Justice Served: A Barkley and Parker Thriller (3 page)

“Let’s just hope they’re not turned by hard
swinging bats,” he said humorlessly.

Nina stopped at a red light, giving him the
full attention of her soulful eyes. “I think our killer is a
woman.”

Ray had reluctantly come to the same
conclusion, though he still found it hard to accept. From his
experience, women were not usually cold-blooded killers. Not like
men. Furthermore, virtually all serial killers were men. As well as
spree killers. Psychotic killers. And even death by spousal abuse
killers.

But this was different. It was hard to
imagine a man beating to death other male woman beaters. At least
it was harder to imagine than a vengeful minded woman who had
probably reached the breaking point after years of physical and
psychological torment and decided to take out her frustrations on
any man labeled an abuser and not fortunate enough to have been
locked away.

“Well whether female or not,” Ray said
firmly, “this person is a walking time bomb, waiting to go off any
time the opportunity strikes.”

“We actually found something we can agree on,
Barkley,” Nina said, smiling. “What a concept.”

“Ouch, that hurt.” He bowled over as if in
pain.

“Good,” she said with a pleased chuckle.
“I’ll sleep a lot better tonight.”

Ray glanced at Nina’s profile. Tiny moles
dotted her cheek like freckles. He still found the lady attractive.
Maybe too much for his comfort.

For an instant he felt a trickle of desire,
but quickly extinguished it like a low flame. Whatever chemistry
still existed between them, it was best left to doing the job.
Anything else would only complicate a good working relationship.
Something neither of them wanted or needed.

Not when there were far more pressing matters
that needed attending.

CHAPTER FOUR

Carole carefully watered her weeping fig,
aglaonema, and ivy plants, treating each like family. She had loved
plants since she was a little girl, reading about and growing
different types in her backyard garden. There was something about
nurturing plants and watching them sprout to life that fascinated
her. Their existence was not subject to extraneous factors like
other living creatures. Nor were they prone to human frailties that
could destroy their soul through misuse and mishandling.

The doorbell buzzing startled Carole, who had
been in deep concentration. She put down her watering can and went
to the intercom, thinking with amusement:
Now who on earth could
that be disturbing me and my darling plants?

She pressed the talk button.

“Yes, what is it?”

“It’s me. Stuart,” the husky voice said. “I
need to talk to you, Carole.”

“It’s kind of late,” she said, annoyed.

“Yeah, I know. I promise I won’t take up much
of your time.”

Carole thought about it for a moment before
relenting and pushing the button that unlocked the door downstairs
to her condominium. While waiting for him, it gave her a chance to
make herself a bit more presentable. She tucked her blouse back in
her cropped pants and stepped from bare feet into some flats. At
five-nine, she had inherited her height from her father, while the
metabolism that gave Carole an hourglass figure came from her
mother, along with plenty of exercise and a sensible diet.

In the bathroom she wiped away dirt that had
somehow ended up on her high-cheek boned face. She decided to keep
her pixies tied in a ponytail, seeing no reason to make it seem
like anything other than a purely social call.

That was what you called it nowadays when an
ex-lover paid you an unexpected and not particularly desirable
visit at night, wasn’t it?

Carole had dated Stuart Wolfe off and on for
about a year. She’d met him when she was a prosecutor and he a
criminal defense attorney. It was hardly a match made in heaven,
but they gave each other something they both needed at the time—a
warm body to cuddle up to on cold, rainy Northwest nights, and a
pleasant dinner companion when one was called for.

It was Carole who had decided it wasn’t what
she wanted. Or more that
he
wasn’t really what she wanted.
Stuart had acquiesced to her desire to end their relationship, but
insisted on remaining friends. She had agreed, recognizing that it
was not unreasonable and perhaps even desirable. For she had few
friends, and even fewer people she could trust.

She padded across the bamboo hardwood
flooring, unlocked, and opened the door.

