Justice Served: A Barkley and Parker Thriller

by Flowers, R. Barri

  Or perhaps it was a carryover from their brief stint under the sheets. Nina felt a tad self-conscious in considering just how much of her beautiful body he’d gotten to see.

  “Morning, Barkley,” she said, keeping her voice unemotional as she got into the car.

  “Got some news,” Ray told her. “Based on the witness’s recollection of part of the license plate number of the BMW that drove off from the garage where Blake Wallace was murdered, we’ve been able to narrow it down to ten possible vehicles. Meaning we could be closing in on our killer—”

  Nina refused to get her hopes up, knowing an eyewitness’s memories were often unreliable and dubious at best, especially when trying to remember license plate numbers they had no reason to remember at the time. But at this point she would take any lead they could get. No matter how small.

  “What do we have on the owners of the cars?” she asked.

  Ray frowned. “Not much,” he admitted. “None of the owners have criminal records. Nor have we been able to match any of them to police reports of domestic violence or the names taken from the Rose City Women’s Shelter.”

  “Sounds like we’re definitely on the right track,” Nina scoffed sardonically.

  He chuckled. “Yeah, well, we both know most crimes are solved not because of hard evidence, but a series of lucky breaks.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it,” she muttered. “So why is it I don’t feel so lucky today?”

  “Could be it’s your natural pessimism kicking in,” Ray quipped. “Must be a woman thing.”

  Nina rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right...probably because of the grief we have to put up with from men like you.”

  Ray laughed. “Guess I deserved that one.”

  “I guess you did.”

  Nina’s thoughts turned elsewhere—or more to someone, in particular. She faced Ray. “You wouldn’t happen to know what type of car Judge Cranston drives, would you?”

  He shook his head and glared at her. “You just won’t let it go, will you, Parker?”

  “Is there any reason I should?” Nina countered, though wishing she had let it go.

  A vein bulged in Ray’s temple. “Yes, dammit! Because she’s the last person in Portland we should be looking at as a murder suspect.”

  “Oh, really?” Nina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “I know that Carole—Judge Cranston—doesn’t even own a vehicle. She walks, jogs, and cabs her way around the city. Beats looking for places to park when there never seem to be any. Not to mention saving on those damned car repairs.”

  Nina wanted to ask how he knew these little details about the judge’s private life, but decided not to. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, though one didn’t have to be Einstein to put two and two together.

  Instead she said dryly: “Well, it looks like you’re way ahead of me on this one, Ray.”

  “So what else is new,” he said, grinning crookedly at her.

  “Don’t press it, mister,” she warned, poking him in the side, causing him to groan.

  “I won’t.” Ray shrugged, peering out over the steering wheel. “Consider it a dead issue, no pun intended.”

  From Nina’s point of view, the issue of Carole Cranston as a possible killer was still on the table. I’m just not willing to let the judge off the hook simply because Barkley’s got the hots for her.

  “Who’s first on the list?” Nina asked.

  “An attorney by the name of Stuart Wolfe,” replied Ray. “The first three letters the witness made out on the license plate are a match for those on his black BMW. It’s probably a long shot, but you never know. We could hit the jackpot on this lawyer dude, or someone who uses his car.”

  “Maybe he’s a cross dresser,” Nina said half jokingly.

  “Don’t laugh,” Ray shot back. “Why the hell not a cross dressing serial killer? We’ve seen just about everything else in this business. There isn’t much left to shock me—except maybe a cunning female killer who preys on men and isn’t afraid to really sock it to them.”

  Nina grunted. They both knew that in all likelihood they were looking for a female killer—one who had felt the sting of a man’s fist more often than not—who was seeking vengeance in an emphatic and suitable way.

  * * *

  The black Mercedes with the license plate number SLW 402 sat in plain view in the circular drive of a large Victorian house. It was in the West Hills, a section of the city known for its exclusive homes and breathtaking mountain views. Large bay windows occupied much of the two-storied residence with a gabled roof and Corinthian columned porch. Tall, manicured bushes and very old magnolia trees bordered a wide lawn.

