Justice Served: A Barkley and Parker Thriller (12 page)

Just how far along was she? Carole had
actually heard about some women being as far as seven or eight
months along and the pregnancy virtually undetectable to the naked
eye.

“Nice,” cooed Vivian. “You obviously have a
green thumb.”

Carole nodded. “Thanks. I do love my
plants.”

“I’d give anything to have some lush plants
like these,” Vivian said. “Only I doubt I’d have the patience to
properly care for them like I should.”

Carole smiled modestly. “Well, they can be a
handful at times,” she admitted. “At the same time, they give back
far more than they take from you.”

“Right now I just have some silk plants.”
Vivian touched the ivy plant. “Maybe I’ll give one of these a try
and see how it goes.”

“Would you like something to drink?” offered
Carole. “Coffee, tea, juice, Pepsi—”

“Pepsi.”

“Pepsi it is.”

Carole filled two glasses with ice and one of
them with fruit juice. They sat on the sofa. She felt somewhat
awkward becoming friends, if you could call it that, with Stuart’s
wife. Yet somehow she felt drawn to her like a younger sister and
it was obvious Vivian liked her as well.

“So what did you buy?” Carole asked, trying
to strike up a conversation.

“Buy?” Vivian seemed at a loss for a moment
and then broke into a bright smile. “Oh, some toys for the baby. I
wanted to buy some clothes, too, but since we don’t know yet if it
will be a boy or a girl—”

“I’m glad the family therapist was able to
help you,” Carole told her thoughtfully.

“Oh she didn’t,” said Vivian over the rim of
her glass. “We never went to see her.”

“No...?” Carole arched a brow.

“Actually, after my talk with you, Stuart and
I had a long talk. And...well...the more I thought about it, the
more I felt that maybe this was a good time to start a family after
all.”

Carole was amazed that she had changed her
mind so quickly. Had it actually come on the strength of her words
of wisdom alone? Or had Stuart managed to impose his will and
wishes on his wife and, as a result, their unborn child?

“Well,” said Carole, “I hope everything works
out fine.”

Vivian crossed her fingers. “So far, so good.
My doctor says I shouldn’t have any problems that she can see.”

For an instant Carole tried to imagine
herself with child. She knew that at thirty-five her biological
clock still had some charge to it for a few years. Her mental
disposition was not nearly as flexible. Had her past pretty much
doomed her future insofar as having a family? Or even a loving
spouse?

Maybe there’s still hope for me.

“Are you from Oregon, Vivian?” Carole asked.
She realized she hardly knew anything about this woman who seemed
to have just dropped in her lap while Vivian may have known too
much about her for comfort.

“No, California,” she answered. “Grew up near
Sacramento.”

“How long have you lived in Portland?” Carole
assumed Stuart had met his bride in the Rose City.

“Two years. My job relocated here. I was a
legal secretary before I hooked up with Stuart.” Vivian seemed to
reflect on the notion. “Of course, after we got married he insisted
that I not work. I kind of miss the job, but not that much. It
wasn’t exactly as challenging as say being a judge—”

Carole felt she almost detected sarcasm in
her tone, then realized it was merely her overactive imagination.
She had earned her way to the bench through hard work and couldn’t
conceive giving it up—at least not to be a stay at home wife to an
attorney or any other man.

“You must come across some interesting people
in your job,” Vivian broke into her thoughts.

Carole nodded. “Some,” she said. “And some
not so interesting ones.”

“What about those men who were found beaten
to death recently?” Vivian inquired casually. “Were any of them
interesting?”

Carole looked at her in shock. “Excuse
me?”

Vivian twisted her lips awkwardly. “Stuart
told me all those men killed by the person the newspapers are
calling the Vigilante Batterer Killer were actually on trial in
your courtroom and released, just before they were wasted.”

Her pulse racing, Carole felt her palms grow
sweaty. She was none too pleased that Stuart had taken it upon
himself to discuss these murders in relation to her courtroom with
his wife, as though there was a clear connection. What was the
point? Had he put Vivian up to this little visit to rattle her or
otherwise imply guilt, if only by association?

