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

you, Miss Reynolds?”
    She turned as dark as the night. “What the
hell is that supposed to mean?”
    “It means we know you hammered your husband
to death,” he told her straightforwardly. “Do you get turned on by
bats these days?”
    “You son of a bitch!” Esther’s face contorted
into a scowl. “You don’t know the first thing about the hell that
man put me through.”
    Ray sighed. “Why don’t you tell me about
it?”
    Esther put her weight on one foot, her focus
hard and unyielding. “He beat me till I damn near couldn’t even eat
or walk almost every day we were together. The police did nothing
but give him a slap on the wrist, if that, and only after I had to
beg them to help me. The restraining orders were a joke!” She
snorted derisively. “All they did was make him more angry, more
determined, more violent. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I knew
it was either him or me—”
    “So you chose him?” Ray was thoughtful.
    “You’re damned right I did,” she retorted
peevishly. “Haven’t lost a night’s sleep over it since.”
    “Maybe you decided killing your husband
wasn’t enough.” Ray went after her with full force, hoping she
might crack like an eggshell when too much pressure was applied.
“Maybe this seemed like the right time to take some of that rage
and use it against other battering men. Or should I say alleged
batterers. How good are you at swinging a bat, Esther?”
    “Go to hell!”
    Ray got in her face. “I’m already there, so
long as this nut is on the loose in the city,” he retorted. “Why
don’t you do us all a favor and confess to murdering four men in
the image of your husband?”
    Esther sneered. “You really think that you
can just come in here and accuse me of murder without proof—proof
that you’ll never find?”
    “Why won’t we find it, Esther?” He kept
tightening the screws, hoping she was either their culprit or knew
who was. “Where is it? Where the hell do you keep the bats that are
left behind as a calling card by the killer?”
    One of the officers came in the room, a
Hispanic female in her late twenties. “We’re all finished,
Detective Barkley. No bats anywhere. Not even so much as a
stick.”
    Ray nodded disappointedly. “Thanks.”
    After the officer left, Ray turned to Esther
who had not backed up an inch. He realized the hard assed approach
had done little to shake the suspect. In fact, it had done more of
a number on him. If he had hoped to intimidate her into a
confession or some information, it wasn’t working.
    He took a breath and said to her quietly:
“Are you sure there isn’t something you want to tell me, Ms.
Reynolds, while you have the chance?”
    Esther glared and said in a strong voice:
“Yes, I have something to say. How dare you come in here, accuse me
of murder, and scare my residents and staff half to death with
these Gestapo tactics. I plan to file an official complaint with
your superiors, Detective Barkley!”
    “You’re entitled to,” he said unaffectedly.
“I don’t think it’ll do you much good, though. We had a search
warrant and probable cause to believe this shelter may be connected
to a vigilante run amok.”
    “That’s rubbish!” she assailed. “You’re
grasping at straws, detective. We both know you have nothing but
vague and misguided suspicions.”
    Ray backed away, realizing she would not
buckle. Not yet. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” he stated.
“Sooner or later, the truth will come out. For your sake, I hope
you or this damned shelter aren’t caught in the middle of it. In
this state, female serial killers don’t get a free ride from death
row—”
    * * *
    “I talked to some of the women,” Nina told
Ray after they had left the shelter. “Or let’s just say I did most
of the talking and they did most of the listening. Seems as if
there’s a gag order in place. If anyone knows something—or
someone—they’re not saying.”
    “Same thing with Esther