Shot Clock

by Blair Denholm

  ‘Why would he do that?’ said Jack.

  ‘In a high-impact collision, a driver’s face will be mashed into the airbag. By the way, did you know in Russia they call them “pillows of safety”? Quite clever, hey?’

  ‘Bloody ingenious.’ He hated it when Proctor went on one of her esoteric tangents. ‘Please elaborate on the driver’s actions.’

  ‘Skin cells, maybe some saliva, makeup or sunscreen, are going to be all over the point of contact. So, hacking away as much of the airbag as possible will minimise the chance he’s left incriminating evidence behind.’

  ‘Maybe an eyelash came loose on impact and bounced away inside the car?’ ventured Taylor. ‘The driver wouldn’t know if that happened.’

  ‘Correct. However we won’t know exactly what we’re dealing with until we examine the material back at the lab. We’ve collected some hair samples, taken prints off the steering wheel.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘This is a stolen vehicle, Margaret. I’ll bet London to a brick all the samples you test will have zero matches in the database. They’ll belong to the owner, a Rockhampton housewife, I’m guessing with no criminal record. I hate to say it, but you’re going through the motions here. Science isn’t going to solve this one.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure,’ Proctor huffed. ‘It only takes the tiniest speck that’s traceable to a human on police and other records. Besides, our brief is to collect all the evidence we can. What gets done with that information afterwards, that’s up to you clever detectives.’

  ‘She’s right, Jack. Let’s get out of her hair and head back to the station. I’m sure the Inspector will want us to get an investigation plan together ASAP. I reckon he’ll be devastated Saturday night’s game’s going to be called off.’

  ‘Yeah. He won’t have the chance to engage in any of that “community outreach.”’

  ‘You’ll miss the game, too.’

  ‘Never mind. I’ll take Denise to a restaurant instead.’

  ‘How sweet.’ He met Denise Hutchinson at the height of last year’s horrific murder case that shook the town to its foundations. For a short while, she represented one of the key figures, a man who wound up dead. By the end of the trial, Jack thought he fancied her enough to ask her out. She’d agreed, and so started a relationship that could be described as haphazard if you we being generous. He’d trade a dozen dates with Denise for one with Taylor, but he was too smart to mix work and romance. At least that’s what he told himself. In reality, the tough ex-boxer copper was as scared of Taylor as he was of Yorkville’s giant tropical spiders.

  ‘Got any suggestions for a romantic candlelit dinner for two?’ The question was genuine, he was clueless about the local food scene.

  ‘Not really my thing. Try Italian.’ Jack wasn’t sure, but he thought Claudia’s fleeting pursed lips and screwed up eyes reflected a tinge of jealousy. At least he hoped so.

  Chapter 6

  Batista paced the floor as Jack and Taylor looked on open-mouthed from behind their desks. The Inspector hadn’t appeared this agitated since the triple homicide case last November. In fact, he’d been more relaxed then, when the city was on high alert and panicked to the core.

  ‘What’s the problem, sir?’ said Jack.

  ‘Huh? Oh, it’s the timing of this…thing.’ He darted for a spare swivel chair at an empty work station, dragged it over to Jack’s desk. He selected a paperclip from a container and began twisting it. ‘My son’s flying in from America tomorrow and the basketball game was going to be a huge surprise. Now it’s cancelled, he’s going to be real pissed off.’

  ‘Why’s the game such a big deal? Aren’t you more interesting in finding out who ran down coach Collins?’ said Taylor. ‘Now that we’ve decided to upgrade it to homicide.’

  ‘Of course I want to know who killed him. What do you take me for?’

  ‘Sorry, boss. But I don’t get your reaction. It’s just a game.’

  ‘Not to Jordan. He’s been playing college basketball in the States for a couple of years. We had high hopes for him but we have to face reality. He’s never going to make the big time. He had some injuries and the college dropped him to a second string team. He struggled to get a game on that. In the end he cracked the shits and quit. I was going to introduce him to Gomez and Collins, see if they’d give him a tryout. Now that’s on the back burner, Marjorie and I will have to babysit him until he can find a job. Doing what, I have no idea.’