Seeming to detect her uneasiness, Vivian
said: “Did I say something wrong? Oh, I’m sorry, Carole. I didn’t
mean to upset you. I was just curious about them, that’s all. I
mean, since it seems to be the talk of the town these days.”

“It’s all right,” Carole said, in what
sounded almost like an apology.
I blame your husband for
this
. “It’s just—” she checked herself, not wishing to open a
can of worms better left sealed. Favoring Vivian she took a
steadying breath. “I’m afraid none of the men were very
interesting. They were all being tried for woman abuse of some
type. Each got off for different reasons.”

Vivian cringed. “Does it scare you the
thought that a killer is out there murdering these men you set
free?”

Carole sighed. “I didn’t set them free, per
se,” she pointed out. “It’s the way the system works, Vivian.
People are released if their case runs afoul due to technicalities
or plea bargains. Not to mention jury verdicts of acquittal. Many
times the judge acts merely as little more than a referee.”

Carole wondered why she felt the need to go
into detail with Vivian on this, who had brought it up in her face.
Did she really owe anyone an explanation of why defendants—some of
whom had not been proven to be guilty of committing a crime—avoided
doing jail time? Least of all, her ex-lover’s inquisitive, pregnant
wife?

It amazed her that the public often believed
a judge was all-powerful as if a god, rather than a human being who
could only operate within the confines of the law. At least from
the bench.

Getting back to the gist of the question,
Carole responded appropriately: “I think it scares everybody that
such a thing is happening. How could it not?”

“It sure as hell gives me the chills,”
uttered Vivian, wringing her hands. “Especially if what they’re
saying is true—”

“What are they saying?” Carole widened her
eyes.

“You know...that it’s a black woman beating
those men to death with a bat.” Vivian shook her head. “I just
can’t see it. We can take a lot, but dishing it out like
that
—”

“Don’t believe everything you hear or read,”
Carole warned. “Until they capture the person, it could be anyone
of any race or ethnicity—even a male.”

Vivian sipped her Pepsi. “Actually, I always
thought it was only men who committed these types of crimes.”

“It usually is,” Carole made clear.

“But this is different...”

“Maybe,” she allowed unsteadily.

“Not that I can really blame abused women for
fighting back,” Vivian remarked. “Only I personally wouldn’t want
to carry it quite that far!”

The two women shared an uneasy moment of
silence.

Carole sighed softly. “I agree,” she said
levelly. “There are other ways to deal with batterers that won’t
eventually come back to haunt the person or other women driven to
kill their abusers.”

Vivian chuckled. “Yeah, like castrate them
and leave the scumbags for the wolves to finish off?”

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” Carole said
with a nervous laugh. “But that certainly doesn’t sound like a bad
idea, if all else fails.”

Both chuckled again.

“Well, I guess I’d better be going.” Vivian
finished off her drink and stood. “Here I was only dropping by to
say hello, and I end up talking your ear off. Sorry about
that.”

“Don’t be,” insisted Carole politely. “I’m
glad you came.” Was she? Or had the visit only served to make her
even more unsure about where she was and where she was headed?

Carole rose, taking a breath.

Vivian spoke tentatively. “So, you think it
would be all right if we got together again sometime, maybe for
lunch?”

Carole pasted a placating smile on her lips.
“Yes, that would be nice.”
But not before I have a good talk
with your husband
.

“Or Stuart and I can have you over for
dinner—maybe next week. I know he’d love that!”

Would he now? Carole was not sure she liked
the sound of that. In her limited experience, old and current
lovers being in the same room with the object of that intimacy did
not work very well. She was in no hurry to test the theory any time
soon.

Besides, she was starting to have some doubts
about Stuart’s trustworthiness. Though she had agreed to remain
friends with him, Carole wondered if he had abused the
privilege.

Just how much had he confided in Vivian about
her past?

Do I really want to know?

