“No need to apologize. It makes total sense. More sense than three months of counseling. I should have come to you first.”
“You came here when the time was right.”
Brad smiled. “Interesting, the circumstances that led me here.”
“Can I be forgiven for saying, ‘God works in mysterious ways’?”
“I don’t believe in coincidences. I’ll accept the mysterious ways theory.”
Branton stood, grabbed Brad’s mug and headed to the kitchen. Moments later he was back with two tumblers. “I hope you like whiskey.”
“I’m acquiring a taste.”
They sipped in silence. For the moment, the weight he’d been carrying was lifted off his shoulders.
Finally, Branton said, “I am a man of God, but I read the newspapers and watch the news. You’re in a lot of trouble.”
Brad talked about his current situation, being wanted for multiple murders by his own police service.
Branton leta quiet moment pass, then leaned forward in his chair. “Did you commit the murders?”
Brad gasped. “Of course not.”
“Then you have nothing to fear.” Branton’s tone was light, welcoming, accepting.
Brad drank the last of the whiskey. “I need to go.” He set the glass down and stood.
Branton waved him back to the chair. “Sit. I’ll refill your whiskey. You shouldn’t drive.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Annie sat in Brad’s overstuffed chair with Lobo at her feet. She absently chewed on a sandwich and stared unseeing at the TV. When the eleven o’clock news came on, she jumped out of the chair and increased the volume. Lobo rolled onto his back and groaned.
“Good evening, and welcome to the CFCN News. We have a report from Sadie Andrus who, last night, reported that police had launched a manhunt for Detective Brad Coulter. Sadie, do you have an update for us?”
“Thanks, Todd. As you mentioned, last night we received word that Detective Coulter was a suspect in the recent murders. Police have been tight-lipped.”
The last portion of the video where Sadie and the cameraman are knocked to the ground played with Sadie’s voiceover.
“As you can see, the police did not want us anywhere near the scene. The local media have requested a press conference, but so far, the police have declined. However, I have information from an excellent source that Coulter may not be guilty of the murders. In fact, the source suggests Coulter has been framed. Knowing his department does not support him, he is working alone to clear his name.”
“That is a bizarre twist to a bizarre story,” the news anchor, Todd, said. “Sadie, did your informant give any reason Coulter would be framed for these murders?”
“Good question, Todd. I wasn’t given that information.”
“Incredible story. Thank you, Sadie.”
Annie stared dumbfounded at the screen. Sadie had put her career on the line. Now all Brad had to do was clear his name, and his and Sadie’s careers would be saved. If not, one would go to jail and the other to unemployment.
The apartment was in darkness when Sadie entered. She tossed her keys in the bowl, switched on the lights and checked the rooms. There was no sign of Brad. She knew he’d been upset or pissed off or some other irrational male emotion. She returned to the closet and hung up her red jacket and tossed her wool cap on the shelf. She leaned against the wall and untied her boots and tossed them toward the closet.
She’d had difficulty keeping her mind on the news today. All the coverage about Brad and the murders took center stage, and her bosses were smart enough to know she had inside information. Not that she’d shared it, but they’d made her do features all day on the murders and Brad’s career as a cop. At least she could temper some information. The other stations were less sympathetic. Wolves circling the wounded animal.
Then her boss thought it would be a marvelous idea for Sadie to do the late-night news. It had taken all her energy to portray the perky news reporter they wanted. She’d left the station after taping the show.
Sadie thought about changing out of her tan skirt and black knit shirt, but poured a whiskey and sat on the couch, swirling the glass before taking a sip. Her eyes spotted a piece of paper with her name scrawled on the front. She swung her legs off the couch, grabbed the note, then sat down. Two sips of whiskey later, she flipped the note open.
Sadie,
Thanks for the hospitality.
That is a great tip about the Central Library. I’ll check it out tomorrow afternoon.
Tell Annie I’m off on another adventure.
Will contact soon.
Sissy
Something had happened while she was on her jog. Did he think she told the cops he was here? Did he discover something new? No, it was something else. What was the library reference? She tossed back the whiskey, drew her black-stockinged legs under her and closed her eyes.
The ringing phone startled her. Sadie switched on the coffee table light and grabbed the phone. “Hello.”
“Hi, Sadie. It’s Annie. Sorry to call so late, but I’m worried about Sissy. Is she okay?”
“Hi, Annie.” Sadie stretched and rubbed her eyes. “I haven’t seen Sissy since early this afternoon. She left a note. She’s off on an adventure.”
“I thought she was staying at your place for a few nights. You know until she got things worked out.”
“Did her classmates meet her tonight? Did they give her the package?”
“I haven’t heard from them. That’s why I thought I’d check with you. I thought she was back there with you.”
“She’s in a difficult situation. Boy trouble and all.” Sadie swung her legs to the rug and leaned forward. She grabbed her glass, then silently cursed that it was empty.
“In unrelated news, Internal Affairs interviewed me, Zerr, Steele, and Briscoe today.”
“That must have been fun.”
“It was. I got Detective Griffin.”
“Isn’t he Brad’s partner?”