Stuart stood there in an Italian designer
sage colored suit that fit snugly on his six-one, solid frame. A
silk tie was loose around the collar of his ivory shirt as though
he couldn’t decide whether to keep it on or not. He was forty years
old, but didn’t look it. His unblemished fudge skin tone was a
perfect match for his closely cropped black hair and sable eyes. He
pasted a hesitant smile on his handsome face.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.” She waved him in thoughtfully.

“So how’s everything with you?” Stuart asked
while sizing Carole up as they stood in the spacious living room
with its warm, muted gray coloring, French Provincial furniture,
and African decorative art. Along with her array of plants.

“Everything’s just fine, Stuart.” Carole
turned her body away self-consciously, as if he hadn’t already seen
all of it. “How about you?” She was mildly curious about this
unexpected visit.

He placed his hands in his pockets, as though
looking for change. “Oh, hell, I don’t know. I suppose things could
be better. All right, a lot better.”

“Things could always be better,” she said
rather impatiently. “Maybe you should just tell me what you came to
talk about Stuart.”

She figured that it had something to do with
his new wife. He had married her five months ago, after only
knowing her for a few weeks. The suddenness of the marriage had
surprised Carole. At first she had felt a twinge of jealousy, as if
he had somehow betrayed her—them. Just as quickly she had come to
her senses, realizing there was absolutely no need to be jealous.
Their relationship had ended a long time ago. He deserved to be
happy with someone else, if not her.

Only it appeared as if he was anything but
happy. She had found herself more often than not in the undesired
role of being his marriage counselor, as if she qualified. But as
his friend she did what she could to offer him sound, practical
advice. At least she believed that was the case.

Stuart licked his lips. “You know, I could
really use a drink, Carole,” he said. “Or would that be asking too
much?”

Actually it was. Particularly when she wasn’t
in the mood for company.

Nevertheless, she said in an understanding
voice: “No, it wouldn’t be. You want a beer? Wine? Brandy?”

She knew that he liked them all at one time
or another. Which was probably why she kept the choices on hand for
such an occasion, preferring wine herself.

“Beer sounds good, thanks.”

“Be right back,” she told him, and went to
the gourmet kitchen.

Carole glanced at its state-of-the-art
appliances, custom-made maple cabinetry, handset slab granite
countertops, and ceramic tile flooring. She grabbed a cold beer
from the sub-zero refrigerator, then poured herself a glass of
Pinot Grigio, before rejoining her uninvited guest.

Handing him the bottle, she asked directly:
“What’s going on, Stuart?”

He gulped down the beer as if dying of
thirst; then creased his brow. “Vivian’s pregnant,” he said
sullenly.

Carole decided to skip the perfunctory
congratulations, considering it was obvious he wasn’t looking for
any. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

At least it had been something he had often
talked about when they were seeing each other. But she had not
wanted to bring a child into the world, not believing she was
mother material. Some things never changed.

But maybe they had with Stuart. Was he now
singing a different tune?

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes cast downward as if
shamefully. “It is...”

“Then what’s the problem?” She gazed at him.
“Or am I missing something here?”

Stuart looked up. “She wants to have an
abortion.”

“Oh, I see.” Carole wasn’t sure exactly where
to go with this one. She didn’t know how she would react if
pregnant; only that it was an extremely personal choice—one that
should ultimately be left to the person having the baby.

I’d certainly want to be the master of my
body under those circumstances.

“What should I do?” His lower lip quivered.
“What shouldn’t I do?”

“Talk to her, Stuart,” she advised him. “Tell
your wife exactly how you feel.”

“I have,” he muttered. “It doesn’t seem to do
a hell of a lot of good. She can be a stubborn bitch when she wants
to be.”

“Maybe you aren’t saying the right things,”
Carole suggested, though admittedly uncertain if there were any
magical words to keep a determined woman from aborting her unborn
child.

“I’m not sure what they are anymore.” Stuart
scratched the tip of his broad nose. “I love her, Carole, and I
don’t want to lose her—or our baby. But if she goes through with
this, I swear—” He shook his head mournfully.

