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

counsel Harry Townsend twisted it into a trial of the young teen, Laura Turner. Blighe said Townsend destroyed her on the stand, and then the judge acquitted Baldwin II.”

“The family paid a lot to hire Townsend,” Briscoe said.

Brad clenched his jaw. “Acquittal bought and paid for.”

“Now he’s the one who bought it,” Briscoe said.

Brad glanced at Briscoe. “Callous, even for you.”

Briscoe shrugged. “I believe in karma.”

Brad stepped closer to the car.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Briscoe said. “You already got in trouble for screwing up a crime scene.”

“Whatever.” Brad peered at the rope around the wrist. “See the chaffing. Even frozen, there are rope burns on his wrists. He was alive—long enough to fight against the ropes. There’s one additional thing.”

“What’s that?” Briscoe asked.

“There’s no way this kid was captured, stripped and tied to the car here. Not if he was alive. Heck, even if he were dead. Have you ever tried to take clothes off an unconscious or dead person?”

“Can’t say I have.” Briscoe lifted an eyebrow. “But I’d love to know how you know that detail.”

“Oh, shit, Briscoe. Just ask any medical examiner or mortician. EMS doesn’t even bother trying to take off clothes. That’s why when we get the clothes as evidence, they’re cut to pieces. Trust me. This kid was stripped somewhere else.”

Brad sat in an empty classroom and stared at the posters on the walls—periodic table, rocket launches, world map, and mobile of the solar system. The door swung open, and Griffin marched in, followed by Jackson dressed in uniform. Jackson tossed his issue dark blue parka on a chair.

“Good morning,” Brad said.

“Miserable frickin’ day.” Griffin slid off his parka and shook snow onto the floor.

Jackson flopped into a chair next to Brad. “Thought you two might need some help.”

“You bet. All the students are jammed in the gymnasium. Briscoe has his street cops talking to every kid who was here last night. The rest are being sent home. The principal is rounding up the basketball players, their coaches, and the cheerleaders for us to interview.”

“I’ll take the coaches.” Jackson left the room.

“I’ve got the players,” Brad said.

Griffin frowned. “Come on guys, not the cheerleaders.”

“Have fun with that.” Brad smirked.

There was a knock. The door opened. The principal stuck his head in.

“I’ve got the coaches and cheerleaders in the next two rooms. Do you want the players here?”

“Sounds good.” Brad stood. “One at a time. I want to talk to the guys who were closest to Burke.”

“Sure,” the principal said. “I’ll bring the players in.”

Brad grabbed two chairs and set them facing each other. He directed the first player to have a seat—tall and gangly with red hair and pimples.

“I’m Detective Coulter. What’s your name?”

“Ben.” He stared at his hands.

“Ben, do you understand why we are here?”

“Yeah, Burke is dead.” Ben stared at his hands as he cracked his knuckles.

Brad leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Were you two friends?”

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“We’ve been friends since grade seven.”

“Tell me about the rape.”

Ben’s head popped up. “There wasn’t any rape. Laura Turner made it up.”

Brad stretched his upper body to within inches of Ben’s face. “Were you there that night?”

“Sure, we all were.” Ben shrugged. “We’d won the city championship the night before, and it was a celebration party.”

Brad sat back in the chair. “Tell me what happened.”

“There’s nothing to tell. We were having a party.”

“There was alcohol?” Brad cocked his head.

“Shit, are you a prude?” Bens slid his chair back. “Of course, there was alcohol. Our parents bought it for us. That was the deal. We all stayed at the party, and then they’d pick us up, so no one was driving.”

Brad pursed his lips and nodded. “Tell me about Burke and Laura Turner.”

“She’d been hot for him all fall. Laura went to all our football games and waited for him outside the locker room.”

“Were they dating?”

Ben scowled. “No way. Burke wouldn’t pick one girl. He could have any girls he wanted, and plenty wanted him. He was our best player, football and basketball.”

Brad crossed his arms and stared. “That night at the party?”

“We were all drinking and having fun. Laura practically threw herself at him. Everywhere he went, she was right there, clinging to him. It was clear what she wanted. Next thing I know, I can’t find them.”

“Where did they go?”

Ben’s eyes darted around the room. “Uh, I’ve said all I’m going to say. Maybe my dad should be here.”

Brad held up a hand. “That’s fine. What I need to know is do you know of anyone who would want to hurt Burke?”

“Burke was a school hero. Everyone liked him.”

“No one comes to mind who would want to kill Burke?”

Ben’s brow furrowed. “Well, one person, maybe.”

“Who is that?”

“Laura’s father, Al Turner.”

“Why?”

Ben chuckled. “Because he said he would.”

Over the next two hours, Brad interviewed the remaining nine players. The further down the roster he went, the less information he could get. Burke had been friends with four other players. They all told the same story. Too much the same. They’d all pointed the finger at Laura’s father, Al Turner.

Jackson and Griffin wandered back into the classroom and took seats across from Brad.

“That was ten pounds of nothing,” Griffin said. “According to the cheerleaders, Burke was a perfect gentleman.”

“The coaches aren’t that generous,” Jackson said. “While they all agreed he was an exceptionally talented athlete, there was also agreement that Burke didn’t think his shit stunk. One coach said Burke was a pain in the butt and did as he wanted on the basketball court. ‘A nightmare to coach,’ were his exact words.”

“What did the coaches have to say about the ‘alleged’ rape?” Brad asked.

“Baldwin the first is an immensely powerful man,” Jackson said. “The coaches were careful with what they said.”

“We’re no further ahead,” Griffin said.

“Is this murder somehow linked to the others?” Jackson asked.

“We certainly have a murder crime wave going on. Maybe it’s the cold weather pissing people off,” Brad said. “There’s definitely a trend toward sexual