  It was hardly surprising the lofty Batista had a son playing basketball if genetics were anything to go by. Jack reflected the boss had casually mentioned a child of his living abroad, but details were always sketchy with the chief.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ said Jack. ‘But aren’t there talent scouts who do that kind of thing?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course there are. But none of the clubs here ever showed any interest in Jordan. He figured a strong showing in an American college would be a pathway to the top league here in Australia. Now that’s a dead end. I guess I was hanging my hopes on…you know…my influence as Inspector of Police.’

  Jack burst out laughing.

  ‘What’s so damn funny?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re the station chief in a regional city with a population of a hundred thousand, not the head of the bloody FBI.’

  ‘I didn’t mean…oh, never mind!’

  An awkward silence ended when Jack gave an exaggerated cough. ‘Well, maybe you can still entertain some hope, sir.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Something’s popped up in my news feed. The game’s going ahead despite what’s happened.’

  ‘Seriously?’ said Batista. ‘Seems a bit…callous.’ Despite his words, the Inspector’s demeanour brightened considerably at the resurrected opportunity to sell his son’s talents.

  ‘Maybe, but it’s a commercial enterprise at the end of the day, innit? Listen to this.’ Jack read from his computer screen. ‘Despite the tragic death of popular coach Dale Collins in a horrific road accident yesterday morning, the Scorpions game against the Launceston Vikings will go ahead tomorrow night as scheduled. Collins’ widow, Filomena, insists her late husband would not have approved the crucial encounter being cancelled with the playoffs just days away. Dale loved the game more than life itself, said Filomena. He’d hate to think of the fans being deprived of the chance to see their heroes in action, especially with the team’s playoff chances on the line. Who knows, maybe they’ll play out of their skins for Dale and score a big win. All the team members, coaching staff and fans loved him. I’m devastated beyond belief. Ticketholders are advised a special memorial service will be held before the start of the game. Anyone wishing to attend should arrive well before tipoff to ensure they don’t miss out.’

  Taylor shook her head. ‘Unbelievable.’

  ‘What is?’ said Jack.

  ‘The way they phrased that last bit, it’s like they see his death as another opportunity to generate publicity. Don’t miss out. It’s a disgrace.’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ said Batista absentmindedly. ‘Totally agree.’ A pause before clarity returned, a sense of duty. ‘You two, come into my office when you’ve got some decent data to work with. Forensics reports, character checks. Get on the phones, make appointments with people at the club, the owner, down to the damn cleaner at the stadium if you have to. Let’s try and figure out who killed Dale Collins.’

  * * *

  ‘First things first. What do we have from Proctor? Batista poured himself steaming coffee from a dented silver pot, gestured for Jack and Taylor to do the same. The aroma was too delicious to resist. Both detectives filled their cups.

  ‘It’s as I suspected.’ Jack spooned three sugars, stirred once and slurped down a mouthful. ‘Preliminary findings show the Camry’s clean as a whistle. The only DNA found belongs to two males and one female, none of whom figure in any records. Could be from friends who rode in the car, mechanics, who the fuck knows
? No other clues pointing to anyone except the owner, a Gwyn McNamee of Rockhampton, and her family. The female DNA’s probably hers.’

  ‘The plates?’ said Batista.

  Jack flicked through the report. ‘Nothing. Just the names and contact details of the vehicles of the owners they were lifted from.’

  ‘Any clues found by uniforms between the crash scene and where the driver escaped into the gardens?’

  ‘Nada.’ Jack frowned. ‘Forensics checked the road as best they could, too, and came up empty handed.’

  ‘Collins himself?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The autopsy, what did it reveal?’

  Was the chief thick? ‘Exactly what we suspected, he was killed after being struck by a speeding car.’

  ‘I meant was there anything suspicious in his system? Drugs or alcohol.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Jack. ‘I see what you mean. If he’d been doped up it may have been easier to lead the lamb to slaughter, so to speak. Just a minute.’ Jack scrolled through the relevant file. ‘Toxicology report’s come back clean, sir.’

