The results had been a sculpted and taut body that was the envy of women half her age. It also gave her a sense of personal achievement and satisfaction that could not be matched even in the courtroom.
She was so focused that she had not heard the runner come up behind her until right at her heels.
“What’s up, Judge Cranston?”
Carole looked over her shoulder at Stuart Wolfe. He smiled, looking athletic in a tee shirt, shorts, and well-worn running shoes. She smiled back, and saw that he was taking in her attire of a short-sleeved top, running tights, and running shoes.
“Hi, Stuart,” she said on a breath. “What’s up with you?” She was almost afraid to ask, given the recent troubles with his wife.
“Thought I might find you here.” He pulled alongside her. “I have some good news. First, I wanted to thank you for talking to Vivian.”
“No problem,” Carole told him. At least not yet. She hadn’t honestly known what might come from her chat with Vivian, other than that it had made Carole reassess her thoughts about having a family someday.
“She’s decided she wants to have the baby after all.”
“I’m happy to hear that, Stuart.” Carole showed him her teeth in a genuine display of joy for them both. “I’m sure you’ll make a great father and Vivian will make a great mother.”
“So would you,” Stuart said warmly.
Carole felt a slight chill at the notion. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” she said. “I bite back when I’m bitten.”
He laughed uneasily. “Well, as far as I know, it takes a while before babies can put some snap into their bite.”
“I wasn’t referring to babies,” she said cynically. “I was talking about men who take it upon themselves to back women into a corner they can’t get out of.”
Stuart’s face darkened. “Is that what I was doing?”
Carole grinned weakly, deciding she didn’t like where this was going. “Forget it. Maybe I’m just living in the past too much, thinking about things that might have been and never will be.”
“Listen, Carole,” he said sympathetically, “beating yourself up over things for which you have little to no control is wasting energy that could and should be put to better use.”
“Beating myself up,” she groaned, as if given a low blow. “There’s enough of that going around these days without it being self-inflicted.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I hear you. Definitely the wrong choice of words. Sorry.”
Carole playfully poked his rock hard shoulder. “You should be, Mr. Criminal Defense Attorney. If you keep putting yourself into deep holes, pretty soon you’ll never find a ladder long enough to climb out.”
Stuart chuckled warily, and said: “Hate to stay on this same track, but it appears as if we have a bona-fide vigilante on our hands.” His brow dripped with sweat as he frowned. “A man who was a partner in the firm represented on an assault charge was found beaten to death last night. Blake Wallace.”
Carole lifted her eyes with surprise. “Really? I presided over his trial. I expected a conviction, but the jury felt otherwise.”
“I think this is the fourth murder of an accused batterer this year. The press is calling it justice served to protect the innocent and vulnerable from these bastards.”
“Maybe they’re right,” she said gingerly. “Our justice system does seem to be failing abused women.”
His gaze fell on her. “But is cold-blooded murder the answer to helping them? Or is this angel-in-disguise really doing more harm than good?”
Carole increased her speed as Stuart struggled to keep up. “Officially, no, murdering the bastards is not the answer.” She drew in breath. “Unofficially, this country needs a wake up call that can draw attention to the plight of battered and broken women.”
Stuart’s eyes widened. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from your lips, Judge Cranston. Don’t tell me you really think executing these men is somehow justifiable homicide?”
Carole could feel her heart racing and it wasn’t from jogging. She responded caustically: “All I’m saying is do you really think we’d even be talking about battering, abuse, and domestic violence if someone out there hadn’t chosen to make examples out of them on a dramatic stage?”
Stuart pondered this for a long moment. “Probably not,” he granted. “That still doesn’t give someone—anyone—the right to go after these men like a hunter killing deer.”
“Agreed,” Carole said, knowing it was what he wanted to hear. She wasn’t sure where she stood on the issue from top to bottom.
“The cops are all over this.”
“I know,” she said pensively. “They’ve already been to see me. At least two of them.”
Carole immediately thought about Detective Barkley and got a tingly feeling. She wondered just how dangerous it was to even imagine being with him intimately.
“And...?” Stuart seemed keenly interested.
“And I couldn’t really help them in their investigation,” she said evasively.
“They’re not going to stop until they find the person,” he told her banefully.
Was he warning her?
With a defiant look, Carole said flatly: “Who says they ever will? If she’s smart—assuming it’s a female we’re talking about here—she’ll know when enough is enough and disappear into the woodwork, having made her statement loud and clear.”
Carole immediately shifted course, crossing the track onto jade-green grass. She turned and saw Stuart still on the track, running in place, mind buzzing, no doubt.
“Duty calls,” she told him. “I’m due back in court in less than an hour. I’ll see you.”
Even as she ran across the grass and onto the sidewalk, Carole could feel Stuart watching her every move till she’d disappeared from sight.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I’ve got something I think you might find interesting,” Nina said, making her way into Ray’s office.
He looked up from some paperwork and detected the glow in her eyes, as if she had just won the lottery.
“Has my retirement with full benefits come in?” he joked wistfully, sitting back in his leather desk chair.
