Glory Hunter: He'll win the votes, if he lives long enough ... (Hollins & Haring Book 2)

by T. J. Beach

  “Come on! Harry’s place is two minutes walk from Austin’s parents’ house, where she was staying. Sophia had been to Harry’s house before.”

  “There’s another slight problem,” Stu said. “Keith was alive after Sophia died.”

  Hollins swore. He’d forgotten. “The text message telling his mum to leave town.”

  “Wendy Tupaea’s phone received the message at 18:53 on the 11th of October, transmitted via the main Bell’s Landing tower.”

  “While Sophia Pendlebury was on her way to hospital.”

  Stu said nothing in reply.

  “When did Keith Tupaea die?” Hollins asked. “What’s the exact time of death?”

  “We haven’t got one. The body had been in the woods for at least a week.” Stu paused for effect. “But there’s a greater than ninety-five per cent chance the text was sent after he died.”

  “The killer sent it,” Hollins said.

  “Not Sophia Pendlebury then, because she’d just received fatal chest wounds.”

  Hollins let that sink in. “Then Austin sent the text — from the ambulance, for all we know. Maybe he stashed the belt at Harry’s as well.”

  “I’m listening. I don’t believe it, but I’m listening. Why would Austin Gould want to throw doubt on Keith Tupaea’s time of death when he’d just had his girlfriend killed for strangling Keith?”

  “To divert attention. Austin carried on with Sophia like they didn’t have a care in the world, laughing and singing while he waited for the bullet he knew was coming. Then he sent the message to confuse everyone, get rid of Keith’s mum and make it look more like a political hit, or that Keith took the shot then tried to get his mum out of town. Who tried to run the line that Keith committed suicide out of guilt for shooting Sophia? It was Austin Gould!”

  “That’s not completely ridiculous. And I guess it’s the same reason why Austin might want to point the finger at Harry Vickers if he ordered the shooting himself.”

  “If Keith died after Sophia and someone else went down for killing him, he figured no one would suspect a connection to Sophia’s murder.”

  “Except you.”

  “And you. Admit it. You think the two murders are connected. You know Harry didn’t do it. That’s why you haven’t charged him with murder.”

  Stu grunted. “Austin Gould, eh? It’s a wild tale. He’d have to be one cool customer.”

  “He’s an actor.”

  “Who paid a local thug to murder Sophia Pendlebury, according to you.”

  “He’s incredibly persuasive when he wants to be.” Austin Gould had tricked Hollins again. He’d fooled him into playing precisely the game the gobshite wanted. If Stu didn’t get the slimy, two-faced killer, Hollins might dispense justice himself — with his fists.

  “I’ve seen how convincing Gould can be,” Stu admitted. “Now you want me to arrest a national celebrity for murder based on one of the wildest theories I’ve ever heard. I’m starting to regret getting you involved, but I would like nothing more than to make life unpleasant for that sack of shit Chopper Wollinski. Unfortunately, I might need a bit more for a search warrant.”

  “You should look at Jordan Verdicatti.”

  “What the hell?”

  “He keeps turning up at APP functions.”

  Stu snorted. “Guilty as hell then.”

  “Someone with access to unregistered weapons and people who kill for hire.”

  “Like Chopper?”

  Hollins flushed, wishing he hadn’t spoken the thought that jumped into his head. Yes, Chopper, but Hollins didn’t want to dig himself any deeper, so he deflected. “Austin could hire Chopper himself. I can prove Austin lied about the meeting between Keith and Sophia,” Hollins said.

  “Yeah? How?”

  “There’s something I need to check, then I’ll call you back.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  HOLLINS DROVE HOME and called Debbie. She had the evidence he needed to check.

  No answer.

  He ate lunch while he re-read every internet news story he could find about the murders, then called Debbie again.

  She still didn’t answer.

  Desperate for a distraction, Hollins flipped on the TV.

  He started with sports channels, but Austin Gould was all he could think about. So he went back to the Warrior of God episodes on his first-month-free Stan subscription.

  Hollins saw them differently now.