“You should try counseling,” she recommended.
“Both of you. And I mean
real
counseling.”
Not the
counsel of a judge friend, ex-lover like me
.

“Will you talk to Vivian?” Stuart blurted
out, as if it refused to stay put in his mouth.

Carole widened her eyes at him in disbelief
and a bit of anger. “And say what? I’m hardly the one to lecture
someone on the merits of having a baby.”

Stuart twisted his face. “Just tell her how
much it would mean to me,” he pleaded. “If anyone can—”

She cut him off sharply. “Don’t even say it,
Stuart. I will do no such thing. The last person in the world your
wife needs advice from is your ex-girlfriend. I’m sorry, but you’ll
have to figure out this one all by yourself.”

He glared icily at her, quickly thawing out.
“I’m asking you as a
friend
, Carole. Not an ex-lover.” He
sighed. “There’s no one else I feel comfortable enough with to even
broach the subject.”

Carole felt the pain he was going through.
She knew it took a lot for a Stuart to break out of his shell to
ask anyone for anything. Especially someone who had, in effect,
sent him into the arms of another woman. She wondered if he was
asking too much of her. Or was she merely making it harder than it
had to be?

“I’ll think about it,” she told him as a
compromise.

Stuart grinned, as if he had locked her in.
“Thanks, Carole. I owe you one.”

You may owe me more than that
,
buddy.

He put his arm around her and Carole
immediately recoiled, shaking him loose like a snake that had
encircled her and was about to release some venom.

“Don’t,” she said with snap, hitting him with
the brown heat of her eyes.

He blinked in surprise. “Hey, I’m sorry,
baby. Didn’t mean to—”

“I know.” Carole took a deep breath,
realizing she had overreacted. “Don’t worry about it.” She hoped he
would leave it at that.

Stuart sighed. “Well, I guess I’d better be
going then.”

She forced a tiny smile. “All right.”

They both headed towards the door.

“By the way,” he said, facing her, “in case
you didn’t already know, that guy—Roberto Martinez—was found beaten
to death tonight.”

“Roberto...” Carole tried to place the name.
“Martinez?”

“Yeah. The asshole you told me about last
week who was going to trial for beating his girlfriend half to
death.” Stuart raised a brow. “You even suggested he might be able
to use a good attorney like me. Apparently the lawyer he had was
more than sufficient, considering he got him off, and was probably
a lot cheaper, too. Though little good it did Martinez, as it turns
out.”

“Yes,” Carole said, nodding, “I remember now.
Roberto Martinez was released because the prosecution’s case was
simply too weak.” She paused. “I guess with my heavy caseload, it’s
hard to remember all the names of the sickos who come through my
courtroom.”

“Well this is one less sicko to see in the
future,” Stuart hummed. “Someone saw to that!”

“I’m sorry to hear about Martinez,” she said
sincerely.

“So am I. It’s about the third time this has
happened in the past few months. Seems like there’s someone out
there hunting down men accused of abusing their women.”

Carole stared at the notion, sipping her
drink. “If it’s true, I certainly hope the police get the party
responsible. The last thing we need is to have some damned
vigilante taking the law into his or her hands.”

“I’d say it’s too late to avoid that,” Stuart
said flatly. “It’s already happening. Stopping this killer is a
whole different story—”

Carole showed Stuart out, locking the door
behind him. Curling up on her Normandy sofa, she finished off the
wine. She thought about Roberto Martinez. As far as she was
concerned scum like him got everything they deserved, including a
painful death.

Now maybe the victim of Martinez’s fists
could somehow regain her dignity and get past what he did to her
and would have continued to do had an avenging angel not come
forward and meted out their own form of justice on the
batterer.

CHAPTER FIVE

Nina Parker had known she wanted to be a
policewoman since she was five years old, which was her earliest
memory of her father as a cop with the Detroit Police Department.
When the family moved to the Pacific Northwest after her father
retired, she kept her dream alive, entering the Police Academy in
Portland at twenty-one. By the time she was twenty-five she had
been on patrol, done vice, and gotten married and divorced.