Justice Served: A Barkley and Parker Thriller by R. Barri Flowers

don’t you call me Ray, Judge Cranston,” he
suggested, wanting very much to change the formal tone they had
established.
    She wet her lips sensually. “All right, Ray.
But only if you’ll call me Carole—at least outside the
courtroom.”
    “Sounds like a plan to me, Carole.” He lifted
his teacup to toast. She followed.
    “So tell me, do you have any suspects in
these killings?”
    Ray ran his fork through the steamed veggies,
wondering how forthcoming he should be. He decided there was little
harm in sharing some information with the lady. After all, as far
as he knew they were both on the same page with regard to the law
and justice. And just maybe in other areas as well.
    “We’re looking to speak to an
African-American woman who was seen at a bar Roberto Martinez was
at the night he was killed. She may have also been seen driving
away from the parking garage where Blake Wallace was murdered,” Ray
added, for her reaction, though there was no proof to back that
up.
    The reality was the witness could not be
positive whether the driver was black or white, much less female or
male. But Ray’s gut instincts told him that the woman in the bar
and the driver were one and the same.
    He removed the sketch of the woman from his
jacket. Studying it for a moment, Ray had to admit that at a glance
there were some physical similarities between her and Carole
Cranston. If you took away the blonde wig, weave, or whatever the
hell you wanted to call it, and sunglasses, it didn’t take much of
a stretch to believe the woman in the drawing could be the judge.
But then it was just as likely, if not more, that any tall, built
like a sexy brick house female in the city who happened to be
African-American could fit the bill.
    He passed the sketch across the table,
intrigued to see her take on the depiction. Carole lifted the
sketch and examined it as one might an artifact from the Ming
Dynasty.
    “Look like anyone you know?” Ray asked
evenly.
    Carole shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she
said tonelessly. “But it isn’t a very good picture, is it?”
    “It’s the best we’ve been able to manage thus
far,” he muttered.
    “I’ll keep this, if you like, and show it
around,” she offered. “If she has any association with the court,
someone may be able to identify her.”
    “Good idea.” Ray found his mind wandering. He
wondered if the judge was seeing anyone. He didn’t see a ring on
her finger, suggesting she was not married. But that didn’t mean
there was not someone in her life. Why wouldn’t there be? She was
certainly the complete package.
    He turned his thoughts back to the subject at
hand, asking impulsively: “Are you familiar with the Rose City
Women’s Shelter?”
    “Yes,” declared Carole without prelude. “It’s
partly my business to be aware of the city’s shelters for battered
women. I have recommended more than my fair share of women to that
and other shelters, knowing it could well mean the difference
between life and death to some.”
    Again Ray was impressed by Carole’s coolness
and sincerity under fire. He wondered how he could have even
considered that she might have somehow been the Vigilante Batterer
Killer, as the press had dubbed the murderer. This lady had too
much on the ball to be moonlighting as a serial killer.
    Carole almost seemed to be reading his mind.
She smiled softly, glanced at her watch, and said: “Well, I have to
get back to court. I’ve got a full schedule this afternoon.”
    “Yeah, I have my hands full too with this
case,” Ray muttered, hating to see the lunch end. He’d enjoyed
spending time with Carole Cranston. He waved for the waitress to
bring the check.
    Carole frowned. “Listen, I probably won’t be
able to get those names to you till tomorrow. I hope that’s all
right?”
    “No problem,” Ray told her maybe a bit too
agreeably as his mind was already conjuring up ways he could see
her again in a less formal setting than his office. The