  ‘Which is good new for his nearest and dearest,’ said Taylor. ‘They’ll be able to bury him sooner rather than later.’

  Batista nodded. ‘Yes, excellent.’ He turned to Jack. ‘What about your friend, Wayne? Is he OK?’

  ‘He tested clean for alcohol, ditto drugs. His involvement in the accident was 100 percent…ah…accidental.’

  Taylor stifled a chuckle.

  ‘Also fortuitous,’ said Batista, reaching for a chocolate biscuit. ‘If it hadn’t been for him, the driver would have sped off in the Camry, never to be seen again.’

  ‘I half agree with that, sir.’ Jack slugged more of his coffee. ‘I mean, the driver’s gotten away, hasn’t he? The only upside is, we got a couple of witness statements telling us the driver was taller than average and a fast runner, plus Wayne and that student Zach Hyman both said Collins was in the company of a tall person. Which indicates–’

  ‘Basketball players,’ said Taylor.

  ‘Context would suggest so,’ Jack ripped open a new packet of nicotine gum, wrangled three pellets out of the foil. They tasted much better accompanied by Batista’s percolated brew. ‘Meaning we should concentrate our initial investigations on the local basketball community.’ He tapped a fingernail due for a trim on the Inspector’s desk. ‘You seem to be up to speed with the game, sir. Where do you suggest we go digging?’

  ‘I don’t follow it as closely as I used to. To be honest, I can only name one player from the current team.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ said Taylor. ‘Leroy Costa?’

  ‘Yeah, him.’

  ‘How do you know that name, Claudia?’ said Jack. His own knowledge of basketball could be written on the back of a postage stamp.

  ‘He’s an American import, top scorer in the league. He recently signed a contract for three more seasons. He revived flagging interest in the team to the point they’re playing sell-outs every week.’

  Batista nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Apparently, soon after re-signing, young Leroy was approached by the LA Lakers to play in the NBA. They’ve been watching him single-handedly tear the local league to pieces.’

  ‘What sort of money are we talking about?’

  ‘No idea. But last year the Lakers’ lowest paid player got $1.5 million. Costa’s touted as the next LeBron James, so multiply that figure a few times to get a realistic amount.’

  Jack gave a low whistle.

  ‘But get this,’ Claudia continued. ‘Rumours have been buzzing that Gomez, the new Scorpions owner, was strongly advised by Collins not to let Costa go if they wanted to win the championship.’ Taylor folded arms across her chest. Jack had the impression she was relishing her superior knowledge of this sport over his. ‘That would’ve really pissed off Costa. Imagine having that taken away from you: a chance to stride the biggest stage in the world but the stubborn coach stands in your way. Anger would be a pretty good motive to bump off Collins.’

  ‘Surely the Lakers would have enough collateral to simply pay out the player’s contract. They’d be dripping in cash compared to the Scorpions.’

  Taylor nodded. ‘Good point. But the town is hungry for a title. Coach Collins would have been the most popular man in Yorkville if he could’ve pulled that off.’

  ‘At this stage, I’m working off the “everyone’s-a-suspect spreadsheet”. So that Leroy fella is definitely in the picture.’ Jack tucked his packet of gum into his jacket pocket. ‘But I recommend we start with the classic opening gambit.’

  ‘What’s that?’ said Taylor.

  ‘Interview the grieving widow.’

  ‘Now?’

  A glance at his watch. 6:55pm. An hour before the end of his shift. ‘Yes.’

  Chapter 7

  ‘Sorry for the after-hours visit, Ms Collins.’ At the front door a squadron of moths and flying gnats swirled around porch lights in the oppressive evening heat. The throaty croak of nearby cane toads rang out as Jack extended his hand. ‘My name’s Detective Sergeant Jack Lisbon. This is my partner, Detective Constable Claudia Taylor. We’ve got a few questions regarding your husband’s death. A few details we’d like to clear up. Do you mind sparing us half an hour of your time?’

