Shot Clock

by Blair Denholm

  ‘You’re not American, though, are you?’ said Jack. ‘I’m no linguist, but your accent sounds more Aussie to me.’

  ‘No, you’re right. I’m Australian. I went over to the States on a scholarship when I was younger. Played a few seasons for the university, worked my way into the top women’s league, the WNBA.’ She forced a smile. ‘I was lucky enough to be selected for the Opals a couple of times.’

  ‘The Opals?’

  ‘Australia’s national team.’

  ‘Impressive.’ Jack’s lips dipped at the corners as he nodded.

  ‘Thanks. Two Olympics under my belt.’ There was no pride in her words, only emptiness.

  Jack scribbled some notes, looked up and fixed a steely gaze on the widow. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but you appear to be much younger than Dale.’

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s because I am.’ A touch of defensive push-back. ‘When we met I was 21 and he was 44. He was my coach. I fell head over heels in love with him.’ Jack had seen promotional photos of the dead man. Not unlike George Clooney, dark and brooding, salt-and-pepper stubble. By most standards, deceased Dale was a handsome man at 58. At 44 he would have been irresistible to many women. ‘We tried to keep the relationship secret but these things always get out. He had to resign, but we got married and made a new life for ourselves.’

  ‘Where?’ said Jack.

  ‘In Utah.’

  ‘Why Utah?’

  Fil’s eyes wandered to a wall covered in photos. Jack couldn’t be sure exactly which one she was looking at, he guessed the big wedding picture in the middle. ‘He had family there. They didn’t accept me at first, as an outsider, but they grew to understand.’

  ‘Are you Mormons?’

  ‘He was, not me. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I understand they’ve got some…ah…different ideas about marriage.’

  She shook her head. ‘Not all Mormons are like that. Besides, all that polygamy stuff is for the fundamentalists. Dale was normal.’

  ‘Of course. I didn’t mean to…’

  ‘That’s OK.’ She snuffled back a tear. ‘It’s a common misunderstanding.’

  ‘And how was life for you in the new location?’

  ‘Wonderful. We had Tameka. Dale got a job coaching a local high school in Salt Lake City, improved the team’s performance. Pretty soon he was coaching college ball again. Men this time.’

  To avoid the temptation of young athletic girls running around him. Jack couldn’t help the cynical thought. He drew a deep breath; enough family background for now. ‘I don’t mean to upset you, Ms…ah, sorry, Fil. But can you think of any reason somebody would want to murder your husband?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Can you imagine why anyone who would want to run your husband down deliberately and kill him?’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Trembling hands shot up to her face. ‘Are you saying it…wasn’t an accident?’

  ‘We’re considering all possibilities,’ said Taylor soothingly. ‘At this stage it looks suspicious.’

  ‘Suspicious how?’ Fil dabbed the corners of her eyes with a tissue. ‘The officers who informed me of Dale’s death said it was an accident.’

  The ominous sounds of a change in the weather penetrated into the house through its inch-thick windows. Strong winds shook a stand of palm trees beside the swimming pool, thunder rumbled somewhere out to sea. In the surreal circumstances, in his head Jack heard the haunting music of “In the Air Tonight.” ‘There are details you don’t know,’ he said.

  ‘Tell me!’

  ‘We have witness statements. It seems there was another person accompanying Mr Collins prior to his death. One eyewitness says that person appeared to push Dale into the path of the oncoming car.’

  Fil’s chest pumped in and out as she struggled to breathe. Every muscle in her face twitched like she’d been hit with a taser. ‘Oh no. Jesus Christ! Who would do such a thing?’

  Taylor stood, calmly walked behind a long wall. Jack knew what was happening, leaned back in his seat, gave Fil time to catch her breath. The sound of water running ended with a gurgle and Taylor returned with a full, tall glass, offered it to the widow. She took it eagerly and drained half of it, placed the glass on the coffee table with a clunk.

  ‘That’s what we were hoping you could tell us,’ said Jack. ‘We understand Dale had been coaching the Scorpions for, what is it, five years now?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Damn, I wish I smoked. I feel like my nerves are going to snap.’