“You wouldn’t think so, the way he acted. He’s out for Brad’s hide.”
“You’re kidding.” Sadie stretched the telephone cord as far as she could and was just able to get her hand on the whiskey bottle.
“Nope.”
“You’ve got me worried.” Sadie filled the tumbler close to the brim.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Sadie heard the tension in Annie’s voice. She was barely holding it together. She was emotionally strong, but when it came to Brad, Sadie was sure that was Annie’s Achilles’ heel.
“I’ll tell you about it later.”
Sadie gulped her whiskey. “How did the other interrogations go?”
“I’m not sure. We were told not to talk to each other. But that won’t last. I’m sure they gave as much grief as I did.” Annie sounded so tired. “We should meet tomorrow.”
“Sure,” Sadie said. “Same place at one?”
“Sadie, please call me if you hear from Sissy.”
“I will. Goodnight, Annie.”
Sadie replaced the receiver, then refilled her tumbler. She wandered to the window and gazed out at the snow-covered city. She shivered. Where are you, Brad?
Chapter Fifty
Dice paced the living room, too keyed up to sleep. The workout over the last hour, the second of the day, didn’t help.
Everything was planned so carefully, every step analyzed from all conceivable directions. Coulter’s arrest was the culmination of all the planning.
Fists pounded against Dice’s forehead. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. All the planning and one minor detail derailed it all. Coulter hadn’t been arrested. Coulter was free. Maybe the manhunt for him would solve the problem. It also allowed the killing to continue with the blame on Coulter. But Dice couldn’t count on that. Coulter needed to be pulled out of hiding. Dice needed to feed information to Coulter, crumbs for him to follow. In jail or dead—it didn’t matter. But Coulter could not be free to investigate. If
he lived, the killing would have to stop, at least for a while. Future justice would have to be planned so there was no way anyone could ever link the killings.
Coulter dead was the best option, even if it meant a pause, and Dice had an idea forming. Oh, yes. Perfect. Believable and oh so sad. Dice practically cried. Ha. Not a chance. Coulter’s death would bring days of celebration. But if Coulter was still out there …
Dice stood in the shadow of a giant pine across the street from a tiny home in an older neighborhood overlooking downtown. One of the historic communities, it was home to many elderly homeowners. Urban renewal was starting with the outdated homes demolished for enormous mansions taking advantage of the view of the river below.
Light came from a table lamp and the TV. Now and then a man crossed in front of the window, changing the channel or fetching another beer. This man couldn’t wait for his mother to die a natural death. He was helping her along. The courts believed his story that his mother was frail and had balance issues. That’s why she fell a lot and it accounted for the bruises. Her mind was going and frequently she forgot to eat, which explained her thin, emaciated appearance. He cashed her support checks so he could care for her—and buy beer. Dice had watched in horror as against all probability, the judge bought his story, several times. Rather than stopping the abuse, he’d increased it. That ended tonight.
Dice, dressed in black, slipped across the street and around to the darkness of the back of the house. The door was weathered. A crowbar slipped easily between the door and doorframe. A quick turn of the wrist popped it soundlessly open with no damage to the door or frame. Dice stepped inside and followed the sound of the TV to the living room.
He was slouched on the couch with his stocking feet on the coffee table. A bowl of chips was lodged between his legs, several empty beer bottles sat on the table and a beer was in his hand. His eyes were glued to a late-night show. Don Rickles was doing a comedy routine. The man was laughing, the bowl of chips bouncing in his lap.
Dice pulled an eight-inch hardwood baton out of a back pocket and swung hard. The crack of his skull echoed throughout the room. Dice dragged the man off the couch and over a shoulder. The man didn’t weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds, but Dice was breathing hard by the time they reached the top of the stairs. Dice took a deep breath, then tossed the man down the stairs. A quick check determined the man had a pulse.
Dice hauled him back up the stairs and tossed him for a second time. This time there was a loud crack as his head bent at an unnatural angle.
A check produced no pulse. Dice used a gloved hand to pick up the man’s beer bottle and then dropped it on the floor beside him. The bottle shattered.
A voice called from upstairs. “Edwin, are you okay? Edwin?”
Dice rolled the baton under the couch, called 911, said “Ambulance,” set the receiver on the couch and slipped out of the house.
Chapter Fifty-One
Brad woke to the smell of bacon. He loved bacon. He rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes. For the second morning, he was in a strange room. He bolted upright, eyes scanning the room. Double bed and not much else. He peeked under the covers—he was wearing pajamas. He never wore pajamas. He swung his legs off the bed and headed to the door. With the door open, the odor of bacon was strong, and something sweet. Maple syrup? He followed the tantalizing scents to the kitchen.
Reverend Branton was at the stove. “Hope I didn’t wake you. I’m an early riser.”
Brad yawned and stretched. “We didn’t stop talking until after two this morning.”
“You know where the bathroom is. Take care of business, then come back.”
When Brad returned to the kitchen, a plate of bacon and pancakes sat on the table, next to a large mug of coffee.
“This is delicious.” Brad speared three pieces of pancake and sopped up the maple syrup.
