Justice Served: A Barkley and Parker Thriller by R. Barri Flowers Read Free Book Online Page A

having already discussed his visit to the bar. And, in
particular, the hot to trot black woman who could be labeled at
this point a person of interest. “I want a sketch artist out there
right away. Maybe we can find out who she is—and where we can find
her.”
    “Will do,” Nina noted dutifully, as the
junior partner of the two. “Of course, since she was almost
certainly wearing a blonde wig and dark glasses, a positive I.D. is
practically out of the question.”
    “I know,” he moaned, chewing on a biscuit.
“But at least it’ll give us more than we’ve got now, which is
zilch. If this lady is our killer, then someone, somewhere just
might recognize her.”
    Nina wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin.
“That someone might just be at the Rose City Women’s Shelter,” she
said. “I did some digging around today and it seems that all the
battered women victims of the murdered men sought refuge there at
some point before going back to their batterers for more of what
they ran away from.”
    “So you think the killer could be someone who
stayed there?” Ray asked.
    Nina eyed him. “Or is even staying there
now—” she responded dramatically.
    It made sense. A battered woman who got to
see firsthand other battered women and took it upon herself to
exact payback for all of them—making sure the batterer did not come
back for more ever again.
    He nibbled on a piece of chicken. “Let’s go
pay this shelter a little visit.”
    Nina smiled wryly. “That’s the best
suggestion you’ve had all day, Barkley.” She tossed money down on
the table and was on her feet. “Let’s hit the road while you’re on
a roll.”
    Ray grinned, standing. “Yeah, let’s.” He put
more money on the table. “We need to get serious and see out who’s
spending time at the shelter and why. Maybe someone has more than
one reason to seek refuge there.”
    At this point he wasn’t prepared to rule out
anything, while keeping everything on the table.
     

CHAPTER TEN
     
    The Rose City Women’s Shelter sat atop a hill
in Northeast Portland. It was the largest shelter for battered
women in the city. Once home to a philanthropist, the Victorian
property had been donated to the Portland Domestic Violence
Foundation to be used as a battered women’s shelter. Its three
stories and refurbished architectural elegance belied its intent as
a temporary home for women escaping domestic violence.
    Esther Reynolds had been the director of the
Rose City Women’s Shelter for the past ten years. The
thirty-eight-year-old widow had dedicated her life to helping
battered women, as she had once been helped to break the cycle of
violence, helplessness, and hopelessness.
    She extended a thin hand with long, carnation
polished nails at the detectives—who had just been invited in by
one of her assistants—greeting each warmly. “How can I help you?”
she asked, though she already knew full well why they were there.
Indeed, she had expected them long before now.
    “We’re investigating a series of murders,”
Ray told her, sizing up the tall, shapely, attractive lady clad in
a purple African dress with embroidery. She wore silver-rimmed
glasses in front of sloe colored eyes, was dark complexioned, and
had burgundy cornrows draped over her shoulders.
    He took a sweeping glance of the premises
with its high ceiling, rounded archways, angled bay windows, and
hardwood floors. The first floor furnishings, though sparse, were
wicker and looked as though they belonged.
    The place was impressive, no matter the
purpose. Ray noted several women moving about like zombies, as if
on drugs, alcohol, or maybe both. Some looked as if they had been
worked over one time too many. Could one of them also be a
murderess? Maybe it was time for payback in a big way.
    Favoring the director again, Ray said: “Three
men charged with domestic abuse have been beaten to death with a
bat over the last five months.”
    “Oh dear,” mumbled Esther for effect, putting
her