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

Steele glared at Zerr. “Glad you feel you’re being useful.” Then Steele’s eyes widened as he stared past Zerr. “There. There.”

Zerr followed Steele’s gaze. “Holy shit.” He swerved into the left lane, spun a U-turn at the next intersection, and raced back toward downtown. He slid the Suburban to a stop behind a truck. They jumped out, guns drawn, and headed up the sides of the vehicle.

Steele peered into the passenger’s seat, then across to Zerr.

“Shit.” The truck was empty.

“You sure this is Brad’s truck?” Zerr asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Steele tried the door. It opened. The passenger’s side floor mat was littered with empty coffee cups and fast-food wrappers. “At least his diet hasn’t changed.” He sifted through the garbage.

Zerr held up a thin folder. “Registration and insurance. Both expired.

“Where was that?” Steele asked.

“Driver’s floorboard.”

Steele frowned. “That makes little sense.”

Zerr shrugged. “It’s not like Brad’s had this truck detailed—ever.”

“True.”

Zerr unfolded a small piece of paper that was loose in the insurance folder. “This is interesting.”

Steele raised his head from the pile of garbage. “What?”

Zerr passed it over. Steele glanced at it. One word was scrawled on the paper.

“Toscana.”

Briscoe parked his van behind the Suburban and headed to Steele and Zerr. As he hiked, he zipped his issue parka, slipped on gloves, and placed his fake fur hat on his head.

“Well?” Steele asked.

“Toscana is supposed to be off duty,” Briscoe said. “But she signed out a van this morning.”

“Does she have court?” Steele asked.

Briscoe shook his head. “Nope. She said nothing to anyone about why she needed the van.”

“So, what’s she up to?” Zerr asked.

There was silence as the three men shivered in the cold. Snow stuck to their clothing.

Briscoe stared at the darkening downtown skyline shrouded in low clouds. Fingers of exhaust reached to the sky from every building. “Did you two know Brad was using the truck?”

They shook their heads. “I didn’t even think of it,” Steele said. “He just uses it around the farm. Maybe an occasional trip to the dump.”

“In an unregistered, uninsured vehicle?” Briscoe asked.

“He’s a rebel, for sure,” Steele said. “Probably get life for that.”

“Smartass,” Briscoe said.

“Maybe it was a traffic stop,” Zerr said. “Some cop spotted the expired plate.”

“I checked as soon as you called me,” Briscoe said. “Communications says the plate wasn’t checked through the computer. Coulter’s name wasn’t checked either.”

“What about an alias?” Zerr asked.

“Are you serious?” Steele asked.

Zerr shrugged. “Why not? Maybe he made up one.”

“Why would he do that?” Steele glared at Zerr.

“He might, if he were guilty,” Briscoe said.

“That’s bullshit,” Steele spat. “I won’t listen to that kind of talk. It’s not helping us at all.”

Briscoe held up his hands. “Don’t snap at me. You need to accept that there may be things we don’t know about Brad. If he wasn’t a friend, we’d all believe he was guilty and hunt him to the ends of the earth. He’s a friend, but he still might have committed the murders.”

Steele threw his hands in the air. “Fuckin’ great. Now Griffin has you thinking Brad is guilty. I’m sorry I called you.” Steele stalked away to the shoulder of the roadway.

“I hit a touchy spot,” Briscoe said.

“You just said out loud what we’re all trying hard not to think,” Zerr said. “You don’t think Brad is guilty, do you?”

Briscoe dusted the snow off his parka.

Chapter Sixty-Six

Sturgeon swung the door open and stepped into the gun lab. The familiar odor of gunpowder and lead hung heavy in the air all the time. But he detected the odor of fresh gunshots. Gayle and Angie stood beside a long wooden table with stripped guns on top. A long fluorescent table light shone onto the guns. Analysis reports were taped to the wall.

Gayle grabbed Sturgeon’s arm and pulled him to the table. “We’ve got it figured out.”

“Great. Show me what you have.”

“We took the pistol apart and examined each piece,” Gayle said. “Hard to say when the gun was last fired, but it had been cleaned. Most of the gun was spotless.”

“Most of the gun?” Sturgeon asked.

“Yes.” Gayle picked up a black tube. “Except for the barrel.”

“What?” Sturgeon took the barrel and peered down its length. “The barrel wasn’t clean?”

“Sure, it was clean.” Gayle pointed to a row of plastic containers. “We analyzed what cleaning solution had been used on each component.”

“The department doesn’t issue cleaning solutions,” Sturgeon said. “Every cop buys their own.”

Angie picked up two plastic bottles. “True, but would a cop clean all parts of the gun with one solution, and the barrel with another?”

“That would be unusual, to say the least.” Sturgeon’s eyes grew wide. “Two cleaning solutions for the same gun?”

“Exactly.” Gayle nodded enthusiastically. “And there’s one interesting thing.”

Angie slid an analysis over to Sturgeon. “The barrel was not as clean as the rest of the gun.”

“My guess is the barrel would be the cleanest,” Sturgeon said. “It’s the easiest part of a pistol to clean.”

“Exactly.” Gayle picked up a different gun. “So, we checked Coulter’s backup gun.”

Sturgeon’s eyebrows rose. “And you found?”

Gayle grinned. “The CZ was cleaned with the same cleaning solution as Coulter’s pistol.”

“Except his barrel,” Sturgeon finished.

“Exactly,” Gayle said.

“But the serial numbers marched,” Sturgeon said.

“On the frame. There aren’t always serial numbers on a replacement barrel for a Browning Hi-Power.”

“No shit,” Sturgeon said.

“Our theory,” Gayle said, “is that at some point, Coulter’s barrel was changed for the killer’s barrel.”

“Excellent work, ladies,” Sturgeon said. “I have to find Staff Sergeant Jackson.”

Chapter Sixty-Seven

An unmarked police sedan pulled off the road in front of the truck and plowed through snow as it stopped. The door opened and Sergeant Jackson hauled his lanky frame out. He zipped his parka and slid on gloves as he strode to Briscoe and Zerr. Steele ambled over. Jackson glanced at Briscoe. “Charming hat.”

“Yeah, well, my ears ain’t gonna freeze off and my brain stays warm,” Briscoe said.

“You need a better hat then.” Jackson glanced at Steele and Zerr. “How did you find the truck?”

Steele told Jackson about the call from