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

Jackson took another sip, eyes still on Coulter. “I told you I was looking for you.”

Brad held his hands wide. “Well, you found me.”

Jackson nodded. “Yup, I did.”

Brad shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn’t understand why Jackson was making him so nervous. He would like to think he had matured and was confident. Something about Jackson finding him here, the fact he was here, had Brad’s Spidey senses tingling.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Jackson sat back, pulling his long arms across his chest. “This is a shitty year for you, Coulter.” Before Brad could answer, Jackson continued, “A lot happened. Not a lot of it pleasant. The thing is, as much as I hated to admit it four years ago, you are a moral man and a great cop. It’s a shame sometimes that life deals us shit sandwiches too hard to choke down.” Jackson leaned forward, put his meaty hands on the table, and shifted. “No polite way to say this, so I’m just gonna tell it like it is. You are fucking lucky you’re still a cop. You know you crossed the line last month. The reason you’re still carrying a badge and a gun is because of Mayor Kearse. Deputy Chief Archer is tired of babysitting you—tired of covering up your messes. That’s my job now. I did it before, and I can do it again.”

“What the heck does that mean?” Brad asked.

Jackson leaned over his coffee and whispered, “What it means is there will be no bullshit from you. If you were a cat, you’ve used all nine of your lives. If you were on a sinking ship, your life preserver is missing. If your toenails touch the line, you are done. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sure. I guess so.” Brad chewed a lip, then shook his head. “Actually, I’m not sure what that means.”

“What that means, Coulter, is that you report to me.”

“I’m still confused. Are you my partner, or my boss?”

“Right now, I’m your worst enemy. I have been assigned as the staff sergeant for Homicide.”

“Sarge, we have a staff sergeant in Homicide.”

“Yup, you’re right. There’s a need for another. I got the job.”

“How does this work?” Brad asked.

“Everything you do, plan to do, or haven’t thought about doing, goes through me. You will always keep me informed on where you are, what you are doing, who you are talking to, and what your next steps are. No freelancing and no running operations off-the-cuff. No fudging the system or playing fancy with the rules—none of that. Think about it as being on double-secret probation. I want to know when you wake up. I want to know what you have for breakfast. I want to know when you leave for work, and when you arrive. I want to know when you pick up a file or set the file down. You take a shit, I get to know. Questions?”

Brad licked his lips, surprised how dry they were. “Ah, yeah. You are the sergeant. No problem.”

Jackson leaned back, but his large hands gripped the edge of the table. “What are you working on?”

Brad grinned because the answer was easy. “Well, Archer doesn’t want me working on the street, so he had me going to training classes for the last seven days.”

“Did you learn anything?”

“I learned a ton.”

“You pay attention to any of it?”

“Sure, you know I did.”

Jackson’s face soured like he had bitten into a lemon the size of a watermelon. The sourness quickly changed to disbelief. “Right at the start, I said no bullshit. I meant it.”

Brad cringed. “All right, there was one first-rate course. Sturgeon’s Crime Scene Management was excellent. I heard most of it before, but it made sense.”

“Out of the seven days of classes, you learned one thing?”

Brad cocked his head to the side, pressing a finger to his lips as if he were concentrating. “That about sums it up, Sarge.”

“And you have no cases?”

“Not officially.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Oh god, give it to me straight.”

Brad nodded, took a long drink of coffee and set the cup down. But no sooner had the cup hit the table than the waitress was over with a refill for them.

“No official cases. Sergeant Sturgeon told me about a drug dealer who was killed earlier this week in Victoria Park. Other than the training classes, I had nothing going on. He suggested I investigate. I did.”

“So?” Jackson’s hands spread wide.

“Nothing to say. There aren’t any leads.”

“Really?”

“There is one suspicious thing,” Brad said. “About two months ago, there was a similar homicide. A drug dealer in Victoria Park was killed in the same way—the knife under the ribcage to the heart. Couple things. One, it’s a specific way of killing somebody. Two, neither the drugs nor the money were taken. Three, in the first case a few months ago, there were several cuts on the abdomen, a lot like the hesitation marks we see in suicide. I think this was the killer’s first murder. The killer knew what to do, knew how to do it, but that’s a long way from doing it. It’s a long way from understanding the upward force required. The first murder was practice, or the first one in a series.”

Johnson leaned back. “That’s interesting. What are your next steps?”

Brad leaned back and shrugged. “I don’t know. I went to the crime scene and looked around. This crappy November weather messed with anything that might be at the crime scene. By the time Sturgeon and his Crime Scene Unit arrived at both scenes, the cops and paramedics and god knows who else, trampled over the scene. Any evidence that relates to the killing was lost in the tons of forensic evidence left by thousands of drug deals.”

“No shit.”

“I don’t think that investigation is going anywhere.”

Jackson slowly nodded, eyes boring into Brad. “Any of that story changes—and I mean any part of it—you let me know.”

“Got it, Sarge.”

Jackson slid his police business card