  Austin’s gestures were so familiar. The way he crossed his arms and beetled his eyebrows to show caring concentration. The flick of his head before he laughed. That purposeful, I’m-going-to-make-things-happen stride. Every movement calculated, contrived to make a compassionate priest credible as a resourceful detective — or an actor appear to be a sincere political candidate. As if there was such a thing.

  Debbie rang back halfway through the fourth episode of series five with D’Arcy Shawcross about to talk down a distraught farmer threatening to shoot his wife and kids.

  “I’ll be back in the office in ten, alright?” Debbie asked.

  Hollins shut off the telly and hurried to his car.

  Hollins hopped from foot to foot at Ridenour Investigations front door while Debbie fished in her bag for the keys.

  “I signed a contract for that job in Bunbury. The owner of a discount electrical goods warehouse thinks his employees are pilfering. Thousands of dollars worth of tools have gone missing. He wants someone to go undercover as a new shelf filler. Just your line.”

  Hollins ignored her.

  She got the door open, stashed her bag, put the kettle on and sat at her desk.

  Hollins went straight around behind her.

  Debbie slapped both palms on the melamine and pivoted to scold him. “Good afternoon, Debbie. Nice to see you. Thanks for racing back from Bunbury.” She held his gaze until he cracked.

  “Thanks, Deb. Can you get to the video?”

  “Why aren’t you with Austin Gould? Have they cancelled the campaign again?”

  “I skived off sick. The tape?”

  She sighed, turned back to her computer and got the recording up on screen. “The bit where Keith and Sophia go into the campaign office?”

  He nodded and grabbed onto a filing cabinet behind him to stop himself dragging her out of the chair and doing it himself. She knew he’d waited six hours for this! And he knew that the more he made a fuss, the slower she’d go just to spite him.

  “Here then.” She stopped fast forwarding when the time code hit the spot and pressed play.

  Random night shots. Sophia Pendlebury going in.

  “Bingo!” Hollins said. Then he swore at the ceiling. “How could I be so bloody stupid?”

  “Language! It’s no surprise to me that you’re an idiot, but how in this particular case?”

  “She went straight up to the door and let herself in.”

  Debbie snorted. “As you do when entering commercial premises.”

  Hollins shifted his grip to the back of Debbie’s chair to hold in his satisfaction. “Like you just did here.”

  “What do you mean? I unlocked the door—”

  “As you do when you’re the first to arrive.”

  “Oh.” Debbie rewound and played the tape again. “You’re right. There’s no hesitation.”

  “We missed it. She knew someone was in there or saw them as she walked up. Otherwise, she’d reach for her keys, at least, probably go for the lock, then realise it wasn’t set. She didn’t even hesitate. Look, play that again!”

  Debbie obliged, shrugging. “What?”

  “The left hand, as she goes through the door.” Hollins raised his palm the way Sophia did. “Like she’s brushing at her hair.”

  “Or waving hello. You’re right! But no one else went in before her. We’ve got the tape. We’ve watched it a hundred times. A hundred and three now. You’re saying someone slept in the office overnight?”

  “Why not? Kim does here. No one entered. Not one single person.�
� He leaned down close to Debbie’s ear. “Through the front door.”

  “Oh, shit. How could we be so bloody stupid?” She thumped her forehead with the butt of her hand.

  “Language. Austin and Glenn park out the back in the alley. One or both were already in the office when Sophia arrived.”

  “Which means that one or both of them were there to meet Keith Tupaea with Sophia. They’re lying about it! But why?” Debbie asked.

  “Because Sophia Pendlebury killed Keith and Austin had Sophia killed out of anger and covered it up with the help of Jordan Verdicatti.”

  For once, Debbie Haring was speechless.

  Hollins called Stu and left a message, which left nothing to do but wait.

  And think.

  His brain wouldn’t let up.

  He slowed at the Summer Dayz entry but couldn’t face his cabin.

  He could go for a run, or he could call on Jordan Verdicatti.

  In his frustration, rousting a mobster sounded like much more fun than slogging along the beach.