  “Whatever else you can say about the man,” chirped Nina, “he sure has good taste in a home, and obviously the money to back it up.”

  “Not too surprising,” Ray said, pulling into the driveway, “considering the dude’s starting to come into his own as one of the top African-American criminal defense attorneys in the Rose City. Think I read that he got married a little while back.”

  “Well whoop-tee-do,” Nina hummed, trying to sound unimpressed, though she was anything but. “Let’s just see if he has any skeletons in his closet, shall we?”

  On their way up to the house, they studied the car that could have possibly been driven by a killer. It looked like it had been recently washed and otherwise showed no signs of damage or indication of where it might have been. Inside, there was an overcoat thrown haphazardly over the front seat and a newspaper folded neatly on the back seat, alongside a briefcase.

  “What do you think?” Nina asked.

  Ray shrugged. “I think if this is the BMW that fled from the scene of the crime, we may have our work cut out for us proving it.”

  The ring of the doorbell brought an immediate response, almost as if they were expected. Nina saw in the entrance a tall, fit, dark-skinned man with a short, gleaming Afro. She guessed he was in his late thirties. He stood mute in a gray designer suit and wing-tipped leather shoes, his coal eyes wide with anticipation.

  “Can I help you?” he asked in a deep voice.

  “Are you Stuart Wolfe?” Nina asked.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “I’m Detective Parker,” she said. “And this is Detective Barkley. We’re with the Portland Police Bureau, Homicide Division. I wonder if we could ask you a few questions?”

  A thick brow cocked. “What’s this about?”

  Nina looked up at him. “We’re investigating a homicide in which a BMW fitting your car’s description was seen leaving the scene.”

  Stuart grimaced. “What? You’re joking, right?”

  Ray stepped forward with pursed lips. “This is no joke, man.”

  “I’m sure there are plenty of black Mercedes in Portland,” Stuart said.

  “Yeah,” allowed Ray, “but not many that have plates with SLW on them—”

  Stuart showed no sign of nervousness. “I see,” he said equably. “Come in...”

  They went to his study, bypassing several impressively furnished, architecturally fascinating, sizable rooms along the way. Stuart offered the detectives a seat on a leather couch, and sat across from them on a matching loveseat.

  “I would offer you a beer or something,” Stuart told his guests curtly, “but I’m sure you don’t drink on duty.”

  “Right on that one,” Nina said tersely, adding, for effect: “Thanks anyway.”

  Ray watched the attorney thoughtfully.

  Stuart furrowed his brow. “I actually thought customizing my plate to reflect my initials would make it distinctive—though certainly not like this.”

  “Oh, your initials are not all that common,” she pointed out. “That’s the problem we’re having here...”

  “So what murder are we talking about?” asked Stuart straightforwardly, casting his gaze directly at Ray.

  “The victim is a man named Blake Wallace,” he told him, sure the dude was already on
top of it.

  Stuart reacted. “The businessman who was beaten to death with a bat?”

  The detectives exchanged glances before Ray replied: “Yeah, that’s him.”

  Stuart sighed. “Since you obviously did your homework before coming here, I’m sure you know I’m a criminal attorney. Blake Wallace was being represented by one of the partners in my law firm during his trial for domestic assault.”

  Nina and Ray again looked at each other with surprise, not anticipating this angle.

  “Actually that little tidbit had escaped our attention,” Ray admitted, almost to himself. But it did connect the dots a little more between the attorney and Blake Wallace.

  Stuart seemed unfazed by this. “Well, it’s pretty irrelevant, as far as I’m concerned. I had nothing to do with Wallace’s case. And as for my car being at the murder scene, you obviously picked the wrong BMW with the partial license number SLW. I wasn’t anywhere near that location that night.” He set his jaw. “I gave a lecture at Portland State University, which I do on occasion, from seven to ten. I believe Wallace was killed within that time frame. There were about a hundred and fifty or so students who can vouch for my presence—”

  “You drove your car that night?” Nina asked, peering at him.

