Ray regarded his partner again. “I’m with you on this one, Parker,” he declared unsteadily. “Judge Carole Cranston can’t be ruled out as a suspect.”
“Good,” Nina said. “Because I’d really hate to see you go down with her—if it turns out the good judge is really a cold-blooded murderer!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Father John Leary sat in the confessional without judgment as the woman sat on the other side of the window. He could not make out much of her through the narrow and low-lit opening. She was African-American, wearing dark shades and what looked to be a blondish hairpiece of sorts. He could feel a great aura about her, one that was as powerfully intriguing as it was menacing.
“Father,” she said in a clear, yet shaky voice, “I have sinned—”
“How have you sinned, my child?” he asked routinely.
She paused, wondering if he could understand if he confided in him.
As if reading her thoughts, he said: “You can tell me. I am here to listen and not to judge.”
She took those words to heart, knowing she had to tell someone. After a moment or two, she said: “I have killed, Father.”
He paused, unsettled. “Killed?”
“Yes.”
“Who have you killed?”
She felt herself trembling. “Batterers. Abusers. Bastards. Assholes,” she responded tartly. “Men who beat the hell out of their women and think they can get away with it. I have stopped them when others could or would do nothing.”
Father Leary sighed, more than a little alarmed. He had heard of this purported Vigilante Batterer Killer in their midst. It had been speculated the perpetrator was an African-American female. Was this truly her? He strained to get a better look at the woman through the obstructed view, but was unable to.
“Why do you feel the need to take the law into your own hands?” he asked, unsure if he believed her or how to handle it if he did.
She could feel her heart racing like a locomotive. “Because they’re monsters!” she spat. “Each and every one of them. I couldn’t allow them to go free after committing the most heinous of crimes—abusing and debasing women.”
“You have been abused by such men?” he asked presumptively.
She hesitated. “Yeah, such a man.”
He looked through the window. “Does killing these men make you feel better about yourself?” he asked. “Or the man who hurt you?”
She considered this. “No,” she admitted, “not really.”
“Then why do it?”
“For justice, Father,” she answered tersely. “My own brand of justice.”
Father Leary did not know what to say at this point. Was she telling the truth or a distorted form of the truth? Even a gross exaggeration was not out of the question. Perhaps to identify with the real killer. Someone who, in her mind, answered her prayers of vengeance against those who physically and perhaps psychologically violated women.
“Would you like my help?” he asked her.
“No!” The woman’s voice was resolute. “I don’t need any help, Father. Not the type you’re offering. I only came to confess to you my sins...to someone who I thought might be understanding—”
“It was good of you to come to me,” he told her, though wondering how good it was for him. “I can understand what you must be going through to have driven you to take such actions. But this isn’t something you should deal with alone.” Was she killing people all by herself? Or were there others involved? “There is a legal system in place—”
“Are you listening to me, Father?” She felt her temperature rise. “The legal system is the problem. They can do nothing to stop these bastards—at least not the ones with smart lawyers or dumb assed prosecutors. Don’t you see? If I don’t make them pay for their crimes, no one will!”
He gulped. “Are you saying you plan to kill again?”
She didn’t hesitate, knowing this was her calling. “I have no other choice,” she responded, her confidence returning. “These men, if you can call them that, don’t deserve to live—not in my neighborhood. Or yours, Father. They must be punished in a way that fits their crimes against women.”
Shifting his body, Father Leary again tried to get a better look at the woman who had just confessed to being a serial killer, but to no avail. In truth, what could he do even if he could see her clearly? Was it up to him to try and save her victims? Or even save her from herself?
His role here was one of a listener, no matter the nature of confession or the stability of the confessor. He was bound by his vows as a priest.
She sensed his uneasiness, which in turn made her begin to question coming to him.
“When?” he asked her directly. “When do you plan to kill again?”
Her temples throbbed. “I can’t tell you that, Father,” she replied with a catch to her voice. “How do I know you won’t rat me out to the cops? How do I know you won’t betray my trust as they have done to me and other women?”
He wiped the sweat from his brow. “I would never betray your trust,” he avowed. “Or rat on you to the authorities. I just want to try and—”
When he looked again she was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ray chose a coffee shop as a neutral site to meet with Carole. He didn’t want the temptation of his place or the austere and intimidating judge’s chambers to talk. He was certain that she could explain any concerns he had. Or concerns Nina had, for that matter. As much as he wanted them to go away, he knew they wouldn’t. Not so long as a ruthless killer remained on the loose with no suspects in custody.
The place was crowded at the noon hour, but Ray still managed to find a little corner table with a window view. He had already finished half a latte when he saw Carole. She gave a little wave and weaved through other bodies toward the table.
He stood to greet her. “Hello, Carole.”
She was huffing and puffing. “Hi, Ray,” she offered with a smile. “Sorry, I’m late. Court ran over a bit when the prosecutor and defense attorney locked horns like bulls. Pit bulls is more like it.” She chuckled. “I let them go at it longer than I should have.”
