Goddess of Justice Dwayne Clayden (i read book .TXT) 📖

Sturgeon shook his head. “No. Why? Do you expect something?”

Brad stood. “I guess not. Have a great day.”

“Arse,” Brad heard as he headed down the hall.

Chapter Eleven

At one-fifteen, Brad grabbed his gray pinstripe suit jacket and light blue shirt out of the garment bag and slid it on. He adjusted his navy tie, then headed out of the detective bullpen, down the second-floor hallway past the memorial to fallen officers and toward the court building. Coming the other way was a lady in a black pant suit with a white blouse. Her short raven hair was combed behind her ears.

“Toscana?”

She stopped. “Detective.”

He did a double-take. “I didn’t recognize you. What’s with the serious business suit?”

“I just had my promotion interview. If I pass, then I’ll be a full-time sergeant, not just in an acting role.”

Brad stepped back as a group of uniformed officers raced past on their way to court. “How did it go?”

Toscana shrugged. “How do you ever know how an interview goes? I’ve had some I was sure I nailed and was passed over. Some sucked, and I got the job. I’ll just have to wait.”

“I’m sure you did fine.” Brad glanced toward the executive offices, then back. “I hear you are doing a superb job.”

She laughed. “If you heard that from Briscoe, I’d be surprised. He’s riding my ass all the time.”

“I know the feeling. You know he will never stop.”

“That’s a frightening thought.” She lifted a thin eyebrow. “Where are you going all dressed up? That’s a fine gray suit. You attending as a lawyer?”

Brad laughed. “Nope. I’m testifying from a case earlier this fall. If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, then bluff with a nice suit.”

“I’ll have to remember that.” Toscana smiled and adjusted his jacket collar for him. “Have fun.”

Brad shivered as he took the outdoor walkway from police headquarters over to the court building. It was only twenty feet, but it chilled him to the core. He was testifying in courtroom 201. Court started at one-thirty, but he’d be lucky if they called him to testify at all today. As he strolled, he reviewed the domestic assault from over two months ago. He’d responded to a call with Detective Don Griffin, where an asshat named Vinnie Bevan was beating up his girlfriend, Sylvia. A fight ensued during the arrest and Brad had, some said, aggressively subdued the suspect.

Brad headed to the front of the courtroom to check in with Prosecutor Jenni Blighe. She leaned over her table scanning the files she’d laid out. The view was impressive to say the least. She was all business. It made sense in court, even though they’d worked together for a month preparing documents, evidence and strategy for the trial of Logan Hirsch, the surviving sniper.

She wore a dark blue skirt and jacket, and a white blouse with a large blue bow tied at the neck. Her blond hair hung straight, barely touching her shoulders. She glanced to the side as Brad approached.

“Good afternoon, Detective.”

“Prosecutor Blighe. Nice power suit. The bow is a lovely touch.”

Blighe snorted. “Flattery won’t help you today. You know the defense attorney Harry Townsend is going to come after you for excessive force.”

“He’s tried before. He can give it a go again.”

“Just keep your answers brief and stay calm.” She rotated to face him and glared. “I’m serious. Don’t get in a pissing match with him.”

“Me?” Brad stared at Blighe in mock terror.

Blighe glared back. “You are a cop testifying, not a lawyer. Remember that.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Brad nodded.

“Go wait in the witness room. I’m calling paramedic Jill Cook first so she can describe the injuries. Then Detective Griffin and Sergeant Briscoe. You’re the last witness. Have a snooze.

Brad sat in the corner of the witness room with his head back against the wall, eyes closed. The aged pine paneling hid the soundproofing. The chairs were comfortable, better than the rigid courtroom benches. Better still, the air conditioning kept the room at a perfect temperature for sleeping. They’d just called in Briscoe. Once he completed his testimony, they’d call Brad. He was the last person in the room, which suited him fine. He appreciated quiet moments like this—he sought them out.

However, his brain was not cooperating. Rest and relaxation were not an option. He opened his eyes and stared at the white ceiling tiles. How could something that happened less than two months ago seem like forever ago? Worse, though, was that he didn’t have a great recollection of that night. It had been his first night back on duty. He was champing at the bit to work. The night had been slow until the assault came in. Since they were the closest unit, they’d responded.

The door to the interview room opened and a voice called, “Detective Coulter.”

Brad glanced up and followed the uniformed bailiff to the witness box in the courtroom where he nodded to the judge and was sworn in. He shrugged his shoulders to relieve the tension. Not that he was a stranger to court, but more was at stake today. He glanced around the courtroom. To his right, at the table opposite Blighe, sat the accused, Vinnie Bevan and his lawyer, Harry Townsend. He had been a defense lawyer for over twenty years and seemed to be in court every day. Tall, with salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, a hawkish nose, and beady eyes, the man came alive in court. He was impeccably dressed in a dark blue pinstripe suit, white shirt, and blue tie with shoes that gleamed from the florescent lights.

Crown Prosecutor Jenni Blighe approached. “Good afternoon, Detective Coulter.”

“Good afternoon, ma’am.” He stood straight, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Please state your name and spelling for the court.”

“Detective Bradley Coulter. C-O-U-L-T-E-R.”

“Detective, you are a sworn officer of the Calgary Police Service.”

“Yes.”

Blighe consulted her notes. “Were you on duty the night of October 4, at approximately 2200 hours?”

Brad nodded. “Yes, I was.”

“Can you please, in your own words, describe the incident you attended.”

“I