She laughed. “Only in your dreams. Did some checking up on Esther Reynolds. Seems like the woman killed her husband, Sam Reynolds, fifteen years ago. Cracked his skull wide open with a hammer, citing years of physical and mental abuse.”
“Well I’ll be damned.” Ray sat up and took the file she had in hand.
“She was charged with murder and went to trial,” Nina said. “Some hotshot lawyer got her off using a battered woman’s syndrome defense.”
He raised a brow. “Guess the jury bought it, huh?”
“Probably with good reason. Esther had a restraining order against Reynolds, which he apparently violated one time too many and paid the ultimate price.”
“Well it definitely shows Esther Reynolds is more than capable of killing if she sets her mind to it,” Ray said. “But the pattern somehow still doesn’t fit.”
Nina frowned. “So maybe she decided a bat would inflict even more pain and damage than a hammer.”
“That’s debatable. But it does give us an opening to get inside her head, as well as the legal means to find out who else in that shelter may be hiding something.”
Nina plopped onto a chair. “There’s another thing to think about,” she said with a catch to her voice. “Guess whose courtroom Blake Wallace was acquitted in?”
Ray only needed to look at the satisfying quiver of her lower lip to put two and two together. “Judge Carole Cranston?”
“You got it.”
“It’s just a coincidence,” Ray said quickly.
“I don’t think so,” Nina said matter-of-factly. “There may be such a thing as a coincidence in two cases, even three—but definitely not four!” The last words flew from her mouth like sputum. “We’re still waiting for that list the honorable judge promised to provide us. If you
ask me, I’d say she’s somehow involved in this.”
It was a thought that left Ray feeling uncomfortable. A sitting criminal court judge a serial murderer? A vicious vigilante underneath that black robe and hot body?
No way! He would not and could not believe it until proven otherwise.
“Why don’t I go talk to the judge?” he volunteered, admittedly welcoming the opportunity to see the attractive lady again even if the circumstances were less than desirable.
“Sure you can handle it, Barkley?” Nina asked. “Wouldn’t want you to be way over your head on this one.” She laughed lasciviously.
“You’ve got your mind in the wrong place as usual, Parker,” Ray countered defensively, thoughtful of their history. “I think I can manage to handle the judge just fine.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she quipped.
He wondered if he had detected the slightest hint of jealousy in her tone.
* * *
The rain was coming down in buckets by the time Ray arrived at the Criminal Courts Plaza parking lot. He grabbed his umbrella, opened it, and jogged across the wet concrete till he was inside the building. There he got himself together, including hand pressing the creases out of his blue suit and smoothing the bristles of his mustache, before taking the elevator up to the second floor judge’s chambers.
Ray entered the outer office where Carole’s assistant sat, seemingly looking for something to do.
“I’m here to see Judge Cranston,” he told the forty-something heavyset woman with a brunette flat twist. A nameplate on her desk read: Sheeba Zambotha.
She batted fake eyelashes at him. “Do you have an appointment?”
He suspected she already knew the answer, but responded: “It’s official police business.”
“Who shall I say is here?”
“Detective Ray Barkley.”
After muttering a few words over the phone, Sheeba said civilly: “Judge Cranston said to send you in.”
He nodded with a slight smile and was directed to go through two doors before entering the judge’s chambers. Carole Cranston was awaiting him as if to greet a dignitary.
“Detective Barkley,” she said effortlessly. “Nice to see you again.” She extended a hand, which he shook.
The softness of her hand against his calloused skin was soothing and Ray felt as though he could hold her hand forever.
“Same here,” he told her, as words seemed to have disappeared from his vocabulary. He forced his hand away from hers.
It took Ray only a moment to size Carole up, as if for the first time. Her stylish individual pixie braids curved nicely beneath her chin and seemed tailor made for a heart-shaped face that had high cheeks and a maple sugar glow to it. Umber eyes appraised him even as he regarded her. She had a dainty nose and full lips and wore little to no makeup. Without the robe, he saw a vibrant woman’s body that looked to be in tiptop physical condition in an expensive looking ash-colored suit and ornamented sandals.
She was hotter than hot, no two ways about it. He was sure Judge Carole Cranston was well aware of the effect she had on men outside the courtroom. Inside the courtroom was another question altogether.
“Looks like you got caught in our little rain storm,” she said, her gaze falling on his clothing that had still managed to get and remain wet in spite of his best efforts to the contrary.
“Yeah, you could say that,” he responded weakly.
Carole smiled with amusement. “So what can I do for you, Detective Barkley?”
Ray collected his thoughts, admittedly discombobulated in the gorgeous lady’s presence. Even her perfume was intoxicating.
“Actually I came to see if you had a chance to gather the names of regulars in your court,” he told her equably.
Carole put her hands to her mouth, discountenanced. “Oh, I’m sorry. It completely slipped my mind.” She looked at her watch. “Why don’t I bring it by your office this afternoon?”
