Steele swallowed hard. He told Jackson how they’d met Brad at Bowness Park and gave him supplies.
Steele swallowed hard and avoided eye contact with Jackson.
“Sometimes Brad contacts us through Annie and Sadie.”
“Sadie Andrus, the reporter? Are you two insane? A reporter?”
“Look, Sarge, she hasn’t used any of this information to her advantage. She could have.”
Jackson shook his head. His lips moved, but no words came out.
“It was the only way,” Zerr said.
Jackson nodded slowly. “If I needed to get a message to Coulter, Ms. Andrus could do it.”
Steele shrugged. “It has worked in the past.”
Jackson downed the last of his coffee, grabbed his parka and stood.
“Where do I find her?”
“She’d be at the CFCN station on Broadcast Hill,” Steele said.
There was a knock at her door. Sadie glanced up. The receptionist stood in the doorway, eyes wide and flustered.
“There’s a sergeant here to see you. He’s quite insistent.”
A tall, lean man with salt-and-pepper hair and a bushy mustache pushed past the receptionist. “I apologize, Ms. Andrus, but this is important.”
Sadie nodded to the receptionist, who hustled away. “Please have a seat, Sergeant—?”
“Jackson.” He slid off his blue parka, set it on one chair, and took the other across from Sadie. “Staff Sergeant Kent Jackson, Homicide.”
Sadie clasped her hands on top of her desk. “How can I help you?”
“I need to talk to Coulter.”
Sadie leaned back, eyes wide. “Why are you coming to me?”
Jackson leaned forward, large hands on the desk, and glared. “Ms. Andrus, I don’t have time for bullshit. Steele told me about you and Coulter. I don’t care about what is or isn’t happening between the two of you. But I need to talk to him, urgently. Not to arrest him. I need his help.”
Sadie frowned. “I don’t contact him. It doesn’t work that way. Steele and Zerr see him every night. That’s how the information is passed.”
“Tonight will be too late.” Jackson sat back in the chair. His shoulders sagged and confidence practically dissipated out of him.
Sadie sighed. “There might be a way. But a lot of things need to line up for it to work.”
Jackson glanced up and cocked his head. “Anything is worth a try.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
After they left the truck stop, Steele and Zerr drove in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Steele parked on Crescent Avenue overlooking the city.
“Jackson has me wondering if Brad has lost it,” Steele said.
“I might understand Brad losing it if Wolfe were still free, or even in jail.” Zerr sipped his takeout coffee. “But now? What reason would Brad have to randomly kill criminals?”
“It’s not that random.” Steele watched a group of joggers dash past. “He has a connection to a few of them.”
“Maybe they’re individual murders, not linked at all,” Zerr said. “Maybe Brad sees conspiracy in everything.”
Steele glared at Zerr. “He was right about the snipers.”
“That’s my point. He’s trying to link things that don’t go together.”
Steele took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Brad’s theory makes sense. Everything fits. Different murder styles, some needing a specific skill set. All criminals, all released from custody to do as they please on the street.”
They sat in silence, working on their own theories.
Steele stared at his coffee cup. “You realize all we’ve eaten for the last couple of days is takeout?”
“I like burgers and fries,” Zerr said.
“We work, we eat. It seems like weeks since I’ve seen Emma.”
Zerr winced. “She’s due anytime, right?”
“Yup, and I’m not around.”
“I hate to say it, buddy, but this isn’t the last time you won’t be around for a special event—birthdays, Christmases—it’s the job.”
Steele peered out the window. “Yeah, I know, and she knows, but I should be there.”
“Take the rest of the day off. I’ve got this.”
Steele snorted. “Right. A couple of things wrong with that. First, if I leave you alone, you’ll get in trouble. Second, do you think I can go home when Brad is in this mess?”
Zerr laughed. “I’d love to be there when you explain that to Emma.”
Steele rubbed his chin and sighed. “What do we do now?”
“If it’s not Brad, and with the skills needed, it’s you.” Zerr grinned as he sipped his coffee.
“You’re a better candidate,” Steele said. “I’ll bet you did some nasty shit in Vietnam.”
Zerr shrugged. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“See, it must be you.”
“Other than Brad and us, who fits the bill?” Zerr asked. “What about Jackson?”
“Are you insane?”
“Hear me out. He had better training than us when he went to Los Angeles. He was injured in the explosion and he nearly died. But the important thing is, he’s been involved in this since the beginning. He knows everything about the murders, and he has access to court files. You don’t think of him because no one would.”
“What’s in your coffee?” Steele asked. “It’s not Jackson and it’s not tactical guys.”
Zerr rolled down his window. “If it’s a cop, then it is someone who has skills we don’t know about.”
“A cop with military experience?”
Zerr stared into his coffee cup. “Someone who is batshit crazy.”
“That’s most cops.”
“Most prosecutors, also,” Zerr said.
“Prosecutors? Are you crazy?”
“Jenni Blighe’s life was twisted upside down by Wolfe.”
“Now you’re the one who is batshit crazy,” Steele said. “What does she weigh? One hundred and ten?”
“Did you check her out when she arrived?”