  ‘Would you like something stronger than water?’ Taylor gestured towards a well-stocked rosewood liquor cabinet. Only top brands – Grey Goose vodka, Suntory Whisky.

  ‘No, thanks. I don’t drink. That’s for Dale and his cronies.’

  Now we’re getting somewhere. Jack held out his packet of nicotine gum, her response an emphatic shake of the head. ‘Cronies? What do you mean by that?’

  ‘All the hierarchy at the Scorpions, players sometimes, other coaching staff.’

  ‘Could one of them have wanted to kill Dale?’

  She laughed uneasily. ‘Impossible. They all loved him. Your witnesses must be mistaken.’

  ‘Perhaps they are. But there’s enough suspicion surrounding the incident for us to investigate. If it was a deliberate act, surely you’d want us to do everything in our power to–’

  ‘Of course I do! What the fuck…sorry…what do you take me for?’ Now it was only one eye twitching. ‘I’m just not sure what I can tell you.’

  ‘How about we start with the players. Specifically, the hot shot. Leroy…what’s the last name, Claudia?’

  ‘Costa,’ said Taylor flatly. Jack flicked his partner a questioning look to see if she’d found the outburst by Fil odd. A tiny nod confirmed she had.

  ‘Yeah, him,’ Jack continued. ‘I heard he wanted out of the club but your husband wouldn’t let him.’

  Fil scrunched a tissue in her hand. ‘That’s not a decision Dale would make. It’s up to the owner to decide who gets hired and fired. Or the Operations Manager.’

  ‘Yes, but this wasn’t about hiring or firing. It was about releasing a man from his contract to further his career. And the rumour mill is saying it was Dale who convinced Gomez to block Leroy’s exit from the club.’

  ‘I know nothing about that stuff,’ Fil shrugged.

  ‘Surely Dale shared information with you.’

  ‘Not everything.’

  Jack already knew the answer to the next question, but he asked it anyway. ‘Where do you work?’

  Red patches appeared on Fil’s cheeks almost instantly. ‘I help out in the admin section of the club. Part time.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re being completely honest with me, Ms Collins.’ No more Fil. ‘Your entire family live and breathe the sport. If you’re saying Dale revealed nothing to you about the politics at the club, I’m inclined to think you’re lying to me. Why are you lying?’

  Fil leapt from her seat. ‘How dare you! You fucking prick. He’s not even cold in the ground, and you come in here, accusing me–’

  ‘No one’s accusing anyone of anything.’ Taylor leaned forward and glared at Jack. ‘My partner oversteps the mark sometimes. I apologise on his behalf.’

  Ding Dong.

  ‘Excuse me, that’s my friend and her daughter.’ Fil stood, smoothed down her skirt. ‘If you don’t mind, detectives, I think I’ve had enough questions for one night. I’d like you to leave.’

  ‘What did you make of her?’ Jack nosed the Kia Stinger into the quiet, deserted suburban street.

  ‘I think you were right to insist on striking while the iron was hot.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Jack failed to hide his surprise. An admission from Taylor he was right and she was wrong was a moment to savour.

  ‘She’s hiding something.’

  ‘What exactly?’ He dipped his high beam for oncoming traffic.

  ‘No idea. But I do know she lied about one thing.’

  ‘What?�
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  ‘She was lying about not drinking. There was a whisky glass in the kitchen with a finger of Scotch in the bottom.’

  ‘Maybe it was left over from her husband and no one’s been bothered to clean it up. I find housework tends to take a back seat when there’s a death in the family.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Come on, Claudia. How can you be sure?’ After-rain carnage of flattened cane toads began to dot the asphalt as they turned onto an arterial road. Jack splattered a couple more –the imported Brazilian vermin were impossible to avoid without driving like you were in a slalom skiing event.

  ‘There were two big chunks of ice floating in the glass. She’s been at the bottle.’

  ‘Interesting. Why would she lie about that? And the swearing. Not what you’d expect from the wife of a God-fearing Mormon.’

