Chapter Thirty-Eight
Just before six in the morning, Sergeant Toscana wandered into the district sergeant’s office and shrugged off her parka.
“Good morning, Briscoe. You’re bright and early.”
Briscoe was reclined in an old office chair with a steaming coffee on the metal desk. He glanced up from the newspaper.
“Toscana. How was your night?”
She grabbed the chair opposite Briscoe. “Cold, quiet, and a waste of time. We spent the night searching for Coulter. No luck. He’s vanished.”
Briscoe tossed the newspaper on the desk and reached for his coffee. “I heard everyone he’s friends with is being watched along with their homes.”
Toscana grinned. “You’ll have a parade following you today.”
“Probably.” Briscoe sighed. “Coulter isn’t stupid enough to approach me, and certainly not during daylight hours.”
“So, I should keep my eye on you tonight?”
Briscoe grunted.
“This puts you in a terrible spot. Hunting your friend.”
Briscoe drank his coffee, then licked his lips. “Personal feelings aside, Coulter needs to turn himself in. Let the process work. If he’s innocent, justice will prevail.”
Toscana shook her head and crossed her arms. “I’m not so sure I believe that.”
Briscoe worked at something in his teeth with his tongue. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been around a long time.”
Briscoe grunted again. “Thanks. I’m not sure I can stand any more of this flattery.”
Toscana leaned forward and held out her hands defensively. “I meant nothing by that, just that the court system is broken. How many times have you sat in court and watched one of your airtight cases fall apart on some technicality? Or worse still, the suspect is released from custody long before you finish the arrest paperwork?”
“I’m not sure which side you’re on, Missy? That Coulter is innocent, and the courts will see that, or that even if he is guilty the courts will release him?”
“I’m just saying the courts are light on everyone.” Toscana shrugged. “Guilty, not guilty, seems the same sometimes. We need a better system.”
“Like France, guilty until proven innocent?”
Toscana’s face brightened. “That might work.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Tuesday morning, Sturgeon sat at the conference table next to Jackson and Griffin in Archer’s office. They watched Archer pace behind his desk. Sturgeon stared at the picture of the Calgary tower at night behind Archer. While Sturgeon loved photography, he wasn’t interested in technical aspects of the photo. He was doing everything he could to avoid Archer’s eyes.
Chief Hamilton hadn’t given Archer a choice. Hamilton wanted Internal Affairs to take over the Coulter investigation. Hamilton felt IA was best suited to deal with this.
Archer firmly disagreed and had said, “Yes. Sir.” Then left the chief’s office.
Sturgeon knew the conversation with Archer would not be pleasant. He’d met Griffin for coffee before they came to the meeting. Griffin was furious with Brad, which made sense. Brad had embarrassed Griffin. They were partners, but Brad had broken that bond. Griffin’s hands shook as he drank his coffee. As far as he was concerned, Brad had proven his guilt by disappearing. No amount of talking could convince Griffin otherwise. He didn’t accept Sturgeon’s contention that Brad was under great stress. Griffin called it bullshit. If Coulter could get it together to track the snipers, then none of this was stress related.
Brad had gone over the line, gone to the dark side. They’d both seen it when he came back to work with an edge. For whatever reason, killing Wolfe hadn’t been enough. Brad sometimes talked of the injustices of the court system. Brad had picked the path of a vigilante.
Archer was thinking about what Griffin had said. Sturgeon glanced toward Griffin, who leaned forward, jaw set.
Archer stopped pacing and leaned on his desk. “Let me get this straight, Griffin. You want to be the lead on the case because you believe Coulter is guilty.”
“Yes, sir.” Griffin’s jaw was set. His eyes blazed with anger. “His actions proved it.”
“He’s your partner.”
“No, sir, he was never a partner.” Griffin inhaled and exhaled rapidly, his fists clenched. “We worked a case together, that’s it. Less than a month. He’s smart, but he does his own thing. He doesn’t want a partner. Brad isn’t the same guy he was six months ago. Not even close. The Brad we knew then would never consider being a vigilante. But the Brad who came back would.”