“What?” Steele glanced at Zerr. “No. Did you? Does Annie know?”
“Listen, jerk, it was hard to miss. Her biceps and triceps aren’t just toned, she’s ripped. She might be small, but she is in great shape. I heard she was working out and taking self-defense classes, but it’s beyond that.”
“Being in great shape is one thing,” Steele said. “Where would she get the experience? It’s difficult to kill. You know that. We both remember our first kill.”
Zerr stared out his window toward the mountains. “Yup. And it will haunt me until the day I die.”
“Did it make your second kill easier?”
“I guess so.”
“Let’s say Brad is right, and the murders started with the drug dealer two months ago. There were hesitation marks on the first dealer. Then months later, another murder with the same MO, but no hesitation marks. A clean kill.”
“I still don’t see it as Blighe,” Zerr said. “There are other prosecutors who are frustrated.”
“Or judges.”
“I see where you’re going with this.”
Maggie was Judge Ethan Gray’s only daughter. He and his wife, Olivia, withdrew from society for months after Maggie’s murder. It was just recently that Judge Gray was back on the bench. Steele hadn’t been to his court yet, but other cops talked about the judge having no sympathy for the criminals and frequently giving the maximum sentence. As a result, many of his cases were being appealed. Rumor around the courthouse was that he’d be asked to take a leave of absence.
Zerr chewed on the brim of his cup. “That’s one angry man. If you think Brad took Maggie’s death hard, Judge Gray took it worse. You can see it in his eyes. They are dark coals of hatred. He has a perpetual scowl and snaps at everyone.”
Steele shifted in his seat and stretched his back. “He’s angry and he may want revenge, but that’s a lot different from being able to carry it out.
I don’t think it’s Gray.”
“We have a list of people it isn’t,” Zerr said. “That doesn’t help us a lot.”
Steele drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “We’re looking at the wrong people.”
“How do you figure that?” Zerr asked.
“Right away we got stuck on the idea it had to be a guy like us, strong with extraordinary experience.”
“Some of the murders were pretty precise.”
“I agree.” Steele swung toward Zerr. “But the Russian girls talked of a small person and were surprised when Blighe mentioned a man. I heard them say that, but I didn’t pay attention. Martina thought she knew Blighe.”
Zerr’s eyes widened. “Blighe?”
“Why not. She is in great shape, she’s angry at the court system.”
“I don’t buy that.” Zerr leaned back and folded his arms.
Steele glanced at Zerr, “Annie.”
“Now I know you’re crazy,” Zerr shouted.
Steele grinned and held out his hands. “My point is we need to think differently.”
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, then Zerr said, “We agree Brad didn’t do any of the murders. I’m coming around to your idea the killer might be female.”
“Why all the evidence against Brad?” Steele asked.
“There’s that.” Zerr squished his coffee cup. “No evidence pointed to Brad until after the two drug dealers were stabbed and the pimp and driver were shot. Brad was nosing around on those two low-priority killings. Then, by luck, he gets the pimp and chauffer killings. They still seem random, but the killer gets worried because Brad is investigating all four murders.”
Steele leaned forward. “But how does the killer know Brad is poking around on the two dealer murders? No one knew he was doing it, except Sturgeon.”
“And you and me and Sturgeon’s staff and Griffin, Briscoe, Jackson, and …”
“Shit, lots of people,” Steele said.
“That’s my point.”
“If not Brad, then who?” Steele asked.
“That’s our mistake. We’re checking people close to Maggie or Brad. What if it’s not any of them? What if the killer has a hit list? The first killings didn’t point to Brad. Then the killer got worried and decided the best way to get Brad off the case was to frame him.”
Steele sat back, then nodded. “That’s not bad, Sherlock. So now what?”
“We need to figure out who had access to Brad, Lobo, and his gun so they could plant the evidence.”
“Makes sense. Who do you have in mind?”
Zerr huffed out an exhale. “Not a fucking clue.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Bright lights shone on Sadie as she presented the noon news broadcast. She stared at the camera as she read the prompts. “Calgary Police have extended their manhunt for Detective Bradley Coulter outside the province and issued a Canada-wide warrant for his arrest. Officials at the Canadian and US border have also been notified. As previously reported, Coulter is the primary suspect in several murders of known criminals in Calgary. Sources say the case against Detective Coulter is overwhelming and includes ballistic evidence.” A photo of Coulter dressed casually from press conferences during the sniper crisis a month ago replaced Sadie’s face. “If you know the whereabouts of Coulter or see him, police ask that you call 911.”
The image switched back to Sadie.
“On a lighter note, the City of Calgary will host a Christmas light display at Heritage Park this evening. It promises to put everyone in a holiday mood. I know I’ll be attending myself with my friend Sissy. I hope to hear from her soon. I’m Sadie Andrus, have a wonderful day.”
The lights clicked off. Sadie headed out of the studio, giving her earpiece to a technician on her way out. She stepped into her office, closed the door and slumped in her chair. She rested her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes.
A knock on her door startled her out of her nap. She leaned forward and rubbed her eyes. “Yes.”