  ‘I’ve known lots of religious folks who swear like troopers. Competitive sport’s not an environment for goody-goodies.’

  ‘True. There’s another thing struck me as odd.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She got all weird when we started talking about Costa. Blushing. Why would that be?’

  ‘You reckon she might have been having an affair with him?’

  ‘Why not? She’s stuck with an old guy, surrounded by younger, buff men. Stranger things have happened. He might have slept with her to get her to convince old Dale to change his mind about the contract, get Gomez to release him.’

  ‘You astound me, DS Lisbon. The first theory you can come up with is an affair.’

  Jack pulled up outside Taylor’s house. ‘Of all the motives for murder, sex and jealousy rank up there at the top. You know that.’

  She opened the door quickly, preparing to make a dash for the front door as fat rain droplets began to tumble from the tropical skies. She turned to Jack. ‘Don’t forget money. How much were the Lakers offering Leroy?’

  ‘Millions.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  As he watched his partner sprinting to the front door, handbag held over her head in a vain attempt to keep her hair dry, Jack wondered if jealousy would make him kill for Taylor. He decided it would.

  Chapter 8

  Basketballs thudded into the polished wooden boards of the court, caromed off the Perspex backboard and slapped into sweaty palms. Men the size of trees, in shorts so baggy they could double as parachutes, ran in synchronised patterns. The fill-in coach shouted instructions and gave short sharp toots on a whistle. The players’ footsteps boomed. To Jack it looked like an excitable gang of overgrown Border Collies reacting to a shepherd’s commands. He guessed the average height of the men on the court to be about six foot seven, a couple were close to seven feet. There was a “shortie” amongst them, an excitable bloke with a ginger crew cut and trim beard, about six foot neat. Most of them would have weighed in at over 100 kilograms. Reflective of Australia’s demographic makeup and sprinkled with US import players, there was an almost even mix of black and white. A variety of hairstyles and tattoos. All were muscled in a lean way, like finely honed boxers in the lower to middle weight divisions. Minus the ugly facial damage. He took a seat three rows back in the stand, waiting for a chance to chat with the emergency coach and the players.

  DC Taylor flipped the lid of the stowaway seat next to Jack and handed him a Styrofoam cup. ‘Any joy from this lot?’

  ‘I thought I’d wait for them to finish up. It’s not polite to interrupt people while they’re training. Personally, I’m liable to throw punches if my routine’s disturbed.’

  ‘You’re disturbed,’ she joked as she took a seat. Jack grunted.

  Taylor gestured to a lanky black man gliding down the court at half pace. He stopped almost to a walk before laying the ball gently off the backboard and into the net. ‘That’s Leroy Costa. I’m no expert, but does that look like a half-hearted effort to you?’

  ‘Yeah. The death of the coach must’ve hit ‘em hard. The star in particular. Or he’s faking it ‘cos he organised the man’s death.’

  A whistle blast pierced the air, its shrill shriek bounced off the hard surfaces in the nearly empty auditorium. Players reached for towels, energy drinks and sports bags. Some slumped on the subs bench, rested forearms on knees, sucked in air. Others shuffled off the playing area chatting, shaking soreness out of their bodies as they went. They walked loosely like rappers with dislocated joints. No one was smiling and no one was laughing.

  ‘What’s your plan?’ said Taylor.

  ‘We’re going to follow them into the change rooms and question each and every one of them. Something stinks about this tragedy, and I don’t mean the players’ body odour.’

  ‘I’ll wait out here if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Come on Jack. They’re going to be showering, wandering about without any clothes on.’

  ‘Hmm. Hadn’t thought of that. You’d probably have a heart attack if you saw them in their birthday suits.’

  A wicked grin crossed Taylor’s face, dimples formed in her cheeks. ‘Is that what you reckon?’

  He felt the blood rushing to his face. ‘No, I…’

  ‘Settle down, DS Lisbon. It’s not them that would make me feel uncomfortable, it’d be the other way round. A female cop questioning them when they’re at their most, how can I put it, exposed and vulnerable, wouldn’t get best results.’

  ‘Doesn’t seem fair, you sitting on your arse while I do all the graft.’