  He drove straight to the mobster’s compound on the ocean front a few kilometres beyond Stag’s Leap. A gross pink edifice hidden behind a two-metre barbed-wire topped wall on the three landward sides. The intercom squawked as he pulled up beside the immense, black sheet metal gate.

  “What do you want?”

  Hollins recognised the voice of Verdicatti’s chief henchman. “G’day, Sandro.”

  “I didn’t think we’d see you here again.”

  “Me either.”

  The gate shuddered into life and rattled open on its runners.

  Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Hollins drove in and left his ute beside the gangster’s Bentley.

  Sandro met him at the door.

  “Got an open invitation these days, have I?” Hollins asked. “Should I pop in for coffee and a scone?”

  “Jordan won’t want your shit heap stinking up our verge.”

  “Harsh, mate.”

  “He’s upstairs.”

  Verdicatti lounged in the same easy chair he’d occupied the other time Hollins admired the spectacular expanse of sun-drenched Geographe Bay from the enormous picture windows that looked out over a private dock.

  “Nice to see you, Gary. Come to follow up on that job?”

  “What are you up to?” Hollins asked.

  “Having a smoke and enjoying the view.” He waved his cigar. “Never gets old. Does it?”

  “I want to know why you keep turning up alongside Austin Gould?”

  “Sit down, for Christ’s sake. You’re making the place look untidy. Have a brandy and Romeo y Julieta.” He tapped his cigar box.

  Hollins deliberately shifted to block Verdicatti’s view. “Austin Gould.”

  “I’ve met him like half a dozen times.”

  “At Margaret River today.”

  “No. Was Austin at the Shire? I didn’t see him. I went in person to gee up the Planning Department. They’re quibbling over an extension to a house of mine, not that it’s any of your business.”

  A slick excuse, but delivered without hesitation, a first nick in Hollins’ certainty. “You’d love to have a pet in the government. A politician who owes you for keeping his secrets.”

  “You think I don’t already? Gary.”

  “How far would you go to have your man in parliament?”

  Verdicatti held Hollins’ stare, unblinking. “Austin’s a bit of fun. Call me vain if you like, but I like hanging out with movie stars.”

  “Bullshit, you forced me on them—”

  “I knew you’d appreciate the recommendation.” Verdicatti’s grin brought to mind a tiger shark.

  “Someone organised the gobshites to paint the windows and had Keith Tupaea killed.”

  “Wait up. Who’s Keith Tupaea?”

  “The Maori kid—”

  “Him? What’s he got to do with Austin Gould?”

  “And Sophia Pendlebury. You ordered Chopper Wollinski to shoot her.”

  Verdicatti’s eyes went cold. “Watch your mouth, son.” He stabbed with his cigar. “I like you, Gary, or I’d tell Sandro to get up here and throw you off the dock.”

  “He could try.”

  “Yes. You’d snap him like a twig, but you’re pushing your luck. I don’t have a lot of patience. Sophia Pendlebury was a great chick. If you know who shot her, tell me. I know what to do with scum.”

  “Chopper Wollinski. You lined him up for the graffiti, then you—”

  “Who? Chopper? Seriously? What is he? A bikie or something? Bloody hell, Gary, if I want someone dealt with, I’ll get you to do it, not some dumbshit asshole off the street. I’m disappointed. I thought you had brains. I’m wondering now.”

  “Shit, does that mean you don’t want me on your team anymore? I’m heartbroken.”

  Verdicatti chuckled. “You don’t get off that easy. I’m interested in your pal, too. The girl, Debbie something. I hear good things about her. Let’s face it, to make Kim Ridenour look good, she’d have to be a bloody genius.”

  Hollins tensed. He didn’t like the idea that Deb had come onto Verdicatti’s radar. More collateral damage he’d caused.

  “If you’re not here to accept my employment offer, I think it’s time you left, Gary. Piss off.”

  Sandro saw him out with a smirk Hollins would have been delighted to wipe off his face, but he knew the minder carried a gun, and he recognised that his urge to hit someone had a lot to do with embarrassment.

  Verdicatti had wiped the floor with him. Again.

  He had an answer for every accusation, and worse, Hollins found them convincing.

