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

up trees and nattered at Lobo from branches overhead. The sun was over the horizon. At the water’s edge, he felt the icy chill.

Bits and pieces of the past few days floated around until the shooting last night clicked into place. A pimp and his bodyguard killed. Sadie was right. Who cares? Some rival was making a play for the prostitution business on the stroll. Out with the old, in with the new. By tonight, those girls would have a new boss. Maybe better, maybe not, but the trade on the street would continue and not miss a beat.

However, two men were dead. Brad was a cop—not any cop, but a Homicide cop. His job was to solve murders. Not just ones he thought were worthy of his attention, but all homicides. Still, it was difficult to get energy to address these two murders. Without having checked yet, Brad knew they would both have extensive police records that included assaults on women. It was a possibility that one of his ladies had had enough—bang. That could fit. The driver wouldn’t worry about a hooker approaching the car. He would be relaxed, even indifferent.

That fit to a point. But so far, they knew of four shots. All nicely placed in the two men in tight groups. Fatal shots. Not shots someone with a grudge could do. You don’t buy or steal a gun off the street and place your first four shots exactly where you want them to go. Hell, trained soldiers miss half of the targets they shoot at in combat. And shooting at a silhouette in a gun range is a lot different from pulling the trigger on a human. If he stuck with the hooker theory, then the hooker had some significant gun experience. That was worth following up. An arrest for possession of a gun—not uncommon with the hookers. Past military experience? Doubtful.

Lobo, full of energy, blasted past Brad as they ascended the hill. The squirrels chattered at Lobo, but today he didn’t care. He had the scent of something and hunted with his nose to the ground.

As they crested the hill, Lobo spotted two deer. They glanced at him, then raced off. They quickly put distance between them and Lobo, but he didn’t give up. Brad slowed to a fast walk and watched the race. Keep going. If the deer let Lobo think he had a chance of catching them, then Lobo would keep running and be exhausted by the time they got home. Lobo disappeared out of sight. Brad continued to the house.

Brad was outside the house when Lobo came panting around the corner. Lobo lay, all four legs splayed out. Brad grabbed Lobo’s water bowl from the back porch and set it in front of him. He didn’t stand as he gulped the water his human served him.

Brad headed over to a bench and sat, legs stretched out in front of him, arched his back, and closed his eyes.

Chapter Eighteen

Against his better judgment after the autopsies, and in the freezing rain, Brad was cooking steaks on the BBQ. It was refreshing to take a break from the cases and relax with friends on Sunday night. It had become a tradition. Sunday dinner with whoever could attend.

When Sam and Emma Steele arrived, Lobo followed them around the house. Charlie Zerr was in the kitchen, helping Annie with the salads and baked beans. Like she needed help. Brad sighed. It appeared those two were getting serious.

Sam Steele came out to the BBQ and handed Brad a beer. Steele and Brad were two of the original Tactical Support Unit members. Initially they’d been fierce competitors but had become best friends. They were built the same, six-one, a hundred and eighty-five pounds of pure muscle. Steele, at twenty-eight, was four years younger than Brad. When Brad had moved on from TSU, Steele had remained and was partnered with Charlie Zerr.

Steele tapped the neck of Brad’s beer bottle. “I heard you picked up an interesting call this week. I thought Archer had you sidelined.”

“Briscoe called me directly.” Brad drank thirstily. “Ah. I get to keep the case—double homicide. Pimp and his driver.”

“That’s called community service, isn’t it?” Steele leaned against the deck railing.

“You can say that to me but be careful saying that anywhere other than here,” Brad said.

Steele shrugged. “Still, maybe once we could win the game of attrition.”

“There’d have to be more than two deaths of asshats each week.” Brad flipped the steaks. “It would help if the courts locked these guys up when the crown presented a solid case. It seems defense lawyers and the shitrats are winning.”

Steele gulped his beer. “True. Hey, do you know what you call one hundred lawyers on a sinking a ship?”

Brad rolled his eyes. “No.”

“An excellent start.”

“If I were gone, who’d save your ass and cook your steaks?”

“Excellent point. I don’t mean you. Maybe a shipload of defense lawyers.”

“Now you’re making sense.” Brad gulped his beer. “We’re not the only ones frustrated. I talked with Jenni Blighe after court the other day.”

“Like, you talked in the hallway?” Steele grinned over his beer.

“We went for drinks.”

“I see.”

“Jesus, Sam. We worked together for a month on the sniper case. Nothing there.”

“A month?” Steele’s eyebrows rose. “Continue.”

“Jenni works her butt off to present a well-thought-out case to the court, but the judges search for any fault in the case, and side with the defense. I haven’t seen her that mad since Jeter Wolfe was stalking her. I worry one day Jenni will have enough, and she’ll lose it in court, or worse.”

“She’s just venting,” Steele said. “Jenni knows she can talk to you.”

Brad stared off the deck to the snow-covered barn. “No, it was deeper than that. Jenni has changed a lot in the last six months. More cynical. I see it in her eyes.”

“Do you blame her?”

“Of course not.” Brad flipped the baked potatoes. “We’re all fighting a battle with the courts. It’s getting worse.”

“I heard that drunk who was