Justice Served: A Barkley and Parker Thriller

by Flowers, R. Barri

  “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?”

  Ray licked his lips, feeling on the spot. “Hey,” he responded jovially, “I might be game. Of course, I’d want to practice the process a whole lot first—so we can make sure we’ve got it down pat.”

  Carole chuckled. “Come here, baby,” she murmured, reaching for his mouth with hers. “Practice does indeed make perfect.”

  Ray lingered in tasting her lips. “Oh, you think so?” he teased.

  “Why don’t we just find out?”

  “Why don’t we?”

  They made love again, taking it slow; discovering all there was to learn about each other’s body and erogenous zones, and then some.

  When Ray left, there was no more talk about family and children. There would be more time for that later, he hoped, when the time and circumstances were right.

  For now, there were more immediate things to occupy his attention. Like a relationship that was beginning to grow on him like ivy.

  And a vicious killer run amok.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Esther Reynolds made sure she wasn’t being followed, doubling back around three blocks before she went to the secret place. As expected, she was there waiting for her.

  “You’re late!” the woman said impatiently.

  “Had to be careful,” Esther told her. “The streets are crawling with cops. Any one of them would love to get their hands on you.”

  “Over my dead body, honey,” she growled.

  “Well, my dear,” Esther spoke uneasily, “it may well come to that. You’re scaring everyone half to death. Chances are if the police find you, they’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

  The woman, who was standing with an intimidating posture, glared at Esther. “Let them try. I’m only doing what I was meant to do—for me, for you, and all the others like us. Those bastards can’t be allowed to ruin our lives anymore.”

  “I agree.” Esther felt herself perspiring. “But there has to be a time when enough is enough. I think that time is now.”

  The woman walked up to Esther, her breathing quickened, and stated emphatically: “I’ll decide when enough is enough—you hear me? I’ve come too damned far to stop now. There’s still work to do. Scores to settle, once and for all.”

  Esther edged back a step or two. “But, don’t you see, you’re jeopardizing our entire operation. The shelter could be shut down and then where will those women go who need a safe place? They could be turned away from other overcrowded shelters and end up back with men who will abuse them, and worse.” She took a ragged breath. “The price is just too high to continue to support your actions.”

  The woman grabbed one of Esther’s wrists with such force that she winced in pain.

  “You listen to me, bitch! If I go down, you’ll go down with me. And everyone else who supported this thing, but ran scared when the going got tough.”

  “But the police are—” Esther quavered as she tried to speak. She was cut off.

  “Don’t let those dumb-assed cops intimidate you,” the woman screeched. “They have nothing to go on other than the dead bastards who deserved the ass whippings they got. By the time I was through with them, they were damned glad death had come. If this has opened some eyes, then so be it. Isn’t that the point—letting those sons of bitches and all who support them know we won’t tolerate the beatings anymore? It’s them or us. They’re the ones who are on the defensive now. We can’t go back to the way it was. I won’t do it. And neither will you!” She released her iron grip on Esther’s wrist.

  Esther bit her lip to fight back the searing pain. “But they have a list of names,” she stammered. “Your name’s on it. It’s only a matter of time before the police question you—”

  “Maybe they already have,” the woman said with wry amusement. “Do you think I can’t handle myself when confronted with assholes who would try and lock me up in some damned prison? Or a nut house?”

  “I-I didn’t say that.” Esther tried not to look at the rage in the woman’s features, though she felt it throughout the room, as if on fire.

  “You didn’t have to. I can see it in your pathetic face and hear it in your whiny voice.” The woman sucked in a deep breath, then forced a smile on her lips. “Don’t worry about me, girl. I think I know a little bit about the legal system and how to deal with nosey, think-they-know-it-all police detective assholes. I’m not about to make it easy for them to put an end to the only justice some of us have ever known. All I need to know is if you can be counted on to keep your big mouth shut. Or are you willing to jeopardize everything so women like us have to crawl back into holes to try and escape the abuse through drugs, alcohol, self-abuse, suicide, and desperate prayers that never seem to be answered?”

  Esther thought about it. She was caught between a rock and a hard place. To betray her would, in effect, be betraying herself and millions of other women who were not being adequately served by the justice system.

  But to look the other way would be to reject her sense of decency and responsibility in taking the law into one’s own hands. The killings, no matter how justified, simply could not continue.

  Yet what choice did she have? To hang the one doing this—no matter how off the deep end she had gone—would for all intents and purposes be hanging herself as well. Along with countless other women whose fates and fortunes may have rested on the fear and intimidation their batterers were feeling these days at the prospect they might actually be hit back—only with deadly consequences.

  “Well...?” the woman demanded coldly. “Are you with me or against me?”

  Esther gulped. When all was said and done, she knew there was no turning back. Things had simply gone too far to retreat, even if she wanted to.

  “I-I won’t do anything to stand in your way,” she stammered.

