Goddess of Justice by Dwayne Clayden (mobi ebook reader TXT) 📕

Dice. Coulter had friends in high places. A distressed cop, mourning the loss of his fiancée and child, and eating his gun was a possibility.

Then it clicked in. There was one way that ensured Coulter would be removed from the homicides.

Dice grinned and started working out again. Tonight, another victim would make headlines.

Dice had parked in the back corner of the high school parking lot. A crowd was exiting the school into the cold, snowy night after having watched the junior and senior boys’ basketball games. It was the last match before the city-wide Christmas Tournament this coming weekend. They scraped windows of frost, and snow was cleared from the hoods, roofs and trunks. The cars formed a mini rush hour as they exited. After ten minutes, the last of the spectators pulled out and the parking lot was quiet. Dice waited. The players would take time to shower, then head home. Dice was parked next to a 1979 Toyota Celica two-door hatchback. The Toyota was one of many new and sporty cars in the lot. Sixteenth birthday presents from parents with money to burn on kids with a powerful sense of privilege—which described half of this high school.

The back doors opened, and players trickled out. There were, give or take, ten players and three or four coaches left in the school. The coaches came out first and rushed to their cars, giving a quick sweep of the snow from their vehicles, and then raced out of the lot. A few players came out, started their cars, and burned donuts in the parking lot to the cheers of other players. Then the group broke up and headed to their own cars. A teen, being cool, wearing a school hoodie against the icy wind and snow, trudged toward his car—the car next to Dice.

Dice slid out of the car and popped the hood. As the teen approached, Dice said, “Can you give me a boost?”

The kid stopped and glanced over. “Uh, I don’t have cables.”

“No problem,” Dice said. “I have some in the trunk.”

There were several toots of horns as the other players headed home. Dice and the player were the last ones in the lot. Dice opened the trunk and pointed at the vinyl bag that held the jumper cables. “Grab those, please.”

As the teen leaned into the trunk, Dice wrapped an arm around his neck and used the other arm to apply pressure. In wrestling, they called it the sleeper hold. In policing, it was a neck restraint. No matter the name, the result was the same, unconsciousness. Dice bound the player’s wrists, then stuffed a rag in his mouth and secured it in place with a long strip of cloth. Dice slammed the trunk shut, slid back into the car, then drove out of the school parking lot. What needed to happen next couldn’t be done here.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jay Robson and his partner Maura Rossi pulled out of the strip mall, each with a coffee. They’d been partners for close to a year. Robson’s sandy-colored hair was a sharp contrast to Rossi’s black hair, pulled back in a tight bun low enough that she could still wear her black beanie. Where Robson was fair skinned, Rossi’s Mexican heritage showed in her complexion. Opposites in appearance and temperament, Robson was calm, methodical, and Rossi was quick-tempered and impulsive. They’d formed a tight bond.

When they’d come on shift at seven this morning, they’d been assigned a missing person file. A seventeen-year-old teen named Burke Bailey Baldwin II had not returned home after his basketball game the previous night. He was last seen by other players after ten walking to the Lord Beaverbrook High School parking lot.

“How many times did you sneak into and out of your house when you were a teen?” Rossi asked.

“More times than my parents knew about,” Robson replied. “You?”

“A couple of times. My older sister moved back in with us when I was in grade eleven and she brought her yappy dog with her. The dog busted me a few times.”

They had stopped to talk to the basketball coach, but he wasn’t in yet. The first rays of sunshine were just peeking over the horizon as they drove around to the dark parking lot at the back of the school. Barely seven-thirty, there weren’t many cars.

One car was parked in the back corner. It was parked with the nose into the hedge that surrounded the parking lot, covered with snow. They figured it hadn’t been moved since the day before.

Rossi checked the license plate and got a match to the missing student. They slid out of the cruiser and zipped their parkas. Rossi wandered to the passenger’s side, and Robson checked the driver’s side.

Robson was first to the front of the car. “Oh, shit. We’ve got a problem.”

By the time Brad arrived, police tape surrounded the entire Lord Beaverbrook High School parking lot, and officers were keeping the students well back. Briscoe wandered over to Brad, and they headed to the back corner of the parking lot.

“They reported the kid missing early this morning,” Briscoe said. “He didn’t come home from a basketball game last night. Parents didn’t realize until they woke up this morning. Robson and Rossi got the call and came to the school.” Briscoe led Brad to the front of the car.

Brad’s eyes widened. “What the heck?”

A naked, frozen body was draped across the windshield and hood. The arms were tied to the side mirrors, his legs attached by rope to the bumper. Despite the snow overnight, the word ‘Rapist’ could be clearly seen carved into his forehead.

“Who is this kid?” Brad asked.

Briscoe blew on his hands and then rubbed them rapidly. “He’s Burke Bailey Baldwin II.”

“That’s quite the handle,” Brad said. “It sounds familiar.” Brad snapped his fingers. “Jenni Blighe was telling me about him. He raped—”

“Allegedly,” Briscoe said.

Brad frowned, and his eyebrows rose. “He raped a sixteen-year-old at a school party last fall—repeatedly. But the defense