“Maybe, but he was brilliant on the sniper case,” Jackson said. “No one was close to making the connections.”
Griffin leaned forward, anger in every fiber of his body. “I’m not saying he isn’t smart and an excellent detective. He has slipped a cog or two in his brain. He’s changed. And not in a healthy way.”
Archer sighed and sat back, fingers steepled under his chin. “The chief has already assigned Internal Affairs this case.”
Griffin chewed his lip and glared at Archer. “This isn’t some piddly case about a cop getting free dinners at a restaurant or letting his best friend off with a traffic violation, it’s multiple murders. And if you think those pissants from IA can solve this case, you’re—”
Archer held up a hand and glared at Griffin. “Not another word.”
“You know I’m right.”
Archer clenched his jaw. “I can’t argue with your logic. This is bigger than an IA investigation, but you work with Harker and Genereau and report to Jackson.”
“Whoa.” Jackson held up a hand. “I didn’t ask to be involved. I don’t want to be involved.”
Archer swung on Jackson. “Oh, I’m sorry, Staff Sergeant.” Archer’s eyes blazed and his face flushed. “I didn’t realize I had to ask permission before I assigned my staff sergeant to a case. And you, Sturgeon? Where do you stand?”
“The evidence is the evidence.” Sturgeon shrugged. “I’m not deciding innocence or guilt. I will lead my team objectively and evaluate every piece of evidence, no matter who the suspect is.”
Archer stood to his full six-foot-one height. “Imagine that. A cop taking his sworn oath seriously.” He swung to Griffin. “Talk to Harker and Genereau.”
Griffin stood and stomped out of the office.
Archer stared at the closed door. “Fucking incredible. One Homicide detective hunting another. This is a public confidence nightmare.” Archer slumped into his chair. “Every department worldwide has gone through internal struggles, some—like the New York City Police Department—many times. It tears a department apart. This is new for us—we’ve been lucky. We’re trusted by the public. That’s going down the shitter.”
“If Coulter is guilty of murder, then yes, you have a problem,” Jackson said.
Archer glanced from Jackson to Sturgeon. When he spoke, his voice was low, his eyes boring into them. “I want him found and charged with the murders. The courts decide his guilt or innocence, not us.”
Jackson leaned forward, his hands wide in front of him. “Chief, I’ll find him, then we can talk to him.”
Archer pounded a fist on his desk. “Jackson, I want Coulter arrested. Today. Sturgeon, I want you and your team to go over every piece of evidence again.” Archer slumped in his chair. “Fuckin’ Coulter. Pain in my ass.”
Sturgeon pulled his most trusted evidence techs, Gayle and Angie, into his office and closed the door. Gayle was about five-six, with shoulder-length brown hair and sparkling eyes. Angie, a few inches shorter with blond hair and green eyes. With three of them in Sturgeon’s office, there wasn’t a lot of room, and only two chairs. Both Gayle and Angie stood.
“I have an important task.” Sturgeon put his elbows on his desk and rested his chin on his clutched hands. “Once I tell you what it is, if you don’t want to be involved, I’ll understand. I won’t hold it against you.”
They glanced at each other and
shrugged.
“What I say next is confidential.” He glanced from one lady to the other. “You talk to no one other than me. Clear?”
They nodded.
“Perfect.” He sat back. “We’re going over the Coulter evidence again. Right from the start, like we’ve never seen it before.”
Angie hesitantly raised a hand. “Did we do something wrong?”
Sturgeon shook his head. “No. That’s not it. When a cop is involved, we have to be sure of our conclusions.”
“Coulter is your friend,” Gayle said. “Do you think he’s innocent?”
“He is my friend.” Sturgeon sighed, glanced at the reports on his cluttered desk, then raised his head. “But that doesn’t change what we do. The evidence will go where it goes. But I’d be lying if I said I thought he did it. That’s why we will examine the evidence again. Is this a problem?”