  The woman smiled humorlessly, her eyes betraying the ire and betrayal that motivated her actions. “That’s good to hear. We wouldn’t want our persecutors to think it was open season again on all women, would we?”

  Esther had no response, deciding to leave well enough alone.

  The two went their separate ways from there after agreeing the safe house might not be so safe anymore. A new place would have to be established for future meetings.

  As she drove away, the woman wondered just how many more meetings there would be. She sensed Esther was becoming a weak link in the chain of justice to be served. But she also knew there was little chance Esther would mess things up for her. It would only endanger more women in the long run, something she doubted the shelter director wanted on her fragile conscience.

  In the meantime, she knew what had to be done and was more than willing to carry it out as she had before.

  Again and again.

  She believed that no matter what happened to her, there would always be someone to take her place in the battle to regain control over their lives from those who tried to dominate them with their fists. The genie was out of the proverbial bottle and could never be put back in.

  The bastards had to pay for their sins one way or the other. And she was going to collect in full force!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Nina was troubled by the connecti
on between the courtroom and the shelter with regard to their vigilante. In her eyes, there was only one real common denominator: Judge Carole Cranston.

  But did that mean a serial killer lurked beneath the judge’s robe? Was she a madwoman away from the bench? A lady totally out of control?

  Or had her objectivity been somehow compromised? Nina mused uneasily while sitting at her desk. It didn’t take a rocket scientist, or even a kick-ass, damned good detective, to realize that Barkley was sleeping with the judge. Or doing a hell of a lot more in bed than resting. She could see it in his eyes, his body language, and his disposition. Hell, she could even smell sex on the man.

  But what was it to her what he did when he was off duty and who he did it with? Nina took a swig of her coffee that had turned cold and grimaced.

  Was she actually jealous of Carole Cranston, who seemed to have so much going for her? Or was she just envious of Ray seemingly happy when her personal life was in shambles?

  Nina decided it was neither. I can deal with Ray having a life, even if I’m still trying to find one. She was a detective first and foremost and took her job very seriously. This was no different. She had come too far to go back to shuffling papers at a corner desk while she watched others move up the ranks ahead of her all because they had blown this case. That was the only reason why she had decided to go behind Barkley’s back on this one. She was convinced she was onto something. Or someone.

  But what?

  Or who?

  She enlisted the aid of a former cop turned private investigator to do a background check on Carole Cranston, with an emphasis on anything in her history that was unusual, such as domestic violence or any other violent activity. He’d left a message for her at the office to call him back, keeping it as innocuous as possible.

  Nina had resisted running an official check on Carole Cranston, not wanting to make waves. If she was going to accuse a prominent criminal court judge of murdering five men, she knew she had to have a hell of a lot more to back her up than a bad feeling or concerns that her partner and ex-lover was doing the nasty with the judge.

  Nina phoned the private eye that afternoon. Nelson Ross had been with the Police Bureau for fifteen years before retiring due to a bad back, bad attitude, and lack of motivation. Private snooping had given him a second career and a lot more time to engage in his favorite pastimes—women and fishing. Not necessarily in that order.

  “Ross Investigations,” the deep voice said routinely.

  “Hey, it’s Nina.”

  “So you got my message.”

  “Loud and clear,” she quipped.

  “Got something for you,” he said ambiguously. “How about you buy me lunch, and I’ll tell you all about it?”

  She had already eaten and knew he had a voracious appetite, but said with some misgivings: “This had better be good.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, I think it’s enough to whet the appetite, baby.”

  Nina agreed to meet him at three. She took the afternoon off, claiming she wasn’t feeling well. Even poor Ray had seemed overly concerned about her, making Nina feel even guiltier for pursuing this. But she could not ignore the fact that there were five people dead and one killer very much alive.

  And his girlfriend, for better or worse, was her prime suspect.

  * * *

  Johnnie & Aljean’s Taste of Soul was one of the best restaurants to get genuine southern soul food in the city.

  Nina walked in and immediately saw the man she was looking for. Nelson Ross waved both hands at her from a table, as if he was doing jumping jacks. By the time she had glided through the tables, he was standing—all six feet, six solid inches of him.

  “Hey, girl,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

  “What’s up, Nelson?” she responded, a tiny smile playing on her lips.

  Along with being tall, Nelson Ross was a mass of muscles and biceps wearing a brown sport coat, light green shirt, black trousers, and loafers. He had a milk chocolate complexion, was bald, and had bulging brown eyes. A tiny diamond ring was almost molded into one ear.

  Nina had dated him briefly when she was a rookie. Nothing came out of it, but a few laughs, a few tears, and a lasting friendship. Along with an occasional favor both ways.

  They sat.

  “Caught the biggest bass you ever saw,” Nelson bragged, spreading his massive arms in opposite directions, revealing an impressive wingspan.

  “Hope she didn’t bite,” Nina couldn’t resist saying.