  ‘Piss off, Jack. What do you think I’m here for, your sparkling repartee?’

  ‘Oi. Uncalled for.’

  ‘I got in touch with Fil Collins this morning, mainly to apologise again for your despicable behaviour.’

  ‘Wot? I was only tryin’ to establish–’

  She held up a hand. ‘Let me finish. She readily admitted she stands to make a tidy sum out of Dale’s life insurance policy.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Over a million dollars. Plus, of course, she inherits the house and a shit load of other stuff.’

  ‘Let’s haul her down to the station for a grilling. If she’s behind her husband’s death, an hour of Ms Collins in the hotseat might get us a confession.’

  ‘I wouldn’t get too excited if I were you.’ Taylor sipped coffee, smacked her lips.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I know you were suspicious of their wealth, so I got Constable Wilson to make some inquiries. He didn’t have to try too hard. A simple Internet search revealed Dale’s family in Utah’s not only pious, but rich.’

  ‘How rich?’

  ‘Filthy. Old money. The Collins clan has been investing in American property for generations. Got their own Wikipedia page. In short, Jack, they’re loaded.’ She tossed her empty coffee cup across the two rows in front and over a railing. It bounced on the edge of a rubbish bin, lobbed for a second then disappeared.

  ‘Good shot, DC Taylor.’ He stood, followed the last pair of players down a small flight of stairs, headed for the dressing rooms at the end of a narrow corridor. ‘I’ve still got doubts about the widow. Wait here while I see what I can find out from the players. What are you going to do?’

  ‘My nails.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘I am being serious.’ She held out her left hand, fingers fanned out. ‘Can’t you see how jagged they are?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Taylor. I never know when you’re taking the mickey out of me.’ He did know. All the bloody time.

  ‘Keep your hair on, Jack. I’ve made an appointment to see Fernando Gomez down at Scorpions HQ.’

  ‘Now?’

  She nodded.

  ‘If you go now, I’m left without a car. How about you wait till I’ve finished talking to the playing group and the staff.’

  ‘And what am I supposed to be doing while you do “all the graft”, as you put it?’

  ‘Your nails.’

  ‘Excellent.

  ‘Mind if I have a chat?’ Jack worked the nicotine gum overtime. He felt
like a midget facing a forest of tall timber. A few of the naked players swung impressive lumber between their legs as they wandered about; Jack was glad Claudia decided to stay away. The square dressing room was surrounded by wooden benches, lockers, plaques and posters of previous stars at the club going back four decades. A strong scent of liniment mixed with fresh sweat hung in the air. It took Jack back to the gritty boxing gym of his younger years in South London. A trunk full of memories: good, bad and shite.

  ‘Excuse me, this is a private area. Would you mind?’ American accent thick as treacle. Good ‘ol boy Southern drawl. Between 45 and 50 years old, he was tall like the players, sported an appalling comb-over, his baggy green tracksuit failed to hide a generous stomach. An ex-player gone to seed most likely. His name was Austin Gould, assistant coach suddenly elevated to the top job. Could that in itself be a motive to murder Collins? File away for later examination.

  Jack showed his ID.

  ‘Police?’ said Gould, arching his brows. ‘What can I do for you? Not an overdue parking ticket I hope.’

  ‘I’d like to talk to the team. You, too.’

  ‘What about? They boys aren’t exactly happy right now. They just lost their coach.’

  Jack nodded. ‘That’s exactly why I’m here. It’s about the death of Dale Collins.’

  ‘OK, but can you make it quick? They need to be in the best head space for tomorrow night’s game.’

  ‘I’m surprised it wasn’t cancelled.’

  ‘Last minute change of mind.’

  ‘Who made the decision?’

  ‘The league. On a recommendation from Gomez. Too hard to refund money paid for the tickets is the official reason. Plus the Vikings are already in town, fired up and ready to play. Wouldn’t be fair on the visitors. You know how long it takes to fly from Launceston to Yorkville?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nearly six hours.’

  Jack tried to manufacture an understanding mien. ‘What’s the unofficial reason?’