Ray smiled, noting that Carole was as lovely as ever. She wore a tailored amethyst suit and black pumps. Her pixie braids were gathered together and tied in a bun behind her head. He couldn’t help but feel aroused in her presence, remembering their night together. The mere thought she could be a killer made his stomach turn and his skin crawl.
After they were both seated with their coffee, Carole remarked: “You sounded tense on the phone.”
“I was,” he admitted reluctantly.
She raised a thin brow. “What is it, Ray?”
He paused, looking her in the eye. “Why didn’t you tell me you gave money to the Rose City Women’s Shelter?”
She batted her eyes. “Was I supposed to? I give money to several local organizations whose purpose I care about. So what?”
“So it doesn’t look too damned good that you’re financially supporting a shelter connected to all the victims of men who have appeared in your court—only to wind up beaten to death themselves.”
Carole’s mouth was a straight then crooked line. “I’m not quite sure what to say,” she muttered. “If you really think I’m this vigilante killer, you have a strange way of showing it. Or do you make a habit of sleeping with all your suspects?”
Ray bit his lip, knowing he had that coming. “You’re not a suspect, Carole,” he said weakly. “This is just routine follow up I have to do as a detective investigating these murders. I’m sorry—”
Her eyes flared with anger. “No you’re not. But I sure as hell am! You’re not turning out to be the man I thought you were, Detective Barkley. And as for my charitable gifts to the shelter, they are strictly tax-deductible contributions for a worthy cause. If you check your records carefully, I’m sure you will find that several other donations come from some of my colleagues in the court system.” She ran one hand steadily acro
ss the other. “If this somehow makes me guilty of multiple murders, then arrest me right here and now...”
“Look, baby—” he tried to say on a personal level.
Carole cut him off with the sharpness of a knife. “I don’t have any control over the women who go to the shelter. I have recommended shelters to hundreds, if not thousands, of battered women, but don’t keep track of who goes where and who doesn’t. I have no role whatsoever in how the Rose City Women’s Shelter is run, nor do I profit from it in any way.” She took a quick breath. “I certainly can’t be blamed as somehow engineering the release of defendants brought to my court for abusing their wives and girlfriends. You should know as well as I do that these kinds of trials can be dismissed for a variety of reasons, most of which are up to the lawyers and jurors. Not the judge.”
Ray knew there was truth in everything she said. He had attacked the woman he was really beginning to care about and may have lost her in the process. Damn, sometimes this job really sucks.
“I had to ask,” he said lamentably. “It’s my job, Carole. If not me, it would have been another cop.” He wondered if Nina would have handled things any better. Or would she have wound up with even more mud on her face?
“Then maybe it should have been,” Carole hissed. “I don’t like being interrogated by a man I just spent the night with! Makes me think this was merely a police tactic to soften me up for the shark attack!”
With that Carole stood, glaring at Ray as though suddenly her sworn enemy.
“Goodbye, Ray. Next time you want to interview me, we’ll do so at my attorney’s office!”
She stormed away and he was left thunderstruck, unable to say a word in his defense.
* * *
Carole took the rest of the afternoon off. Her meeting with Ray had unnerved her. And that was putting it mildly. Had he truly believed she was a killer? Or was he only grasping at straws for lack of more concrete evidence? Or suspects? She wondered if he actually expected her to somehow break down and confess to the crimes.
She had lost her cool. Her poise. Something she almost never did in a public arena. Including a coffeehouse. Would that cause Ray to dig deeper? Was she bound to have secrets unearthed that were better left buried forever?
Carole’s mind turned to the man she had made love to last night, rather than the cop she left this afternoon. Was it all a charade? Could the way he made her feel have been part of a calculated setup and nothing more? Had the possibilities that existed between them less than twenty-four hours ago suddenly blown up in smoke and flames like a condemned building whose time had come and gone?
Carole knew she needed time to sort out her feelings. To think of what needed to be done next. I have to keep a level head, even under fire.
And, yes, desire.
She could not allow her life to become unraveled. She had been there, done that. This time, she would not lose it. Not even for a handsome guy like Ray Barkley who Carole believed was on her side in more ways than one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Ray had driven around for an hour that night, his mind absorbed with both the case and Carole. It had driven a wedge between them—one he was not sure he could close. But he had to try. Though knowing full well he was breaking all the rules concerning becoming involved with someone who was still technically a suspect in a murder investigation, he had to go with his instincts on this one. Carole was no more of a serial killer than he was, in spite of some rumblings and correlates to the contrary.
Ray still wasn’t ruling out that someone might have been using her courtroom in playing judge and jury to the accused. If that were true, Carole was merely an innocent pawn who deserved a hell of a lot better.
He drove to her downtown condominium, having gotten the address from a friend in the department’s administration office. He had no idea if she would even talk to him, much less allow him to try and make amends. But it was driving him crazy thinking about her. The lady’s gotten under my skin.