  Which left him where?

  As he backed through the gate and onto the manicured verge to make room to turn onto the highway — stuff Verdicatti’s sprinklers — he went through his theory again without a ruthless mobster to fill cracks in his thinking.

  If Austin killed Keith, Sophia had to die because she knew.

  But that didn’t fit with Sophia coming to Hollins’ cabin. Why make a show of trying to persuade Hollins to stop Austin from meeting Keith if he already had and hated the notion of a mixed-race son.

  So, Sophia came to his cabin sincerely.

  Now there was a woman capable of anything.

  Including cold-blooded murder.

  Hollins shivered at the thought, re-focused to get his Holden started for Summer Dayz, but couldn’t shake the feeling. He admired Sophia, was flattered and attracted by her attention, but where he couldn’t imagine Austin taking a life, he saw it in Sophia. In Debbie as well, if he were honest.

  Sophia killed Keith. Austin found out. Maybe she confessed or confronted him with the cynical logic of dispensing with the threat? Austin played it cool. Pretended to understand while he raged inside about the betrayal and the loss of his son and recruited Chopper, the faithful dog, to take her life in revenge.

  It held up in Hollins’ estimation, even if Stu Reilly and Jordan Verdicatti scoffed at the idea of a local hitman. Their opposition left a tingling doubt on the fringes of Hollins belief, but he contented himself that he and Debbie could talk it through with Reilly when they presented the evidence that Glenn, Austin or both had lied when they denied meeting Keith Tupaea with Sophia.

  Hollins rang Stu to pass on the news, then gave Debbie the full rundown on his deductions. They argued the details back and forth until she left to pick up Jennifer and Lachlan from school.

  Which left him with nothing to do but wait for the police to do their stuff.

  He tossed up the idea of a couple of victory pints at the Esplanade but couldn’t raise a celebratory mood for drinks at the place where he met a murder victim. The solution depressed him. Sophia strangled the unassuming Maori boy who might be Austin’s son. Then the softly-spoken but weirdly resourceful D’Arcy Shawcross ordered her murder in retaliation.

  Hollins had liked them both, and been thrilled by their company like a giddy groupie.

  They’d played him like a secon
d-hand piano.

  The adrenaline of the chase had burned up. He wanted to lie down more than anything.

  He stopped at a drive-in bottle-o to replenish his stock of Swan Lager — the dozen on hand might not be enough — and went home.

  Hollins added half the carton to the supply in the fridge, cracked a cold one, lay down on the couch and turned the television back on to torture himself with more Warrior of God episodes.

  He came awake four hours later at the stunning conclusion to season six. Hollins smacked his lips at the musty taste in his mouth and sniffed stale beer. Over a row of empty bottles on the coffee table, D’Arcy Shawcross hesitated, his commitment to the cloth stretched to its limit after two series of sexual tension with his cute but strait-laced housekeeper, until he cracked with a desperate sigh and swept her into his arms.

  The housekeeper vaguely resembled a younger, naive Sophia Pendlebury. Hollins blinked at something irritating in the corner of his eye and tugged at his tee-shirt, sweaty and thoroughly miserable as the theme tune rose. The credits rolled, and the final piece of the puzzle fell into place.

  “Bingo.” How the hell had he missed it when he’d watched more than sixty mind-numbing episodes?

  He slapped at his pocket and found nothing but a splash of spilled beer. Where the hell did he leave his mobile?

  On the kitchen table with his car keys.

  He bounded across his living room, grabbed up the iPhone and dialled. “Deb? I need you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  HOLLINS PARKED HIS Holden ute opposite campaign headquarters at seven-thirty the next morning and tapped the steering wheel while he waited. The anticipation just about killed him, but he needed a witness, and Debbie was late.

  She raced up in her Camry and parked right next to him.

  “I’m so sorry,” Debbie said. “Bloody kids.”

  “Never mind. You’ve got it?”

  She patted her bag.

  “Let’s go, then.”

  They marched across the road and through the car park.

  Hollins pulled open the door for Debbie, and they both looked at the lock. He shook his head. They really should have been on to that clue sooner.