Justice Served: A Barkley and Parker Thriller (5 page)

Just after the judge announced a recess, the
detectives approached the bench. The judge barely seemed to notice
them during the commotion of people moving about. To Ray it seemed
as though her mind was elsewhere, as if she had drifted off to sea
in some deep probe. She somehow seemed ill at ease in her black
robe and judge’s stature. If she were not a judge, he could well
imagine her being a Wall Street lawyer. A college professor. A
hotter than hell actress. Or maybe a tough as nails newspaper
reporter.

Even a super lover crossed his mind.

When they reached the bench, Nina cleared her
throat, and said: “Judge Cranston?”

Carole looked down disinterestedly. “Yes,”
came her customary reply.

“I’m Detective Parker and this is Detective
Barkley.”

“Detectives,” she said politely.

“We’re investigating the murder of Roberto
Martinez,” Ray told her.

Carole lifted her eyes in recognition of the
name. “I see,” she spoke levelly. “Why don’t we go into my
chambers?”

* * *

“Please sit down,” Carole directed her
guests, having removed her robe to reveal an aquamarine silk suit.
She watched the detectives sit in Maltese chairs on the other side
of a square glass table. She then sat across from them in a
high-backed Oxblood leather chair.

A quick regard of her visitors told Carole
the female detective was an attractive woman in her mid thirties
with luminous brown skin and a petite, athletic body beneath a dark
gray blazer and matching pants with a coral sweater. She thought
the Bantu knots looked nice on her. The male detective, wearing a
brown suit, was in his late thirties, tall, bald, and solid in
build. His skin tone was caramel and went well with a chiseled
face. He had intriguing gray eyes with gold flecks and a not too
thick mustache tapered neatly at the corners over an incredibly
sexy mouth. All in all, she thought he was a good-looking man, who
was probably married or, if single, had women falling all over
him.

Only in meeting his eyes did Carole realize
the detective was appraising her as much as she was him. This
caused her a slight bit of discomfiture as she turned her gaze to
the female detective, while thinking:
Make a mental note not to
stare too obviously, unless you want a dose of your own
medicine
.

“So how can I help you?” she asked
equably.

Nina squirmed in the chair. “We’re not
certain really, Judge Cranston,” she admitted. “Roberto Martinez is
the third man to be found beaten to death in the Portland area in
the past five months. Each victim had been charged with domestic
assault and spent time in
your
courtroom before being
released on technicalities or insufficient evidence.”

Carole strove to remain calm. “I’m not sure I
understand what you’re getting at.” In fact she did, and was not
amused.

Ray leaned forward. “Could be that
someone—perhaps a court spectator—has decided to use your courtroom
and the outcome of these cases to punish the freed men they believe
were let off too easily.”

Carole repositioned herself unsteadily.
“Well, I don’t know if I can be of much help to you, detectives,
since I have little control over who decides to sit in on my
cases.”

“Maybe your staff could provide us with a
list of the court personnel,” he suggested, “and others, like
reporters, who are regulars in your courtroom.”

“Yes, I can do that,” she reasoned. “I’ll
have my assistant fax the information to your office.”

“Fine,” said Ray, content to leave it at
that.

But Nina had other ideas. “Judge, if you
don’t mind my asking, I was wondering what your feelings are on
these men being released? I mean, many might say they’re getting
out of the system prematurely.”

Carole took a steadying breath, sharpening
her gaze at the detective. “If you’re asking me if I believe they
were guilty, the answer is yes. But, as a judge, my hands are often
tied as to what I can do to keep them from walking.”

“How about as a private citizen?” asked Nina
boldly.

Carole took umbrage to the question that
almost sounded like she was being accused of something, but
answered it nevertheless. “I’m not sure I like the tone of that,
detective,” she made clear. “As a private citizen, I’m bound to
uphold the law just like any other member of the community,
irrespective of my personal feelings.”

“And we wouldn’t expect anything less,” Ray
intervened, before this got out of hand and he and Nina both ended
up with desk jobs for the rest of their careers. He gave his
partner a hard look, and then stood. “I think we’ve taken up enough
of your time, Judge Cranston.”

