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

after eleven. The 911 calls were vague, and the call taker thought it sounded like a hooker and john were going at it in the car.”

“How did they come to that conclusion?”

“Most of the calls came from the payphone by the liquor store. No one gave their name. The callers knew what had happened but didn’t want any part of it. They didn’t want a dozen police cruisers racing up here.”

Brad glanced around. “Yeah, I get that.”

“When we got here, the car door was closed. We were about to tap on the driver’s window when I saw the bodies.”

Brad held out a hand. “When I arrived, the door was open, and the driver’s eyes were closed. Who screwed with my crime scene?”

“That, your highness, god of detectives, was the paramedics. There is this thing we do when someone is hurt or maybe dead. We call the paramedics, because I don’t know anything about paramedic shit.”

“Okay. That makes sense, sorry.”

“I got the area cordoned off, and we waited and waited for you. We waited so long the media is already set up across the street. They were waiting for you, as well.”

Brad took a deep breath, exhaled, and took a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn. “You’ve got guys interviewing everyone here?”

“Yup. The street people say they saw nothing. The others, gawkers, came after we showed up.”

“Get your guys to canvass the crowd again and see if anyone saw a homeless person around the Lincoln. Make sure they check drainage grills and garbage cans for a weapon or clothing.”

“Already got them on that.” Briscoe tracked cops on either side of the street.

“Do you have a video recorder?”

“No.” Briscoe’s head swung toward Brad. “Why? Are you making a movie?”

“No. I want to record every person who is standing outside the police tape.”

“You think the gunman is watching?”

Brad shrugged. “You never know. I can’t think of a reason for the giant chauffeur-bodyguard to open the door unless he wasn’t threatened.”

Briscoe nodded. “Hooker or dealer … or homeless person.”

“Brilliant,” Brad said. “Homeless person.”

A police van pulled up and Sergeant Toscana stepped out and surveyed the scene. Briscoe rolled his eyes.

“She’s not that bad,” Brad said. “Give her a chance.”

Briscoe ignored Brad and peered across the street. “I see someone who can do the recording for you.”

“Great, who?”

Briscoe grinned and pointed.

Brad headed to the crowd around the crime scene. Several cops made sure the onlookers stayed behind the police tape. As he approached, a brilliant light blinded him.

“Detective Coulter, can you tell us what’s going on here?”

Brad shielded his eyes with his arm. “Ms. Andrus, tell your cameraman to shut the fuc—the camera off, please. We need to talk.”

Sadie straightened the lapels of her knee-length white parka. Black leather boots covered her legs up to the lower edge of her parka. She wore a white knit beanie with a pompom on top. “On the record or off the record?”

“The light?”

She nodded to the cameraman, and he extinguished the camera light.

“How was your day?” She smiled. Her white teeth accentuated by deep red lipstick. “I haven’t seen you since breakfast this morning.”

A couple of cops at the tape line grinned. Brad blinked a few times and glared at them. They looked away.

“I need a favor.”

“I already had dinner,” Sadie said. “Drinks later would be great.”

The cops grinned again.

“Will you shut up and listen?”

“Sure, since you asked so politely.” She flicked her auburn hair over her shoulder.

Brad stepped close enough to smell her citrusy perfume and whispered, “I need your cameraman to pan the crowd. Get a closeup video of everyone.”

Sadie put her hand on his arm. “Now, Detective?” Sadie’s voice was louder than it needed to be. “That sounds like fun. I’d love to.”

The cops had their full attention on Sadie and Brad.

Brad quickly stepped back. “It’s important.”

Sadie grinned. “Why do you need that, and why would we do that?”

“Off the record, it’s possible the killer is here.”

Sadie glanced around. “Why do you think that?”

Brad shrugged as he watched the gathering crowd. “A hunch.”

“And what do I get?”

“The scoop when I break this case.”

Large flakes of snow started falling. Sadie shivered and held her arms tight over her chest. “It needs to be better than your stupid lead this morning. That went nowhere. Who cares if a dealer killed another dealer? That’s community service in my mind.”

“Wow.” Brad shook his head and frowned. “So young, yet so cynical.”

Sadie glared. “Film for the scoop.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll have to call my boss.”

“Do it quick before the crowd gets bored or the snow chases them home.”

Chapter Sixteen

Coffee in hand, Brad entered the office of the medical examiner Sunday morning and headed past the vacant reception desk. He continued down the dull white hall to the autopsy suites. He peeked in the windows and doors until he saw a body on the table, then stepped inside.

Three people stood around the body—the medical examiner, his assistant, and Sturgeon. He wore green surgical scrubs, a green cloth hat and booties. He snapped photos of the deceased before the autopsy, then throughout the postmortem.

“About time,” Sturgeon said. “Did we ruin your Sunday morning sleep in?”

Brad didn’t know how Sturgeon could handle this. It was like imprinting the image in your mind forever. Brad did not need new images stored in that special file in his brain.

It had thrilled Brad to work in Homicide, but autopsies were something he had never adjusted to. He knew autopsies would be an essential part of the job, but he still felt queasy every time. It didn’t affect Sturgeon. Trying to convince your mind the person was dead and couldn’t feel anything didn’t work. Sturgeon suggested Brad should view it as evidence gathering and no different from any other part of a homicide. That didn’t work either.

Brad changed into the surgical greens. He’d become an expert at watching the autopsy, but not seeing. He forced his mind to happier thoughts. But sometimes they went to Maggie, and that was worse than the autopsy.

The bonus today was he got to view