  Nelson grinned. “Still got that quick wit about you, baby.” He chuckled. “What is it they say about the bark being worse than the bite?”

  “Touché,” she tossed back at him.

  “You want something to drink?” he asked. He already had a pitcher of beer on the table that was half empty.

  “Just coffee,” Nina said, resisting the temptation for more. She considered this an official meeting.

  Nelson nodded. “That’s cool.” He waved over a cute waitress with long, groomed locks and a tight ass. She filled Nina’s cup and left menus.

  Nelson peered across the table. “So they’ve got you tied up in knots at the Bureau with this vigilante thing, huh?”

  “Let’s just say it’s been damned frustrating,” Nina muttered.

  “Yeah, I can imagine. It’s definitely got me on my best behavior with women.” He cracked a slightly amused smile.

  Nina sneered at him. “Maybe that’s a good thing, Nelson. You know we’ve never taken any crap from men. And now someone wants to make sure you’re reminded that if you get out of line, there’s a heavy price to pay.”

  “I heard that,” he moaned, drinking beer. “Problem is the price seems way too high these days.”

  “Can’t argue with you there.” She tasted the coffee thoughtfully. “So what have you got for me?”

  Nelson licked his lips. “Well, I found out some real interesting things about the judge—”

  “Such as...?” Nina could feel her stomach churning with anticipation.

  He opened a folder on the table. “Looks like Judge Carole Cranston’s had a helluva tough go of it when it comes to domestic violence. At seven, she witnessed her old man beat her mother to death with his fists. After that she spent a few years in and out of mental hospitals trying to deal with it. The lady seemed well on her way to recovery—”

  He put the mug to his mouth and Nina waited with interest and contemplation.

  “Then fifteen years ago her best friend from college went on trial for murdering her husband.” Nelson glanced at the information. “Her defense was that he had abused her repeatedly over the years till she couldn’t take it anymore and snapped. Carole Cranston testified on her behalf. A good lawyer got the friend off, but the whole thing must have seemed like déjà vú to Carole.”

  Nina sipped her coffee, her mind racing. Best friend? On trial for murdering her husband? Fifteen years ago? Got away with it as a battered woman? It all had an eerie familiarity to it.

  She looked at Nelson. “You got a name for the best friend?”

  “Sure do.” He lifted a sheet of paper. “Let’s see... Name’s Esther Reynolds.”

  Nina’s eyes lit up as though she had come face to face with an alien. Or perhaps the devil herself.

  Nelson noticed. “Name ring a bell...?”

  “You could say that,” Nina hummed, as some disturbing pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fit into place. “Maybe a few bells—”

  Nelson scratched his pate. “In case you’re interested, Reynolds’ defense attorney was a dude by the name of Stuart Wolfe. I understand he’s still practicing in the state—”

  Stuart Wolfe? The attorney with the black BMW they visited. Well, I’ll be damned. Nina chewed on that.

  Could the killer have driven Stuart’s car after all the night Blake Wallace was murdered? Perhaps that someone was Esther Reynolds’ best friend and strong advocate against domestic violence—the honorable judge Carole Cranston?

  The plot thic
kens...

  Nina felt the rush of adrenaline like wind at her back. She feared that Barkley just might be caught smack dab in the middle of it.

  “So what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, Nina?” asked Nelson.

  “I don’t think you want to know,” she told him.

  “Try me.”

  Nina reluctantly tossed some of her theories at Nelson regarding Carole Cranston as a possible serial killer, leaving out Barkley’s unwitting involvement with her.

  Nelson shook his head in amazement. “Man, if any of this turns out to be true, you could be sitting on a damned powder keg ready to explode—”

  “Tell me about it,” she hissed. At the same time, she didn’t want to have this thing blow up in her face.

  Nina grabbed the folder and stood. Looking down at Nelson, she said: “I’ve got to go.”

  “Wait a minute,” he frowned. “What about lunch?”

  She pulled twenty-five dollars out of her purse and put it in on a saucer. “It’s on me, sweetheart, tip and all. You’ve earned it. See you around, Nelson. Thanks again!”

  Nina left him sitting there while turning her attention to Carole Cranston and the Vigilante Batterer Killer.

  Were they one and the same?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  The law offices of Simmons, Wolfe, and Whitehead were located on the tenth floor of a downtown high-rise. Nina wasted no time flashing her identification at the startled receptionist and insisting on speaking to Stuart Wolfe. She buzzed him and Nina was directed to his office.

  Stuart met her at the door, looking dapper in a tailored dark suit. “Detective Parker,” he greeted her with a strained smile. “Didn’t expect to see you again.”

  “Something’s come up,” Nina told him succinctly.

  “Oh?” There was the slightest bit of alarm in his face. “Come in.”

  She stepped into a corner office with a large window overlooking the river. The mountains were also in view, presenting a lovely picture.