  ‘Of course. Please come in.’ Filomena Collins shook both officers’ hands, eyes cast down. She ushered the detectives through the front door of her palatial mansion. Even for the upper-class suburb of Langer, this place was a stand out. A short glass-enclosed corridor lined with tropical plants led to an expansive reception room. Through floor-to-ceiling double-glazed windows, a well-lit terrace offered panoramic views extending over the twinkling lights of the city. Terracotta pillars, creeping vines, statues of Roman gods, fountains and a blue mosaic pool. Inside, opulent Italianate furnishings clashed with homely wall-hung photographs of the deceased coach, his wife and daughter in various stages of their lives. Some were family portraits, others action shots. The urge to throw round balls through hoops was in the blood of all three members of the Collins family.

  As he soaked up the affluence, Jack was sure he was picking up the scent of hundred dollar bills. And something else: ill-gotten gains. A basketball coach in Australia, even one at the top of the tree, would be hard pressed making the coin required to pay for this palace. A mansion half the size two blocks away recently sold for six million and change.

  ‘Nice place you’ve got here.’ Jack couldn’t resist the old cliché. He knew the classic line often got proud home owners, especially rich ones, chatting enthusiastically about their private affairs.

  ‘Thanks.’ Her voice was hollow, no promise of elaboration.

  Nought for one.

  ‘How are you coping?’ Taylor’s concerned expression looked genuine to Jack. It probably was. Women were much better at handling the bereaved. ‘Do you need any help?’

  Collins shook her head. ‘I’ll be OK. I had the official visit yesterday from two of your colleagues when they gave me the horrible news. Then identifying the…body…Oh my god!’ Gut-wrenching wailing filled the cavernous living area. She cried solidly for two minutes. The cops sat in an uncomfortable silence.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…’

  ‘Perhaps we should come back another time?’ offered Taylor.

  ‘No, no. It’s fine.’ A sniff. A shake of the head. A weak smile. ‘I’d rather get it out of the way as soon as possible.’

  ‘We greatly appreciate your cooperation. Now, are you absolutely sure there’s nothing we can do to assist you at this time?’

  Ease up, Taylor, Jack thought to himself. We’re not the effing Salvation Army.

  ‘I’m sure,’ said the widow. ‘I had no idea the Yorkville police was so…kind.’ She put her head in her hands, sobbed quietly for another minute. She looked up again. ‘Sorry.’ Her damp eyes were red, spider-veined.

  ‘No need to apologise. Have you got family support?’ said Taylor, accepting the hostess’
s gestured offer to take a seat on a black leather couch.

  A nod and a sigh. ‘It’s just me and my daughter, Tameka. She’s up in her room, bawling her eyes out at the drop of a hat, like me. I don’t know how she’s going to cope with this. Dale was her hero.’

  ‘Perhaps we could organise a child psychologist,’ said Taylor. ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Fourteen. That vulnerable age. But no, thank you. I’ve got a friend coming over soon. She’s bringing her daughter to keep Tameka company. They’ll be staying the night, so you needn’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.’

  ‘We offer our sincerest condolences, Ms Collins.’ Jack sat next to Taylor, gave a straight-lipped smile. ‘It must have come as a terrible shock.’

  ‘Thank you. But please call me Fil, everyone does.’ She tucked her flowing floral skirt under her thighs as she folded herself into an armchair. The cops and the interviewee were separated by a coffee table. An emerald dolphin’s head poked through the centre, its body supporting the glass top, giving the impression the animal was breaching through water.

  ‘Really? That would make you…Fil Collins?’ Jack smiled.

  ‘Yeah. It really annoyed me at first. I mean, I never even got the connection until Dale’s sister pointed it out to me.’ She’s playing the dumb blonde, but Jack sensed she was being disingenuous.

  ‘When did you and Dale get married?’ Let’s start at the beginning.

  ‘Fourteen years ago, in Minnesota. I was playing basketball at the state university over there, Dale was the coach.’

  Filomena Collins was what gossip magazines liked to call a blonde bombshell. Thick tresses of hair fell about her face as she spoke. Thick lips, big Betty Boop eyes. It was obvious she worked out regularly – taut, firm figure, toned muscles. Trophy wife material for an older man like Dale. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack gauged Taylor. Some women get all weird in the company of attractive females, but Jack could detect none of that in his partner.