  “Yes,” Stuart said confidently.

  Ray allowed his eyes to wander thoughtfully, settling on a walnut bookcase filled with law books, before returning to the man on the hot seat.

  “Any other drivers in the house?”

  “My wife, Vivian,” he responded effortlessly.

  Ray regarded Nina and back again. “Could she have driven your car that night?”

  “Not a chance,” Stuart said coolly. “Vivian never drives my car, especially when I have it. Besides, she has her own car.”

  “And what type of car would that be?” asked Nina.

  “A white Lexus.”

  The detectives seemed reasonably satisfied for now.

  “I think we’ve taken up enough of your time, Mr. Wolfe,” Ray said half apologetically. The other half would come once the attorney had been completely exonerated.

  “No problem, man,” Stuart said in a friendly, calm voice. “I understand you have a job to do. I think we’ll all feel a lot better when you catch whoever it is that’s targeting these men.”

  Nina fixed the attorney with soulful, inquisitive eyes as he led them to the front door. “Your wife—Vivian—wouldn’t happen to be around, would she?”

  Stuart met her gaze head on and said excitedly: “Actually she’s at the doctor. We’re expecting our first child early next year!”

  Nina smiled slightly and made herself say: “Congratulations.”

  Outside, the detectives considered the suspect.

  “His alibi for that night should be easy enough to verify,” said Ray. “Personally, I don’t think our lawyer had anything to do with Blake Wallace’s murder, aside from the law firm connection, which seems to be pretty weak at best.”

  “What about his wife?” Nina wondered out loud. “Show me a guy who says his wife never drives his car and I’ll show you one who drives it all the time.”

  Ray rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Nina. You don’t seriously believe our killer is a pregnant woman, do you?”

  Nina thought about it, unwilling to rule anything out, no matter how unlikely. But common sense kicked in. There was simply no evidence at this point to support the notion the killer was with child. Not that such evidence would necessarily easily manifest itself, particularly if she was still in the early stages of pregnancy. But it still didn’t seem too likely. The rage with which the victims were savagely attacked suggested a killer with only one main focus, leaving little room for the pursuit of motherhood.

  “No, I don’t,” she told Ray candidly. “I guess that lets these two off the hook...at least for now.”

  One by one they paid a visit to the list of suspects. In each case the potential perpetrators either had solid alibis, or were otherwise eliminated from contention.

  The hot trail had once again grown cold and old and the detectives found themselves practically back to square one in their search for a killing machine.

  They had no reason to believe the person had run out of malice or mayhem.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “You’ve been avoiding me,” Stuart told Carole, an irregular crease lining his brow.

  He had literally cornered her on the side of the building as Carole left the Criminal Court Plaza during a recess of the trial she presided over.

  “That’s not true,” she lied. “I’ve just been really busy, Stuart.”

  He sighed. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Carole. You don’t return my calls. You don’t call me. What’s up?”

  What was up? Carole had to ask herself.

  She thought about Ray Barkley. He had entered her life unexpectedly and seemed to occupy her thoughts more than she cared to admit. They had managed to dodge a rough patch of road and seemed well on their way to something wonderful.

  Her fears about them being together had subsided for now and she was content to let this thing play out and see what happened.

  As for Stuart, Carole no longer saw the point in giving him her time. After all, now that she had Ray in her life there was simply no need to hang onto someone who had already moved on to another woman. A pregnant one at that! They would only end up interfering in each other’s private affairs, something she didn’t want to see stand in the way of her potential relationship with Ray.

  Besides, Carole was still somewhat peeved that Stuart had decided to let his wife in on the particulars of her life, as if it were his right. She feared he had divulged far more than he should have. Or still could.

