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

Dice pulled an eight-inch hardwood baton out of a back pocket and swung hard. The crack of his skull echoed throughout the room. Dice dragged the man off the couch and over a shoulder. The man didn’t weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds, but Dice was breathing hard by the time they reached the top of the stairs. Dice took a deep breath, then tossed the man down the stairs. A quick check determined the man had a pulse.

Dice hauled him back up the stairs and tossed him for a second time. This time there was a loud crack as his head bent at an unnatural angle.

A check produced no pulse. Dice used a gloved hand to pick up the man’s beer bottle and then dropped it on the floor beside him. The bottle shattered.

A voice called from upstairs. “Edwin, are you okay? Edwin?”

Dice rolled the baton under the couch, called 911, said “Ambulance,” set the receiver on the couch and slipped out of the house.

Chapter Fifty-One

Brad woke to the smell of bacon. He loved bacon. He rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes. For the second morning, he was in a strange room. He bolted upright, eyes scanning the room. Double bed and not much else. He peeked under the covers—he was wearing pajamas. He never wore pajamas. He swung his legs off the bed and headed to the door. With the door open, the odor of bacon was strong, and something sweet. Maple syrup? He followed the tantalizing scents to the kitchen.

Reverend Branton was at the stove. “Hope I didn’t wake you. I’m an early riser.”

Brad yawned and stretched. “We didn’t stop talking until after two this morning.”

“You know where the bathroom is. Take care of business, then come back.”

When Brad returned to the kitchen, a plate of bacon and pancakes sat on the table, next to a large mug of coffee.

“This is delicious.” Brad speared three pieces of pancake and sopped up the maple syrup.

“I have a class at seven,” Branton said. “Make yourself at home.”

“I’ll head out soon. Thank you for giving me sanctuary.”

“It’s the off season, so that room is available anytime.”

“You’ll be sorry you said that.”

Branton smiled. “Oh, I doubt that. It was wonderful to have company.” He tossed the morning newspaper on the table. “You might find the lead story interesting.” Branton headed out of the kitchen.

Brad grabbed the newspaper and flipped it open. In bold letters across the top:

Killer Cop at Large

Brad groaned and started reading. He didn’t learn anything from the story but was surprised how much information the reporter had. It would piss Sadie off that she didn’t have this type of inside information. Deputy Chief Archer stated that the search was on for Detective Coulter and they were following several promising leads. Homicide and Internal Affairs were working together on this manhunt. He reported there had been no further killings. Finally, a plea for Detective Coulter to turn himself in.

Brad headed down the hall to the bathroom. He did his best thinking in the shower.

Chapter Fifty-Two

Sturgeon poured three coffees and carried them into the meeting room. He wasn’t sure why it was called a meeting room. It had been an office, but the new staff sergeant decided they needed a meeting room. Rather than build one or renovate, he selected this office. Three of them barely fit around the table—four would overload the room. They’d covered the walls with photos, maps, and reports. It was impossible to walk in the room without kicking over a pile of folders. Heaven help you if you shut the door. The room temperature went up ten degrees with minimal air circulation. But leaving the door open, or even ajar, was an invitation to everyone in the section to stop by and ask questions or not so secretly ogle the walls.

Gayle and Angie were pouring over the tests they’d performed yesterday and the analysis from the RCMP crime lab.

He set three cups on the table. They grabbed the coffees and leaned back in their chairs.

“Why were you called out last night?” Sturgeon asked Gayle.

“911 call for a forty-five-year-old guy who fell down the stairs. He was drunk and broke his neck.”

Sturgeon shrugged. “Not uncommon.”

“True,” Gayle said. “But the cops and paramedics who responded felt something wasn’t right.”

“How so?” Sturgeon asked.

“There was a 911 call, but other than a voice saying ‘ambulance,’ they said nothing else. The guy was obviously dead from the fall, but his mother says she didn’t make the 911 call.”

“Does she have dementia?”

Gayle shrugged. “I wouldn’t say she’s all there, but she could answer our questions.”

“You said he’d been drinking?”

“Yeah. By the number of empty bottles, I’d say a half dozen. One was broken next to his head.”

“Drunk falls. Dies. End of case,” Sturgeon said.

Gayle nodded. “That would be true, except for the weapon we found.”

“What?”

“A Billy club.”

Sturgeon’s eyes widened. “Police issue?”

“Yup,” Angie said. “What street cops carry now. Not the sap you used to carry.”

Sturgeon grinned and stared off. “Ah, there was nothing like a piece of lead on a spring wrapped in leather to get someone’s attention.” Sturgeon grinned, then jerked his head back to his team. “Great for bonking fish.” He glanced toward the report. “Fingerprints?”

Gayle nodded. “Coulter’s. Blood and hair consistent with the victim on the club. We’ll know more today after the autopsy and blood and hair analysis.”

“Coulter isn’t that stupid,” Sturgeon said.

Gayle shrugged. “You’d think that, but the evidence keeps piling up.”

“Anything new from your re-tests?” Sturgeon asked.

“The tests are coming back the same,” Angie said. “There’s no reason to think someone tampered with the tests.”

“I agree,” Gayle said. “We’ve been focusing on the wrong thing.”

Sturgeon stared over his coffee cup. “How so?”

Gayle pointed to the paper on the table. “Instead of trying to prove the tests are wrong, we should figure out how the right evidence got to where we found it. Same with the Billy club.”

“I don’t follow,”