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

“I didn’t know we were meeting until Griffin told me.” Brad glanced around the table, cocking his head to the side. “Hey, guys. Lighten up. We’re going to break this case today. I feel it in my gut.” He rubbed his hands together.

All eyes were on Archer. “There are recent developments in the case. Sergeant?”

Sturgeon glanced down at his notes. “We analyzed a hair sample from the tattoo parlor crime scene. It didn’t match any of the dead men or the girls. Not surprising, that scene was a disgusting swamp of body evidence.”

“Did you identify the hairs?” Brad asked. “Were they the same person?”

“Well, no.” Sturgeon avoided eye contact with Brad. “The sample from the parlor was canine.”

“Are you sure?” Jackson asked.

“Yes,” Sturgeon kept his gray eyes on his notes. “Human and dog hair are completely different. First, canine and human hair growth cycles are different. Multiple hair shafts emerge from each canine hair follicle as opposed to human follicles that only produce a solitary hair. Second, human hairs grow for two to six years where dogs have a much shorter growth cycle resulting in frequent shedding. Third, animal hair provides a protective function and is thicker than the human hair.”

Brad nodded. “Well, that doesn’t sound helpful.”

“Agreed,” Sturgeon said. “Then we did eliminations on known canine hair from our K9 unit.” Sturgeon paused and stared at his report. “We, uh, got a match.” He kept his head down. “Lobo.”

“What?” Brad blurted. His eyes widened. He did a double-take in Sturgeon’s direction. “Are you sure? No way.” Brad shook his head, struggling to figure out where this was going. It made little sense. “Lobo was nowhere near that place.”

Sturgeon’s jaw clenched. “It’s clearly a match.”

Brad glanced at Sturgeon, rubbed his hands over his pants, then glanced at his palms. Dog hair. “That’s my fault. I had Lobo in the car, and then I went into the crime scene.” He picked a piece of dog hair off his palm. “There must have been a transfer of Lobo’s hair when I was in the room. Shit. Stupid of me.” Brad glanced at Sturgeon. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention in your class.”

Archer glared at Brad, then nodded to Griffin.

“When the girls from the tattoo parlor were interviewed, they all said the same thing,” Griffin said. “That when they scurried out of the parlor, they saw a car parked beside the building. A black Firebird.”

“That should be easy to track,” Brad said. “There aren’t that many black Firebirds in Calgary. I bought one of the few—”

“You see where this is going?” Archer asked. “It hasn’t eluded our notice that you were recently in court regarding your scuffle with Vinnie Bevan, a man who is still in ICU after the severe baseball bat beating. Nor has your history with Arnie Fletcher, the Hells Angels biker recently stabbed to death with a pool cue through the heart.”

“Chief—”

Archer held up a hand and continued, “It seems the unique and precise method of stabbing in that case correlates with the stabbings of two drug dealers and one victim at the tattoo parlor. And at that tattoo parlor, the remaining three victims were shot to death in a manner nearly identical to that of another recent crime scene—the murders of Owen Judd and Anthony Moss in their vehicle. Also, at the tattoo parlor crime scene, three of the victims were posed and mutilated as if to send a message. Not unlike the message ‘rapist’ carved into Burke Bailey Baldwin II’s forehead. Griffin mentioned the wall of victims pinned next to your desk, some we hadn’t even thought to include, such as the recent hit and run. They all share an underlying thread of connection though, don’t they? You see why we’re concerned.”

They were staring at him. His eyes darted from one man to another. Did they believe he was involved? That was absurd. They had to know that. Screw the reports Sturgeon had given. “Come on, you don’t think—you can’t … this makes no sense.”

“Brad, we’re following the evidence,” Jackson said. “We’re telling you what we know. No one is judging.”

“It sure as hell feels like I’ve been judged.” Brad’s Spidey senses tingled, and not in a good way. “You guys are freaking me out.” He held out his hands like he was pushing them away.

Archer set a duty roster on the table. “You weren’t on duty for any of the killings—”

Brad glanced at the roster, felt his face redden and his fists clenched in his lap. “That means nothing.” Brad glared at Archer with his head held high, breath coming rapidly through his nose, lips pursed. His voice was louder and shakier than he intended. “I’m always scheduled for day shift. If there’s a homicide at night, I get called in. That’s the way Homicide works. Since all the killings were at night, yes,” he growled, “I was off duty.”

Archer ignored Brad and continued, “Yet for the tattoo parlor killings, you arrived quickly. Why were you in the area?”

“Oh, come on. I was … visiting Maggie’s grave.” His mouth was dry, but his palms were sweaty. He rubbed them on his pants again.

“I understand you visit frequently.” Jackson’s voice was calm with a country drawl. It was soothing. “That’s reasonable. We’re talking about a few months since—”

Brad’s right leg bounced to a rapid beat. “I go sometimes, when I miss her—or need to talk to her.”

“Late at night,” Griffin snorted.

Jackson held up a hand. “I get it, I do.”

“You guys are kidding, right?” Brad pushed his chair away from the table a couple of inches. He glanced around the table—they were all guys who knew him. Jackson clicked a pen in time with a clock. Sturgeon, head down, stared at his hands.

Archer nodded to Sturgeon. “He needs your pistol.”

“You’re serious?” Brad tensed, his back firmly against the chair. He felt cold, yet he was sweating.

“That we are,” Archer said. “We’re just going to test it, compare the ballistics to the bullets recovered from the pimp and bodyguard murders