Gayle said, “Not for me.”
Angie shook her head. “Me neither.”
“Great, let’s get started.”
Chapter Forty
Brad woke with a start. He reached over the side of the bed, but Lobo wasn’t there. He shook his head and cleared his eyes. Where the heck was he? He’d never seen this room before. Cream wallpaper with branches on trees with hanging birdhouses and a white comforter and pillowcases with white and pink roses. He blinked his eyes several times as if that would clear his head. He was in some kind of fashion hell. He grabbed a glass of water off the night table and drained it.
Shit.
It hit him. He was at Sadie’s. Oh shit. What time was it? He didn’t have his watch. He glanced at the alarm clock on the night table. It was nine in the morning. How had he slept this long? He glanced around for his newly acquired clothes. They weren’t in the room. He glanced under the sheets. At least he still had his boxers. He wrapped a sheet around his shoulders and stumbled to the door. He peeked outside.
Sadie was sitting at the kitchen table, wearing the Calgary Stampeders T-shirt and gray sweatpants, drinking coffee, reading the paper, listening to the radio news and watching the TV. How he’d slept through all that, he didn’t know.
“Uh, good morning.”
Sadie swung around. “Well, good morning, sunshine. We can have breakfast together and I don’t have to stalk you.”
“I seem to be missing my clothes.”
“Oh, that. I washed them and ironed them, including the socks.”
“Are you kidding?”
She sneered. “Yeah, I ironed nothing. I don’t iron. That’s what the dry cleaners are for. But I washed your stuff. They had a street odor to them. You’ll find them in the bathroom.” She pointed down the hall. “Consider a shower, as well.” She went back to her coffee and paper.
Brad leaned onto the counter and stared at the mirror. He looked like shit. He must have slept at least six, maybe seven hours. He couldn’t remember the last time that happened. After taking care of the toilet business, he started the shower. He let the warm water energize his neck, shoulders and down his back. He thought he heard a noise outside the shower. He peeked around the curtain. Nothing. It must have been his imagination. Then he thought about the shit he was in. No room in his brain for anything other than clearing his name.
Reluctantly, he shut off the water. He stepped out of the shower and toweled off. At first, he thought he could use a shave. Then he realized that it would add to his disguise. It would get better every day.
He dressed and headed down the hall. Sadie pointed to a mug. “Coffee for you.”
Brad sat and grabbed the coffee.
Sadie increased the volume on the TV. “It’s been on every hour since about 2:00 a.m.” The screen said, News Update. The morning news anchor came on. “Good morning. We have a news update from last night. Sadie Andrus is reporting.”
“Last night I received information that Detective Brad Coulter was wanted by his own police department for murder, and that a city-wide manhunt was underway.”
The screen switched to the scene by the lane at Brad’s house.
“Last night we were at Detective Coulter’s house just outside the city limits. We were confronted by RCMP ERT members who denied us entry to the house and refused to tell us what was happening.”
The video switched to the confrontation with TSU.
They watched the report in silence. Brad sipped his coffee “How long have you been awake?”
“Since about five-thirty.”
“That’s less than five hours sleep.”
She nodded and stared at him. “It wasn’t much of a sleep. Finally, I got up and stared at my phone. I reconsidered. Well, a career clarity moment. I needed to turn you in.”
He nodded. “So, the cops will be here any minute?”
Sadie set her coffee mug on the table, then chewed her upper lip. “You never tried to stop me.”
“Would it have helped?”
She shook her head. “No. If you’d tried, that would have settled it for me. You’d be dressed in orange.”
“I don’t think that’s my color.”
Sadie held her coffee with both hands. “No, I don’t think so either.” She stared at her coffee. “There’s one more thing.”
Brad sat back in his chair, feeling relaxed for the first time in twenty-four hours. “What’s that?”
“When I called the station this morning, I heard something. I don’t know how to tell you.”