Looking at Vivian, Carole responded
elusively: “I’m usually pretty busy much of the time, with court
work and all. So we’d better just leave that one up in the air for
now.”
Maybe forever
.

Vivian smiled artificially. “Of course. I
understand. Consider it an open invitation—”

Carole showed her out the door, waved
goodbye, and was left to contemplate her life and the strange
twists and turns it had taken. Would the future prove to be more
promising?

Or was she doomed to be forever haunted by
past demons and present uncertainties?

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The sixty-foot houseboat was docked on the
Columbia River with a magnificent view of the Cascade Mountains.
Ray had lived there for the last eight years, which was precisely
how long he’d been divorced. His ex had taken the house they’d
lived in and most everything else she could get her hands on. It
suited him fine, as they were memories he’d just as soon
forget.

In the kitchen, Ray stood on vinyl flooring
as he checked the steak and rice pilaf, before tossing a salad. It
had been a long time since he’d cooked for anyone and it both
excited and scared him.
I have to do this right.
He wanted
to make a good impression on Carole Cranston. Or at least show her
a side of him that wasn’t on duty.

Could they actually get something going?
I
can see myself with a classy lady like Carole
. Then the doubts
came. Was he too old and his goods too damaged to be thinking about
starting up with someone else? He had seen more than his share of
failures when it came to romance—including a short-lived
relationship with Nina that he was still trying to get completely
out of his system.

Maybe Carole Cranston was just the person to
make him forget about every one before her.

Ray thought about Carole. What was her story
in the romance department? He sensed she too had run into some
obstacles along the way to happiness and fulfillment. Was she
looking to get past that and try again? Or had he totally misread
her?

When the doorbell rang, Ray felt a thump in
his chest that seemed to reverberate throughout his body. It was
the kind of first date nervousness thing he had last felt when he
took a girl to the senior prom.

Only in this case, he wasn’t in high
school.

And now he was dealing with a woman. One who
was out of this world.

Ray dashed into the master bedroom and
slipped on a brown sport coat over a paprika shirt and black
trousers with tan shoes. He had freshly shaved his head for the
occasion, wanting to look his best for Carole, and sprayed on some
cologne.

Ray went up three steps to the upper deck
door. Before he opened it, he could see Carole through the corner
glass window. She had a bottle of wine in her hand and a look of
thoughtfulness on her face.

“Hi,” he said, awed by the terrific sight of
her.

“Hi.” She showed him teeth that were as white
as the snow dusting the top of Mount Hood.

“Come on in.” He stepped to the side as she
entered, following her down the stairs. “Hope you had no trouble
finding the place?”

“None whatsoever,” claimed Carole. “Your
directions were right on the money.”

In the cabin living area, Ray regarded the
lady judge, whose sweet redolence reached his nostrils. She wore a
figure flattering floral sundress and low-heeled slingbacks. Her
brownish individual pixies rested on her tawny shoulders. He also
noted the rose overtone cultured pearl necklace and matching
earrings.

“The necklace and earrings are beautiful,”
Ray felt moved to say.
Especially on you.

“Thanks.” Carole touched the necklace,
ruminating. “They belonged to my mother,” she said. “And before
that, my grandmother.”

He smiled crookedly. “Good taste definitely
runs in the family.”

Carole reacted, blushing. She handed him the
wine. “I hope you like Pinot Noir. A friend of mine in Grants Pass
has a winery. I can always count on her for a free bottle or
two.”

“Sounds great,” Ray told her, impressed. He
hardly considered himself a connoisseur of fine wines. In fact, he
was more up to speed with malt liquor and cheap wine. It was
definitely time to move up in class. Starting with the company he
kept.

Carole removed a folder from her bag. “Here’s
that list of names I promised you.” She handed it to him. “Most are
career government employees who, as far as I know, have never been
in any trouble. I also included the names of several reporters who
revolve in and out of my courtroom, covering trials for local
media.”

“Thanks for going through the trouble,” Ray
said guiltily, almost wishing he hadn’t insisted on what in all
likelihood would turn up nothing relevant to the investigation.