“I have a class at seven,” Branton said. “Make yourself at home.”
“I’ll head out soon. Thank you for giving me sanctuary.”
“It’s the off season, so that room is available anytime.”
“You’ll be sorry you said that.”
Branton smiled. “Oh, I doubt that. It was wonderful to have company.” He tossed the morning newspaper on the table. “You might find the lead story interesting.” Branton headed out of the kitchen.
Brad grabbed the newspaper and flipped it open. In bold letters across the top:
Killer Cop at Large
Brad groaned and started reading. He didn’t learn anything from the story but was surprised how much information the reporter had. It would piss Sadie off that she didn’t have this type of inside information. Deputy Chief Archer stated that the search was on for Detective Coulter and they were following several promising leads. Homicide and Internal Affairs were working together on this manhunt. He reported there had been no further killings. Finally, a plea for Detective Coulter to turn himself in.
Brad headed down the hall to the bathroom. He did his best thinking in the shower.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Sturgeon poured three coffees and carried them into the meeting room. He wasn’t sure why it was called a meeting room. It had been an office, but the new staff sergeant decided they needed a meeting room. Rather than build one or renovate, he selected this office. Three of them barely fit around the table—four would overload the room. They’d covered the walls with photos, maps, and reports. It was impossible to walk in the room without kicking over a pile of folders. Heaven help you if you shut the door. The room temperature went up ten degrees with minimal air circulation. But leaving the door open, or even ajar, was an invitation to everyone in the section to stop by and ask questions or not so secretly ogle the walls.
Gayle and Angie were pouring over the tests they’d performed yesterday and the analysis from the RCMP crime lab.
He set three cups on the table. They grabbed the coffees and leaned back in their chairs.
“Why were you called out last night?” Sturgeon asked Gayle.
“911 call for a forty-five-year-old guy who fell down the stairs. He was drunk and broke his neck.”
Sturgeon shrugged. “Not uncommon.”
“True,” Gayle said. “But the cops and paramedics who responded felt something wasn’t right.”
“How so?” Sturgeon asked.
“There was a 911 call, but other than a voice saying ‘ambulance,’ they said nothing else. The guy was obviously dead from the fall, but his mother says she didn’t make the 911 call.”
“Does she have dementia?”
Gayle shrugged. “I wouldn’t say she’s all there, but she could answer our questions.”
“You said he’d been drinking?”
“Yeah. By the number of empty bottles, I’d say a half dozen. One was broken next to his head.”
“Drunk falls. Dies. End of case,” Sturgeon said.
Gayle nodded. “That would be true, except for the weapon we found.”
“What?”
“A Billy club.”
Sturgeon’s eyes widened. “Police issue?”
“Yup,” Angie said. “What street cops carry now. Not the sap you used to carry.”
Sturgeon grinned and stared off. “Ah, there was nothing like a piece of lead on a spring wrapped in leather to get someone’s attention.” Sturgeon grinned, then jerked his head back to his team. “Great for bonking fish.” He glanced toward the report. “Fingerprints?”
Gayle nodded. “Coulter’s. Blood and hair consistent with the victim on the club. We’ll know more today after the autopsy and blood and hair analysis.”
“Coulter isn’t that stupid,” Sturgeon said.
Gayle shrugged. “You’d think that, but the evidence keeps piling up.”
“Anything new from your re-tests?” Sturgeon asked.
“The tests are coming back the same,” Angie said. “There’s no reason to think someone tampered with the tests.”
“I agree,” Gayle said. “We’
ve been focusing on the wrong thing.”
Sturgeon stared over his coffee cup. “How so?”
Gayle pointed to the paper on the table. “Instead of trying to prove the tests are wrong, we should figure out how the right evidence got to where we found it. Same with the Billy club.”
“I don’t follow,” Sturgeon said.
“If we agree Coulter is innocent, and we know the tests are correct, then we need to figure out how the evidence that implicates Coulter got there.”
“Do you have a theory?”
“Dog hair?”
Angie nodded. “Yes. When we searched Coulter’s car, there was dog hair everywhere. It’s impossible for Brad to drive that car without getting dog hair on him. I don’t think Coulter had vacuumed that car for months—maybe over a year.”
Sturgeon nodded. “I get it. We have a dog, and I’m forever cleaning fur off my clothes. It was worse when I was on the street. The dog hair clung to my dark wool pants.”
Angie tapped the dog hair analysis report. “Exactly. Based on what we just talked about, finding dog hair, Lobo’s hair at the tattoo parlor murders is a given. Coulter’s clothes had to be covered with Lobo’s hair. Every scene Coulter attended would likely have dog hair. So, we have two possibilities. One, the dog hair transferred from Coulter to the crime scene. Or, the second possibility, the killer planted it there. But that doesn’t matter, because we already know that a transfer is likely to have happened. The dog hair evidence is inadmissible.”
Sturgeon nodded. “Zerr and Steele are searching for the hookers who gave a statement that they saw Brad’s car at the scene before the murders. They didn’t find them last night. We’ll have to leave that to them. The gun?”
Goddess of Justice Page 20