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

Brad unzipped his parka, spotted Griffin by a pool table and headed over. “I see you’ve finally come back to police work.”

Griffin glanced over his shoulder. “Screw you and the horse you road in on.”

Brad slapped Griffin on the back. “A pleasure to see you, as well.”

Griffin stepped away from Brad. “I was looking forward to a weekend off. What the heck was I thinking?”

Brad glanced past Griffin to the body on the floor. The handle of a pool cue stuck out of the dead man’s chest. His T-shirt and Hells Angels leather vest were blood soaked, as was the wood flooring.

“Someone was a poor loser,” Brad said.

“Seems so,” Griffin mumbled.

Brad wandered around the perimeter of the body. “Who finds a dead body at four in the morning?”

“District cops were driving by about three. They routinely check on him when they’re on patrol. This place closes at one and there’s a guy who cleans up, then shuts off the lights and locks up. But some lights were on. The cops stop, peer in the front door and windows, and see nothing. When they walk around the side of the building, they see a door that’s forced open. They call it in and when a couple of additional cruisers get here, they head in. That’s when they found the dead biker.”

“Do they know who he is?”

Griffin opened his notebook. “It’s the guy who closes up—Arnie Fletcher. He’s a Hells Angel and former member of the Satan’s Soldiers.

Brad’s brown eyes widened. “Ah, shit.” Brad slid his hands through his hair. “I know this guy. Fletcher hung around with a biker named Lou LeBeau, who got himself blown up a few years ago. LeBeau and I had a confrontation here. Fletcher was one of his lackies.”

“That when they beat the shit out of you?” Griffin asked.

“I don’t remember it that way.”

“Briscoe told me about it. You versus four bikers. Not betting odds.”

Brad stared at Fletcher. “I got three of them.”

“Close, but no cigar. You got other history with this guy?”

Brad glanced at Griffin. “Nah. I haven’t seen him since that night.”

“You’re sure on that?” Griffin’s icy stare was a shock.

“What the—?” Brad asked. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Griffin held his hands out. “Okay. I’ve got this. Go home and go back to sleep. Nothing to do until the Crime Scene Unit finishes up. We’ll catch up in the morning.”

“You sure?”

Griffin nodded.

“I can stay and keep you company,” Brad said.

“I’m sure you could. No sense both of us stuck here.” Griffin spun away from Brad and strode toward the Crime Scene techs.

Brad nodded and headed for the door. He stopped before he stepped outside and glanced back at the pool table. Something wasn’t right. Weird coincidence that of all the bikers, Arnie Fletcher gets killed. Brad didn’t believe in coincidences. The answers would come to him. He headed to his car.

Chapter Thirty-One

As Brad slid out of his car, the sun was fighting to break through the cloud cover. A good way to start the week. According to the weather report, it would be a brief reprieve and cold and snow would blow in later today. But a break in the awful weather had to be a good sign. With the sun shining, it would be a glorious day. He felt it in his gut. The break they needed would come today.

That was enough to put a spring in his step as he crossed Sixth Avenue with fresh Gerry’s coffee. The sun was blocked by police headquarters as he headed down the alley. He was glad he had the coffees to keep his hands warm. An icy wind swept down the alley. Balancing the two coffees, he entered the back door and headed past the booking sergeant.

“Good morning, Sarge.”

The sergeant glanced up, then swung his back to his newspaper, mumbling something unintelligible.

Holding the coffees in one hand, he fished out his wallet and swiped it over the door scanner. The lock clicked, and he pulled the door open with one hand, then held it open with his foot as he juggled the hot drinks.

The detective bullpen was eerily quiet this morning. Boisterous conversations dropped to whispers. The click-clack of one-fingered typing was missing. Even the phones were silent.

Brad found Griffin at his desk. “Brought you a coffee from Gerry’s.”

Griffin grunted and pointed to his desk.

Brad set the coffee down and took his chair. “What’s got you so engrossed so early? Did we get a lead last night?”

Griffin held a hand up as he concentrated on a file folder.

Brad sipped his coffee and peered at his partner. Whatever it was Griffin was reading, it had his full attention. Griffin might make fun of Brad for needing his morning coffee, but Griffin was no cheerleader before he had a cup or two. And ignoring a coffee from Gerry’s was unusual.

Never a candidate for the cover of a fashion magazine, Griffin’s suit was especially rumpled, like he’d slept in it. His eyes were bloodshot, and a frown creased his face. A half-dozen open folders were on his desk. Brad wondered if Griffin had been here all night.

Griffin gathered the files, stood and headed to the door. “Archer wants to see us ASAP.”

“Did he say why?” Brad jumped out of his chair and followed Griffin out of the room and down the hall.

“Update on the murders.”

“I had that figured out,” Brad said.

When they stepped into the deputy’s office, Archer’s secretary said, “He’s waiting. Go in.”

They stepped into Archer’s office.

“Sit, gentlemen,” Archer said.

Griffin took a chair next to Sturgeon, leaving the chair opposite Archer for Brad. It reminded him of promotion interviews with senior police management. Let the inquisition begin.

Brad glanced around. Archer, Jackson, and Sturgeon were seated at the conference table. No one made eye contact with him, their jaws tight and faces like stone. There was a chill in the room, like someone had died, but the warm sunlight was streaming through a window. Apparently, he was the only one excited by the