  She gazed at him. “I think we should just cool this friendship thing for a while,” she told him gently.

  His eyes darted from side to side, as if watching a tennis match. “You want to tell me why?”

  She sighed. Why did he always have to make things so hard for her? For himself? “I’m seeing someone—”

  Stuart nodded. “I see. So that’s what this is all about—”

  Carole’s eyes narrowed at him. “Actually, if you want the truth, it’s about you opening your big mouth too much with your wife.”

  Stuart looked shocked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Vivian seems to know a lot more about me and my courtroom than I’m comfortable with” she said bluntly. “My life is not an open book for you to share with your wife without my permission, Stuart.”

  He colored. “I’m sorry, baby. It only seemed natural to talk about us after what we had.”

  “I’m not talking about us,” Carole pointed out. “I’m talking about me, dammit—” She could feel her heart pounding as if trying to escape from her chest.

  Stuart put his hands on Carole’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Listen to me, Carole,” he said with a sense of urgency, “I may have mentioned some peculiarities regarding your courtroom and the recent crime wave hitting this city, but that’s about it and is certainly not an indictment of you. I would never tell Vivian or anyone else anything about you that’s strictly between us.”

  Carole read the sincerity in his eyes. She felt her breathing return to normal and her blood pressure lower.

  Maybe she had overreacted. Presumed the worst without sufficient proof to back it up. Wasn’t that the first thing she had been taught in law school: innocent until proven guilty? Not that she felt for one minute Stuart was totally without fault. After all, she suspected he had still shared more with Vivian about her than she would have liked. But apparently he hadn’t shared the secrets she had most entrusted him with.

  “I believe you,” Carole said. She put her hand on his, squeezing it gently. “Sorry for jumping on you like that. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. And I mean that.”

  Stuart’s face brightened. “No need to thank me, Carole. That’s what friends are for, right?”

  “Yes,�
�� she yielded, forcing a smile. “That’s what friends are for.”

  “Besides, Vivian is just starting to like you,” he remarked. “She thinks you are one cool judge. How would it look if you suddenly made yourself scarce?”

  “Probably not too good.” Carole recognized that Vivian would likely need a friend even more at this delicate time in her life with a baby on the way. It looked like she had been elected to fill the role.

  “Exactly.” Stuart brushed his nose with the tip of his thumb. “So, can I buy you lunch? You can tell me all about your new boyfriend.”

  Carole felt a twinge of uncertainly course through her veins. Boyfriend? Had her relationship with Ray, if that’s what this really was, reached that level where he could be called her boyfriend? And she his girlfriend?

  She contemplated whether or not dating Ray could withstand the pressures of their conflicting and tumultuous careers. Her past and deep regrets. And his life and times before he met her.

  Carole moistened her lips as Stuart waited for an answer. She would have preferred to eat alone, if the truth be told. She was not particularly in the mood for company. At least not his company. But she decided to go for it, if only for old times’ sake. And because she knew it was probably a good thing to keep him on her side.

  “You’re on for lunch,” she told him. “As long as we stay away from my personal life.”

  He smiled disingenuously. “Whatever you say, Your Honor.”

  * * *

  “Ray Barkley—” voiced Stuart loudly over a mug of beer. “He wouldn’t happen to be Detective Barkley, would he?”

  Carole’s eyes widened. He had slyly brought her “boyfriend” into the conversation, compelling her to set the record straight.

  “You know Ray?” she asked incredulously. Usually criminal defense attorneys and homicide detectives didn’t mix very well.

  “In a manner of speaking.” Stuart looked at her, frowning. “The man showed up at my house this morning, with his partner—”

  “Oh...?” Carole found her curiosity more than a little piqued. Why would Ray and Detective Parker pay Stuart a visit?

  “Apparently a car with a license plate that partially matched mine was seen leaving the crime scene the night Blake Wallace was murdered.” Stuart stiffened. “They wanted to know the whereabouts of my BMW at the time. Can you believe that?”