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

the killer. Something he’d been unable to do when he had free rein of the city and all the police resources at his fingertips. Staring out the window wasn’t accomplishing anything.

He sat at the kitchen table and dumped out the contents of the knife repair kit. It was a mix of screws, miniature screwdrivers, glue, a slim container of a cleaning solvent and a tiny sharpening stone. He examined his blade. None of this stuff would help much. He used the stone to grind out a few nicks in the blade. He checked the kitchen and found a junk drawer with some white rope. He fashioned a loop out of the rope and glued it to the blunt end of the blade. That was the best he could do. He set the blade next to the leather sheath. Not that he needed that blade, he was carrying another tactical knife he’d bought at the store. Working on the knife was about exercising his brain. Now what? He clipped his new tactical knife behind his belt and, with nothing better to do with it, slid the leather sheath and broken knife into his boot.

Sadie had a desk that faced the window. He sat and searched for a pen and paper. He opened the drawer in the middle of the desk. Plenty of pens. He pulled out a couple. Pens that were given out for promotions—Calgary Herald, CFAC TV, CKQR radio and CFCN News, to name a few. The top side drawer was filled with, well, junk. Not even worth searching for paper.

He opened the second drawer—it was filled with notebooks. He picked one up and opened it to the front page, dated from June. It was a journal of the sniper case. More detailed than any notes Brad had written. The notes covered the crimes, locations, who she interviewed, questions she had about the case, names of people she wanted to interview. He found his name with red stars beside it. Well, she’d done her best to interview him. As interested as he was, he closed the notebook and put it back.

He opened the third drawer. It held a package of loose-leaf paper and grabbed a handful of sheets. Then a file folder caught his eye. Good Brad said, “Close the drawer.” Bad Brad said, “Ooo. Cool.” He set the file on the corner of the desk.

For the next ninety minutes, he wrote everything he could remember about the cases. It wouldn’t be as complete as his wall charts, but it kept him busy going over everything again. When he was done, he leaned back and rubbed his eyes. He rocked back in the chair and spun it, peering around the apartment.

When he’d swung back to the desk, the file folder caught his attention. He opened the folder and read. He flipped the pages faster and faster. When he finished reading, he closed the folder and slid it back in the drawer. He wasn’t sure how he felt about what he’d read.

Chapter Forty-Four

Steele shifted in the driver’s seat of the Suburban. No matter which way he moved, something on his belt caught. They grabbed hamburgers at Peters’ Drive-In and parked facing the tattoo parlor.

Steele stared at the converted house, willing a witness to walk out.

“You know they boarded the place, right?” Zerr sucked hard at the straw in his milkshake.

Steele dipped a few French fries into the ketchup up to his knuckles. He absently stuck the fries and his fingers in his mouth. “The girls in the porn den were the witnesses who said they saw a black Firebird outside when they escaped. But the cops didn’t pick them up until an hour later, then brought them back to the scene. Do you think that’s when they saw Brad’s car?”

“Possibly.” Zerr’s cheeks pulled inward as he fought with the straw and shake.

Steele glanced over. “Wait until it melts. You’ll give yourself an aneurism.”

“I won’t admit defeat.”

Steele rolled his eyes and dipped fries in the ketchup. “They hadn’t committed a crime, so they were released. Initially, they were picked up five blocks east and six blocks north. It can’t be random. They were going somewhere specific.”

Zerr stabbed the straw repeatedly into the shake.

“Would you put that down?”

Zerr stopped mid-stab, then set the shake down. “I was listening.”

“How about offering some suggestions?”

“Sure. The address they gave was fake, but they were found a few blocks from that address. So, Watson, the address was fake, but not the area.”

“That’s brilliant, Sherlock. How does that help us?”

Zerr took an enormous bite of hamburger, then pointed the burger at Steele. “They’re staying, living, squatting, whatever, in that area.” Bits of hamburger and bun sprayed. “As horrible as it is, they’re hookers. Not much prostitution happening on these streets. We have two options. First, we hang around that area tonight and see if we find them walking to catch a bus or cab. Or second, we cruise the stroll tonight. We can tell the downtown units to keep their eyes open for them. Shouldn’t be hard to spot a pack of hookers.”

Steele munched the fries. He pointed to Zerr with a fry. “We could do both. We let the downtown guys know we’re searching for them, and we’ll hang around up here. If they show up downtown, we’re five minutes away. If they’re up here, we find them.”

Zerr grabbed the fry and popped it in his mouth. “Then what?”

“They lied,” Steele said. “They didn’t see a Firebird when they left, or they saw it when the cops brought them back. Or someone told them to say they saw the car.”

“Who’d tell them that?”

Steele rolled his eyes. “The killer.”

“Why?”

“Because, Sherlock, it’s all part of framing Brad. The audio from the video that we couldn’t make out said to tell something to the cops. I bet that was it.”

Zerr chewed his hamburger and stared at the tattoo parlor. “That’s elaborate.”

Steele swiveled in his seat toward Zerr. “Not if the plan all along was to frame him.”

“Okay, say