“That sounds fine,” Ray responded, hiding his disappointment that she hadn’t seemed to grasp the gravity of the request, considering people were dying after leaving her courtroom.
“Look,” she uttered, favoring him, “I was just about to go for lunch. If you’re hungry, you’re welcome to come.” She paused. “It will give you the chance to ask whatever else may be on your mind.”
Ray felt his armpits grow sweaty. He knew this was an offer he could not refuse. But was it one he should?
Had the judge decided to stay one step ahead of him? Or was she playing catch up here?
Could the lady really be in the thick of this thing?
Was she coming onto him for all the wrong reasons...and none of the right ones?
Or am I fishing for something that isn’t really there?
What was clear to Ray was that he was definitely attracted to Carole Cranston and he’d be a damned fool not to at least make an attempt to see if the feeling was mutual.
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t had lunch yet,” he told her, a crooked grin playing on his lips. “And I do have an appetite on me!”
Carole smiled. “I’m sure you do.” She wet her lips. “I hope you like Chinese food—”
I do now, baby. Ray would learn to like whatever food worked for her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lee’s Chinese Cuisine was located, appropriately, in the heart of Portland’s Chinatown. It had been a favorite of Carole’s for the past two years, having always loved Chinese food. But this was the first time she had invited someone. She wasn’t sure why she had, as she gazed across the table at the detective. Perhaps it was his laidback devilishly good looks. Or that it seemed as if she somehow knew him on a deeper, more soulful level than their limited acquaintance would suggest. Or at least she felt in touch with the man’s character, which she interpreted as naturally cynical, cautious, fiery, cerebral, and unsettled.
Very much like her.
But, above all else, she found Ray Barkley to be charming in a masculine, living on the edge way; seeming to exude confidence—a trait that many men she’d known were decidedly lacking.
The fact he had come to see her alone suggested to Carole that the detective was his own man, and not a puppet to his partner’s whims, whatever they might be. Already she found herself intrigued by him, and suspected the same was true for him.
So let the games begin.
His molten gray eyes assessed her. It was as if Mr. Barkley had conflicting emotions over what he wanted from her.
Or what she may have wanted from him.
Carole found she could relate as the same thoughts went through her head.
“So I understand there was another murder?” Carole decided to break the ice carefully. “Blake Wallace—”
Ray nodded. “Yeah,” he sniffed. “Same as the others. Beaten to death with a baseball bat and one hell of a purpose.”
Carole furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry to hear it, Detective Barkley.”
He leaned forward, giving her the benefit of an intense gaze. “Are you really?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she responded calmly. Don’t let him rattle you. He’s just doing his job. “Just because a scumbag like Blake Wallace can hire a good lawyer to get him off for beating his wife to a pulp does not mean I believe in vigilante justice.”
Ray paused, as if unsure where to go from here. “With all due respect, don’t you find it just a bit peculiar that each of the victims spent time in your court before getting off?”
“Not really,” Carole answered with a slight twist of her lips. “I handle hundreds of cases involving domestic violence each year. Many of them resulted in convictions. The fact that four defendants with a history of abusing women happened to ‘get off’ and then get murdered hardly suggests a pattern that couldn’t easily be related to other factors well beyond my control.”
“Such as?”
“Such as being male, living in Portland, being arrested by Portland police officers, being discussed on local TV n
ews, and in newspapers.” She jutted her chin. “In other words, these men had common factors a killer could have easily come upon outside of my courtroom.”
“You have a point there,” Ray conceded. “All the same, you have to admit it’s not too farfetched to think some disturbed person with an axe to grind against batterers has somehow latched onto your courtroom, hoping to see justice served. And when it isn’t, decides to do something about it.”
Carole added sugar to her tea while considering his words. Finally she responded in the only way she could. “You’re more than welcome to any information I have on people who work in my courtroom, detective,” she told him. “Or, for that matter, any member of my staff—all of whom I can vouch for insofar as their integrity and dedication to the job. Personally, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree. My guess is whoever is killing these men is far less obvious than to make his or her presence known so easily.”
“In my business, I’ve learned that killers often think everyone else is stupid,” Ray told her with a catch to his words. “That means they tend to overlook the gaps in their actions until they get caught.”
“Unless, of course, they want to be caught,” Carole countered, aware that he was playing a sort of cat and mouse game with her. Well, it takes two to tango. “Isn’t that what most serial killers want at the end of the day? That is after they’ve made their point, if only to themselves.”
The waitress interrupted the conversation in bringing them both sweet and sour pork, egg rolls, and steamed vegetables with oyster sauce. It gave Ray the chance to ponder the poise in which the judge handled herself. She seemed to have all the answers, though not necessarily the right ones. This impressed him, but not half as much as the lady herself. There was something about Carole Cranston that captured his fancy. He hadn’t felt so taken with a woman in longer than he cared to remember. He wasn’t quite sure if it was a good or bad thing in this instance.
“Hope you like it, Detective Barkley,” Carole told him with amusement, watching as the sweet and sour sauce melted on his tongue.
Justice Served: A Barkley and Parker Thriller Page 7