Carole had reached something in Ray that had him believing in the future again. A future that could include her, if it wasn’t too late.
Ray buzzed the intercom. A moment or two later, Carole said insipidly: “Yes?”
“It’s Ray,” he said tentatively.
She paused. “What do you want?”
“Can we talk?”
“Not sure we have anything left to talk about,” she told him frankly.
I can think of a few things. He sucked in a deep breath before saying: “How about us?”
It was a while before Carole said anything. “I’ll buzz you in,” she finally acquiesced.
A couple of minutes later, Ray stood at her doorway. The door opened before he could knock. Carole, wearing a crewneck sweater, striped capris, and mocs, regarded him with caution. He felt the heat beneath his polo shirt and chino pants.
“Come in.”
He followed her into a spacious apartment filled with an assortment of plants, hanging from the ceiling and on the floor, as if her own private botanical gardens. Pastel paintings graced the walls and floor lamps complemented recessed lighting. The French provincial furnishings in the living area fit perfectly with the surroundings. He noted a large bay window behind open faux wood blinds that seemed to almost overlook the entire city.
Ray honed in on the lady of the house. Carole had a hand resting precariously on her rounded hip, her gaze centered on his face. For once he was at a loss for words. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing that would only make things worse between them. Or say the right thing that she might somehow misinterpret.
“Look,” he said in a level tone, “I don’t want things to end between us—”
Carole took an involuntary step backwards. “So what exactly do you want, Ray?” she challenged him.
He stepped closer. “I want you,” he made no pretense, cupping her face in his hands.
She fluttered her lashes, but did not back away. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah,” Ray said positively, “I’m sure.”
Carole’s voice shook as she uttered: “I’m sure I want you, too...”
Ray took her into his arms, feeling the weight of their mutual need dripping between them like melted butter. Their mouths touched. They kissed. The kiss was deep, powerful, and long lasting.
It was Carole who broke away, licking her lips desirously. She took Ray’s hand and wordlessly led him to her bedroom. Ray allowed himself only a glance at the darkened room, making out the antique furnishings and French doors that led to a balcony, before returning his gaze to Carole.
They slowly began to undress one another, taking in every inch of each other’s body as though their lives depended on it. Both fell atop her bed where they resumed kissing passionately, their tongues tasting and titillating each other.
Ray caressed Carole’s tautened nipples, his body pressed tightly between her splayed legs. As Carole urged him on with her cries and fingers running haphazardly across his back, he responded, wanting only to please her in every way. He took in her invigorating scent and body movements, driving him mad with want.
They made tempestuous love, bodies molded together and moving symmetrically and spontaneously, as if this was the last day on earth and they intended to make the most of it and of each other.
An hour later they lay still, enjoying the air conditioning as their sweat drenched bodies cooled from the fiery passion that had consumed them like lovers in a romance novel.
Carole raised her head from Ray’s chest, meeting his gaze. She hesitated, then said: “Baby, there’s something about me I think you should know—”
Ray put a finger to her lips. “Don’t,” he said, not wishing to spoil for even a moment what they had shared. Besides, he could not truly imagine anything about Carole being such that it would change the way he was rapidly starting to feel about her. “There will be plenty of time later for us to talk about our lives and pasts...and our future—”
Carole began to object in
typical courtroom fashion, but seemed to have second thoughts. Lying back on his chest, she murmured: “I’m enjoying your company, Ray. I haven’t been able to say that to anyone in a long time.”
“I’m enjoying spending time with you, too,” he told her sincerely. “And I haven’t had anyone to tell that to in longer than I care to remember.”
She reached up and kissed him. He returned it with the same amount of energy.
“You taste so good,” Ray murmured, his erection building again, his need for this beautiful, sensual woman insatiable.
“So do you, baby.” Carole licked his upper lip and mustache.
They made love again.
And again.
And once more, as if anyone was counting at that point.
By the time Ray left, he no longer considered Carole a viable suspect in the murders that rocked the city of Portland like an earthquake.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Nina woke with a start, straining her tired eyes. It was six a.m. She dragged herself out of bed, slipped a terry kimono robe over her nude body, and padded into the kitchen to make coffee.
During a hot shower, Nina wondered if she had been too hard on Ray. Just because there was no man in her life at the moment didn’t mean he had to live like a monk. Even if he was seeing Carole Cranston, it was his choice, though ill advised under the circumstances. As far as she was concerned the judge was not off the hook yet, even if she seemed to have wormed her way onto Barkley’s good side, and probably into his bed.
For now, Nina was prepared to keep an open mind as they pursued all possible suspects. Her only hope was that they could get to the killer before the crazy lady got to another abusive man.
Ray picked Nina up at eight on the nose, looking weary, but ready for another day on the trail of a psychopath.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he told her with his usual flare for the dramatic.
Justice Served: A Barkley and Parker Thriller Page 11
