it prove to be
their undoing at the end of the day?

Ray had urged Carole to stay behind locked
doors as long as Jacqueline Lewiston was still at large. She had
rejected this insofar as becoming essentially a prisoner in her
home. Having already known what it was like to live in fear of
someone, she refused to ever be placed in that position again.

Not even if it put her life in jeopardy.

Carole entered the shelter. She had always
felt its warm ambiance set it apart from other shelters and helped
give battered women hope and encouragement that they didn’t have to
be victims.

But one of the women had managed to veer way
off course and slip through the cracks of sanity and social
behavior. She had become the person all battered women feared
existed within them, waiting to be brought to the surface by
violence perpetrated against them by their male lovers.

“Hello, Esther.” Carole looked at her friend
who appeared tired and over burdened.

“Hi, Carole.” Esther licked her lips
nervously.

After a moment of awkwardness, the two women
embraced warmly.

“I’ve missed you, girl,” Esther cried.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Carole said, choking
up.

“I know I should have called sooner,
but...well...I just didn’t know what to say or do—”

“Maybe neither of us did.” Carole pulled back
and smiled at her. “I think I could do with a good strong cup of
coffee, if you have any.”

“I sure do.” Esther pushed her glasses
up.

They went to Esther’s office where she made
two cups of coffee, spicing hers with a shot of gin.

Carole sat down, wondering how Esther could
have gotten mixed up with the likes of Jacqueline Monique Lewiston.
Of course, she knew the answer. Jacqueline had been touched by
violence in the same way Esther had, as well as most of the women
passing through those walls.

It wasn’t hard to imagine Esther would feel a
sense of loyalty to such a woman, even if she had gone over the
edge. What was harder was the feeling that in some strange way it
was she who had let Esther down rather than the other way
around.