Her receptionist opened the door. “Sadie, there’s a phone call for you from Sissy. I guess your friend is excited to get together.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost two.”
Sadie grabbed the receiver and punched the blinking light.
“Sadie Andrus.”
There was a moment of silence, then a squeaky voice said, “It’s Sissy.”
Sadie could barely contain her laughter. It was the furthest thing from a female voice. “Hey, great to hear from you.”
“How soon can you get away?”
“Five minutes.”
“Pick you up outside the station.” The line died.
Sadie grabbed her red parka, scarf and mitts and sprinted down the hall. As she passed the receptionist, she said, “I’ll be back for my six o’clock broadcast.”
“Where do I say you—”
Sadie was already out the front doors.
Brad hunched in his truck, the camouflage gear not providing much help. He spotted Sadie standing outside the station, her red jacket like a beacon. He swung the truck to the curb. Sadie was still sliding in when he pulled away.
“Jeez. You trying to kill me?” The momentum of the truck closed the door. “You in a hurry to get somewhere?”
“Might not be the best idea for me to hang around a TV station.”
Sadie struggled with the seatbelt. “You picked the location. I could have met you somewhere else.” She finally glanced at him and gasped. “What happened to you?”
Brad rubbed at his bruised face, not meeting her eyes. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Black eyes, scrapes, lips split and your stupid scraggly beard.” Her eyes were wide. “My God. Do you ever win a fight?”
He turned onto Banff Coach Road and headed west.
“The city is the other way.”
Brad glared. “I’m not in the mood for your snark. I’ve got a few things weighing heavily on me. You know, jail being one of them.”
“Jeez, relax.” Sadie leaned forward to increase the heat. “You know it’s winter, right?”
Brad’s jaw was clenched, eyes straight ahead.
“Okay, I’ll dial it down,” she said. “Where are we going? Banff Springs Hotel for brunch? Romantic getaway?”
“You call that dialing it down?”
“Wait, it’s an abduction. That would be ironic.”
Brad glanced at her, eyes squinting. “Why?”
“Because, asshat, that’s the news I have for you.”
“That you’re being abducted?”
“Oh my god. Sometimes you are so dense.” She sighed. “Mayor Kearse’s nephew, Michael Trant, has been kidnapped.”
Brad’s foot slid off the accelerator, and the truck abruptly slowed.
“What?”
“Yup. Sometime last night, early hours this morning. Kearse got a ransom call.”
“How the hell do you know this?” He pulled to the side of the road.
“Jackson told me.”
He squirmed in his seat until he was facing Sadie. “Staff Sergeant Kent Jackson?”
Sadie rolled her eyes. “No, Michael Jackson.”
“Spill it.”
Sadie recited what Jackson had told her, including the kidnapper’s demands. She added the part about another murder—a man falling down the stairs drunk, with Brad’s police baton showing up under the dead guy’s couch with Brad’s fingerprints on it. The bad news seemed unending until Sadie told him Steele and Zerr located the hookers from the tattoo parlor and they admitted to lying about his car.
Brad stared out the window, then closed his eyes.
“I’m turning myself in,” Brad said. “Might not hurt to make a show of my arrest at headquarters in case someone is watching.”
“You think it’s a cop?”
“I’m not positive, but I’m sure someone in the department is the killer or is helping the killer.”
Sadie’s
eyebrows furrowed. “You’re saying the killer and kidnapper are the same person?”
Brad nodded. “For sure.”
“What evidence of that do you have?”
“It’s the single theory that fits. Various methods of killing, all successful, using specific skills that required expertise. A knowledge of crime scene investigation. A knowledge of the victims—each one a criminal who went back into the public.”
“Someone like you,” Sadie said.
Brad cocked his head. “True. Or any TSU.”
“The evidence points to you,” Sadie said.
“Most of it’s bullshit.”
Sadie leaned tight against the truck door, arms across her chest. “Most of it?”
“Someone must have stolen my police baton and planted it. Anyone could find out I had a history with some victims and target them specifically to point back to me. The girls at the tattoo parlor were coached what to say by the killer.”
“You realize how ridiculous that sounds.”
Brad glared at Sadie, then stared out the front window. “The one I can’t figure out is my gun matching the bullets with the pimp downtown and at the tattoo parlor.”
“Ballistics doesn’t lie.”
“We already talked about this. I’d never use my gun if I were the murderer and then carry it at work? Over the years, I’ve had access to hundreds of guns I could have slipped in my pocket. If I didn’t do that, then I could get one off the street in about five minutes with the asshat’s fingerprints and they’d be arresting some street punk for the murders, not me.”
Sadie shifted in her seat. “Tell me about your gun.”
“What’s to say? It’s always with me.”
Sadie cocked her head. “Always?”
Brad sighed. “Jeez, Sadie. It’s on my hip ten to sixteen hours a day. Or it’s locked up at home in my bedroom.”
“Those are the only two options?”
“Yes.”
“At home you always lock it up?”
“Yes.”
Sadie leaned toward Brad. “So, on your hip or in a safe.”
“Yes.”
“At work, it is only on your hip?”
Brad rolled his eyes. “Yes.”
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