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Goddess of Justice

Dwayne Clayden


Also by Dwayne Clayden

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

To The Reader

About the Author

Copyright © 2021 Dwayne E. Clayden

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention Permissions Coordinator,” at:



Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Published in Canada by Bad Alibi Press

Printed and Bound in Canada

Cover Graphic by Travis Miles, Pro Book Covers

Editing by Taija Morgan

Proofing by Jonas Saul

Formatting by Dwayne Clayden

Goddess of Justice/ Dwayne Clayden—1st print ed.

ISBN: 978-1-989912-04-1 (pbk), 978-1-989912-05-8 (e-book)

Created with Vellum

Valerie West

My continual support through the craziness

of living with an author.

Here we are, at six novels!

Also by Dwayne Clayden

The Brad Coulter Thrillers

Crisis Point

Outlaw MC

Wolfman is Back

13 Days of Terror

Goddess of JusticeThe Brad Coulter Thrillers Continue in 2022

Bonded LaborThe Speargrass Thriller Series

Speargrass Opioid

Speargrass Vengeance (Fall 2021)Short Story

Hell Hath No Fury

AB Negative. An Anthology of Alberta Crime

Chapter One

November 22, 1980

A streetlight flickered, illuminating the road for a moment, then plunging it into darkness. The drug dealer, in his early twenties, leaned against one of the broken streetlights. His cigarette glowed intermittently, giving away his location. Cigarette in his mouth, he rubbed his hands together, then wrapped his arms around his thin body. Dealing on a cold November Saturday night required dedication, or maybe, desperation. He had a product to sell and junkies willing to venture out to get their fix. He stomped his feet, shivered, and took a long drag. The smoke, mingled with his breath, formed a cloud in front of him on his exhale.

Dice watched from the shadows of the crack houses across the street. Once an affluent area of Calgary, Alberta, Victoria Park had become the armpit of the city. House after house, block upon block of crack dens. Dice had to admire the dealer’s choice of location. He’d have steady business until well into the early hours of the morning. Unfortunately for him, tonight would be his last night in business.

Sirens, wailing from several directions, broke the silence. A police cruiser raced past, then another. Seconds later, an ambulance passed, followed by another cruiser. The emergency vehicles stopped outside a house a couple of blocks past the dealer. When he’d heard the sirens, he’d slipped back into the shadows. But not so far that Dice couldn’t see him.

Unfazed by the police presence, the dealer moved from the shadows. As crackheads popped out of the houses to see who’d overdosed this time, the dealer made further sales. Such was the life cycle in Vic Park.

An hour from now, the scene would be repeated with another overdose, a fight over drugs, or a domestic assaults, and knifings were common.

Dice waited in the shadows until the ambulance sped away. A few minutes later, the cops came out of the house with three men in handcuffs. The cruisers left, and the addicts headed back to their homes.

This was the time to act. The streets would be quiet for at least half an hour.

Sliding his beanie low, jacket collar up, Dice staggered toward the dealer, who was working on another cigarette, making him easy to find—just follow the glow.

The dealer heard the footsteps and pushed away from the streetlamp.

“You got guts. The cops were just here.”

Dice nodded, pretended to trip on the curb, and lurched toward the laughing dealer.

“Seems you’ve got a head start. Whatever you need, if I don’t have it, I’ll get it. Name your poison.”

Dice whispered, “Crack.”

“Jeez, you’ll have to talk louder than that.”

Dice staggered toward the dealer and stumbled again. Before Dice hit the street, the dealer reached out a stabilizing hand.

“Maybe you don’t need nothin’ right now.”

Dice’s hand came up holding a hunting knife. The long blade thrust upward, just under the sternum, pointed toward the dealer’s left shoulder.

The blade pierced the dealer’s heart. With one hand on the knife, Dice shoved the dealer back against the pole, twisted the knife, then let his body slide to the sidewalk.

The dealer grabbed his chest with his right hand, blood spewing between his fingers. Eyes wide, he mouthed, Why? His eyes stared past Dice as life spurted out of his body.

Dice wiped the knife on the dealer’s hoodie, slid it back into a sheath, and headed north toward downtown.

Chapter Two

Detective Brad Coulter sat at the back of a classroom in the hotel conference center. He stretched his lean six-foot-one body out, legs well under the table, leaned back, and stared at the ceiling. He wondered why these places put up fancy chandeliers, yet the sliding walls were a dull gray cloth. Sure, it was practical, they could make the rooms bigger or smaller, but who cared about the lighting. He was in the sixth row of tables. He always sat at the back. Each table had a crisp white tablecloth, a jug of water and, best of all, a bowl of Jolly Ranchers. Twenty-three other detectives were in the class.

Today was the second day of the Crime Scene

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