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

“That, my friend, is what we have to figure out.”

Zerr nodded and sucked on the straw. “I’m in. Where do we start?”

Steele dipped the last of his fries. “I don’t have a clue.”

Chapter Forty-Five

Brad heard steps in the hallway. He eased away from the desk, then stepped to the hinge side of the door and waited. A key entered the lock, then the deadbolt retracted. The knob rotated, the door opened, and a shadow stepped past. Brad shouldered the door shut.

Sadie screamed and dropped a box. Brad clamped his hand over her mouth. “It’s me.” He let go.

She swung around and punched him on the jaw. The blow caught him off guard and he stepped back into the wall.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again.” Her glare was icy cold. Her eyes flashed bolts of lightning.

He held his hands out. “Sorry, I need to be cautious.”

Sadie stepped over to him and grabbed his shirt lapels. “Who the hell did you think had a light footstep and opened the door with a key? TSU? They don’t fucking knock. You know that.”

“Sadie, I’m sorry. You’re right. My mistake.”

She pushed him against the wall. “What?”

“I said I’m sorry.”

She let him go. “That’s better. I like it when a man apologizes and grovels.”

She spun away from him, removing her red wool cap and jacket, untied her boots and kicked them into the closet. She strode past Brad and down the hall to her bedroom and slammed the door. His brain was still trying to figure out what just happened. Was she pissed at him or not?

He picked up the parcel wrapped in birthday paper. A tag had the name Sissy on it.

He took the box to the desk and opened it. Inside, packed in wax paper, was his first Browning Hi-Power 9mm and a holster that he’d used in TSU. Tucked underneath was a CZ75 9mm pistol in an ankle holster, and two boxes of 9mm ammunition. He grinned. Thank you, Annie.

When the Gypsy Jokers and Satan’s Soldiers were at war two years ago, Brad had feared Maggie might be a target. So, for her birthday, he bought her a CZ75 and Briscoe had trained her to shoot. She’d killed two armed men holding her parents hostage. Now the gun he bought to protect Maggie might be the weapon that protected him. Thank you, Maggie.

He set the guns back in the box and closed the lid. Then rifled through the dozen pages of notes. He’d started with the stabbing earlier in the year, the hesitation stabbing. The next murder was the dealer. No hesitation this time. What changed? How did the killer gain confidence? Training? But how do you train for that? Military operation? Possibly. Where was the Airborne deployed? A reason to be away for a month. Some of Giles’ and Torres’ friends. Angry ex-military with attitudes. Or deployed Airborne, with bigger attitudes. The gap between the first two killings was because of deployment and the killer was back for an extended time.

That explained the dealer murder, and the killings at the tattoo parlor.

But none of this explained the knowledge of homicide investigation, how evidence is gathered and preserved, or the intricate planning of setting him up. That practically shouted cop. Yet combining the characteristics of the military with the police procedure knowledge brought up a handful of suspects—and if it wasn’t him, then it was his friends, Steele and Zerr. Not a chance. Jackson? No way.

There were other cops who’d had the tactical training, but except for the newest team, Brad knew them all. Knew them well. What reason could they have for setting him up?

He sat back and flipped through his notes again. There was no bolt of clarity. He set the notes aside and slid a half-dozen clean sheets of paper in front of him. He tapped the pages with his pen, reviewing the evidence against him.

Dog Hair

He was always covered in dog hair.

Car at the Scene

Not possible.

At Maggie’s grave. No proof. No alibi.

Death of Biker Arnie Fletcher &

Vinnie Bevan Attack on Girlfriend

Coincidences, but there’s no such thing as coincidences.

Bullets Matched to Gun

Not a chance.

The ballistic match was the most damning evidence. He didn’t understand how this was possible. Aside from the fact that if he were the killer, which he wasn’t, he’d never use his service pistol. Not that he’d say this out loud, but he had daily access to guns from shitheads on the street. None of them were traceable. So why use his own gun to commit a crime and risk having it tracked back to him? Why have that gun on him when Archer asked for it?

If anyone but Sturgeon had verified the ballistics, he’d have shouted that they tainted the evidence. But he couldn’t deny Sturgeon’s results.

He sat back in the chair and chewed the pen. His gun was the murder weapon. But it wasn’t. He knew the feel of that gun. The grips fit into his hand like a handcrafted glove. He would know in a second if someone had switched guns.

The grips could be switched, but that was a lot of work and Brad’s gun was never out of his sight, unless it was locked up, either at home, in his locker at work, or at arrest processing.

His work locker was the logical choice for tampering with his gun. But he couldn’t remember the last time he used the locker. He hadn’t worked out at headquarters in six months. There’s no way this was planned that long ago. Unless it was?

He felt liquid in his mouth and then a horrible taste. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and it came away blue. Shit. He’d chewed through the pen.

He raced to the kitchen sink and grabbed a handful of paper towels. He stuffed them into his mouth, then spit the rest into the towels. He ran the water, rolled his head under the tap and let the warm water run into his