Carole nodded at him, feeling a slight
stirring of intrigue about the detective, if not his female
counterpart.

Nina stood, her mouth a tight line. “If you
happen to think of anything that might be helpful in our
investigation,
Your Honor
, please let us know.”

“I will,” promised Carole politely, while
seething inside.

“By the way,” added Nina, “we have reason to
believe the person we’re looking for is likely a female—”

* * *

In the corridor Ray glared at Nina. “What the
hell was that all about?”

She stood her ground. “It’s not like I was
accusing her.”

“It sure as hell sounded like it to me.”

“Ease off, Barkley, okay!” Nina held his
gaze. “So I wasn’t ogling all over the lady like you were. My
apologies!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ray tossed at
her, as if he didn’t know.

“It means I have no interest in getting in
her pants,” she retorted bluntly, “like a certain someone I
know—”

“You’re way out of line here, Parker!” He
felt his blood boil, and his mind churn. Even though his libido was
admittedly in high gear at the prospect of getting to know the
judge on a more intimate level.

Nina sighed thoughtfully. “Forget I said
that.”

How could he? “Maybe you should keep your
damned mouth shut, if you can’t keep from putting your foot in it,”
Ray scolded, if only for the sake of seniority on the job.

“Hey, I’m just doing my job,” Nina said
defensively. “
Our
job. Sorry if I ruffled a few feathers.
Remember, we leave no stones unturned. If these murders are
connected in any way to the judge’s courtroom it means no one can
be ruled out as a suspect, including the honorable judge
herself.”

Deep down Ray knew she was right—at least
where it concerned keeping an open mind about suspects. But that
wasn’t to say they had to go overboard with their suspicions.
Especially when they had absolutely nothing at this point to even
be sure the killer was a female, much less a very attractive
judge.

As for his serious interest in Carole
Cranston, that was up for debate. He couldn’t dismiss being
enamored by her. What sane, straight guy wouldn’t be, given her
looks, presence, and position? But that didn’t necessarily mean he
wanted to get into her pants, or under her designer skirt. Did
it?

“You’re going down the wrong road, Nina, if
you think Judge Cranston is our vigilante,” Ray said flatly. “There
are too many nuts out there capable of doing this to investigate
before we start pointing fingers at people whose job it is to
uphold the laws of this state. Not break them down.”

Nina averted his stare. “You’re right,” she
relented. “Maybe I am a hound dog sniffing up the wrong tree.
Wouldn’t be the first time. Guess I can be overzealous sometimes in
an investigation where a vicious serial killer is cutting down men
left and right.”

Ray recognized it worked both ways. He made a
teasing face. “How about overzealous
all
the time,
Parker!”

She poked him hard in the side, causing Ray
to wince. “Don’t press your luck, Barkley. It can run out at any
time.”

He chuckled, rubbing his suddenly sore side.
“I think it already has. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Ray couldn’t help but think about Carole
Cranston, the woman behind the judge. He imagined it wouldn’t take
much to get to like her in a big way, if given the chance.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The cab pulled away from the courthouse and
cruised down the boulevard towards its new destination. Carole sat
in back, pondering her day. Fresh on her mind was the encounter
with the two homicide detectives. Part of her was unnerved by the
gist of their investigation. The other part was somewhat piqued.
Mostly by Detective Barkley. She sensed that he also felt drawn to
her. She wondered if they would have the opportunity to meet again
under more favorable circumstances.

I think I’d like
that.

The cab pulled up to the Jamaican restaurant
on Broadway. She had suggested the place for her meeting with
Vivian Wolfe. Surprisingly, Stuart’s wife had enthusiastically
agreed to it. Whereas Carole had remained dubious about becoming
involved in her ex-lover’s marital troubles. What right did she
have to tell Vivian, or any woman for that matter, she should bring
a child into this world if her desire was to terminate her
pregnancy?

What if things failed to work out between
Vivian and Stuart? Carole pondered. Would Stuart be able to
properly care for his child, if called upon to do so? She could
well imagine the child becoming lost in the shuffle. Abandoned.
Neglected. Abused. Dysfunctional. Like so many others who were in
situations beyond their control.