Brad shrugged. “Just spit it out.”
Sadie licked her lips. “A reporter I know heard Sergeant Sturgeon say ballistics from at least two of the murders were matched to your gun.”
Brad swung forward in his chair, spilled his coffee, and his jaw dropped. “That’s not … I mean … no way.”
Sadie squeezed her body as far back in the chair as she could, eyes wide.
Brad sat, frozen to the spot. Now what? “I need to get my gang together.”
“Your gang? I’m sure you don’t mean the Keystone Cops. Everyone you know except me is a cop. They can’t help you. You told me they were all being watched. If they helped you, they’d be guilty of … well, I don’t know exactly what. Assisting a fugitive or something. They’d lose their jobs.”
Brad nodded. “They might, but that’s their decision and I’ll respect whatever they decide.”
Chapter Forty-One
Annie woke to the ringing. She swung her legs off the bed and into her slippers. She grabbed her housecoat and headed out of her room. The living room was littered with snoring cops. They’d talked until well after two in the morning. Couldn’t one of them have answered the phone? She stepped over and around them and into the kitchen. She lifted the receiver off the wall.
“Hello.” She hoped she’d hear Brad’s voice.
“Good morning. Is this Annie?”
Annie glanced around the kitchen, like she’d see the person calling. She shook her head. “Yes, who is this?”
“We haven’t met. I’m Sadie. I met a best friend of yours last night. Sissy.”
Annie gasped. Her knees buckled. She slid into a chair. Sissy was the girl held captive with Annie in the biker’s clubhouse. She was the girl who Jeter Wolfe had raped before he kidnapped Annie.
Annie and Sissy had escaped together, and what they knew helped take down the biker gangs. With the love and support of Brad and Maggie, Annie had overcome that nightmare. Sissy hadn’t been as lucky. Sissy was dead. Annie wasn’t shocked at the name, because it meant something. It meant Brad was okay. That was the code word they’d agreed on two years ago. Brad was with Sadie, or at least Sadie knew where he was.
Annie grabbed her chest and gasped. “Oh my gosh, I haven’t heard from Sissy for quite a while. Is she doing okay?”
“Yes, she’s okay. When I saw her last night, she didn’t appear well. But she’s a lot better this morning, and she wanted me to let you know she was okay. If you have time this morning, I’d love to meet you for coffee. Sissy gave me a few things for you.”
“That would be fantast
ic.” Annie processed the things she needed to do. “I need to shower and I’m out of the city. Where can we meet?”
“There’s a new coffee shop on Seventeenth Avenue and Eighth Street. They make the most wonderful coffee.”
“I’ll see you there in an hour.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Sadie sat in the back corner of the coffee shop and sipped her espresso. The shop still had the newly renovated smell with a heavy roasted-coffee tinge. What’s old is new. The owners had gone for a fifties theme, with red-topped chrome tables and chairs and mismatched plates and mugs. Sadie couldn’t care less about the décor—the coffee was amazing.
She watched the front door and the large plate-glass window. After she’d hung up, she realized she had no clue what Annie looked like, but Annie must have seen her on TV, so it was up to Annie to make contact.
As Sadie watched clients come and go, she realized Brad had taught her something. He always sat in the back corner facing the door. Sadie realized what she had missed by sitting with her back to the door. He’d even shifted his paranoia to her. She scrutinized everyone who came in and checked the streets for cops in cheap suits sitting in dark sedans.
A few times she perked up when an early twenties lady came through the door. But none of them glanced at her. She checked the clock on the wall. 10:30. Was Annie late? Traffic heavy coming into the city? Took longer to get ready? She decided not to show?
Sadie glanced at her empty mug and headed to the counter for a refill.
When she returned to the corner table, a young lady sat where Sadie had been, with her back to the wall, sipping a drink. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes darted around the room while keeping Sadie in her sight. Her hands were flat on the table, eyes sizing up Sadie.
Goddess of Justice Page 17