By the time the cab zoomed off, Carole had
decided to play it by ear and whatever happened, happened. Either
way, she considered this the very last marker Stuart could call in.
From here on, she considered them even in their debts and left to
fend for themselves in their personal trials and tribulations.

* * *

Vivian was already seated at the table when
the maitre d’ led Carole to it. Immediately she thought that Vivian
Wolfe was younger than she had imagined, perhaps in her mid
twenties. This made Carole feel positively ancient at thirty-five.
Vivian rose, and was nearly Carole’s height, and every bit as
shapely. She wore a light brown cap sleeve dress and sandals.

Vivian Wolfe had a curly sandy colored shag
and brilliant café au lait eyes, matching her smooth complexion.
High cheekbones rivaled Carole’s and pouty lips were opened just
slightly in a sensual way. Carole felt almost envious in that
moment of appraisal.

“Nice meeting you,” said Vivian sweetly, as
though she meant it.

“You, too,” Carole said, forging a bright
smile.

The two shook hands. Carole couldn’t help but
notice Vivian’s small hands were cold as ice, in spite of the fact
the room itself was almost lukewarm. She wondered if Stuart’s wife
had a chilly disposition in more ways than one.

Seated, they both ordered coffee.

“Stuart’s told me so much about you,” Vivian
remarked.

Carole raised her brows. “Really?”
I know
almost nothing about you.

“Yes. He says you’re one of the criminal
justice system’s bright lights when it comes to dispensing
justice.”

Carole took a breath. “I don’t know how
bright my light is,” she downplayed it. “I try to do my job to the
best of my ability. Sometimes it isn’t always enough.”

“Tell me about it,” muttered Vivian. “There
must be people who manage to slip through the cracks all the time,
no matter what.”

“Not as many as you might think,” Carole said
thoughtfully. “Most of the bad people have a way of getting their
just rewards one way or the other.”

Vivian licked her lips, staring across the
table. “You’re probably right. Anyway, it’s cool to know that
you’re a judge. I’m not sure I have what it takes to put the fate
of people, good or bad, in my hands.”

“It certainly isn’t for everyone,” Carole
understated. “Being a judge wasn’t my life’s goal. I just kind of
evolved into it. A long story, really.”

“I’d like to hear it sometime.”

They were interrupted when the coffee
arrived. This suited Carole just fine. She felt uneasy talking
about herself, especially since she had gone there specifically to
discuss Vivian’s pregnancy. She had wanted to dislike the woman for
some reason, but found herself feeling just the opposite.

After ordering, Carole approached the subject
gingerly. “Stuart mentioned you two were thinking about maybe
having a child—”

Vivian reacted as though she had been
slapped. “Is that what he said?”

Carole hesitated, knowing it wasn’t quite
what he told her. “Ever since I’ve known Stuart, he’s talked about
having a family someday.”

“We agreed when we got married that there
would be
no
children,” Vivian said gruffly. “Don’t get me
wrong. I love kids and believe they’re the hope for the future.
But—” she checked herself, as if having run into a brick wall.

“You’re not ready to bring a child into the
world?” Carole asked intuitively.

“Something like that.” Vivian batted her
lashes noncommittally. “I guess I’m afraid I just won’t be a good
mother. Or that maybe he won’t be a good father.”

Carole couldn’t imagine Stuart not being a
good father. But how could she really know what type of father he
would make? Many men presented themselves to be good potential
family men on the surface and turned out to be lousy fathers and
husbands when the façade was peeled away like old wallpaper.

Could Stuart be one of these types?

She certainly couldn’t knock Vivian for
fearing motherhood. After all, wasn’t that one of the reasons she
was reluctant to have children? Not knowing if she had the patience
and understanding to make a good mother. Or even enough love to
give to her child.

“I’m pregnant,” Vivian announced
unceremoniously. “I guess Stuart didn’t mention that to you—”

Carole sighed, not sure how to respond. “Are
you thinking about terminating the pregnancy?”