Shot Clock

by Blair Denholm

  ‘He was quite reasonable about the whole thing, to be honest. He even let me play one last game.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Actually, he had to. There was no time to rejig the line-up before the next round. After that, I got a generous severance package from the club. They did the right thing by me, even if I did the wrong thing by them.’

  Out of the corner of his eye Jack caught Fil rolling her eyes. This mob couldn’t lie straight in bed. What gives?

  Taylor addressed Helen Sarsby. ‘I’m curious. How were you able to stand by your man after what he did?’

  ‘Never heard of Hilary Clinton?’

  ‘Of course I have. This isn’t the same, though, is it?’

  ‘You bet it isn’t’ said Fil. ‘Not even close. This “thing” with Steve wasn’t even a proper affair.’

  ‘What was is then?’ said Jack.

  Fil cleared her throat. Jack felt a rehearsed piece of bullshit coming on. ‘We had a get-together at our place after a game. The Scorpions had just pulled off a close win. Everyone was on a high, most were drunk. Except for Steve. He’d had a couple of drinks, but he wasn’t even tipsy. I don’t know, we got talking, something clicked. When no one was looking, we snuck off to the garage. We were making out on a day bed when Dale came in looking for something, flicked on the light and sprung us. It wasn’t even an affair. We were only kissing, there was no sex or anything.’

  ‘Then what happened?’ said Taylor, face and voice animated by the salacious turn of event. ‘Must have been awkward, to say the least.’

  Fil and Steve exchanged a quick glance, then for some reason looked to Helen. Mrs Sarsby rolled her red-nailed fingers in her lap. Her face was blank, but Jack sensed a lot of activity going on deep in the synapses of her brain.

  ‘What do you think happened?’ Steve took up the story-telling relay baton. ‘He hit the bloody roof! Started yelling and screaming. I’d never seen him out of control like that. Then he stormed off. I ran inside, found Helen chatting to someone, Rod Parata I think, and we got the hell out of there. Next day I get my marching orders.’

  ‘How long has Helen known about what happened?’ Taylor spoke to Steve, but was watching the man’s wife. Helen wouldn’t play ball, kept staring at her hands.

  ‘The whole time. I told her what had happened that night in the car on the way home.’

  ‘Don’t matter if you were only kissing or whatever,’ said Jack. ‘It’s still a betrayal. Especially to a man who holds family dear. A man who’d never suspected his devoted wife would ever be disloyal. I can’t imagine your husband would’ve kept Steve on the team even if he was the top player in the whole damned league. Which begs the question, Stevie boy. How did he justify your axing? People would’ve been asking reasonable questions about that.’

  ‘We made up some bullshit about me having emotional problems. Didn’t want to play anymore. The training and traveling was having a negative effect on my mental state, that kind of stuff. If anyone asked me, I said speak to Dale. If anyone asked him, he said speak to me.’

  ‘Sounds like an effective way to ward off sticky beaks,’ said Taylor.

  ‘It was. A couple of journalists rang to see what was going on, but we stonewalled them pretty good.’ Steve took a deep breath. ‘But actually, we only had to point to my last game after the…incident. I didn’t score, fouled out before half time, and we got a hiding. After that, it was easy to sell the fact I was past it as a player. I got accused of tanking, which really hurt. But I couldn’t focus on the game at all. How could I?’

  ‘You must’ve been gutted,’ said Jack. ‘To have your career destroyed by your own selfish actions. Christ, man. You don’t even have the excuse of being drunk.’

  ‘Too right it hurt. Look at me now. Selling electrical gadgets at Harry fucking Norton’s when I should be taking part in the playoffs. It hurts like you wouldn’t believe.’

  Jack rubbed a hand over his forehead. ‘This farce is beyond my understanding.’

  ‘And you, Helen.’ Taylor was intent on squeezing something out of the cheated-on wife. ‘I can’t believe your tolerance. I’d never have picked you as the forgiving type after I saw you in action at the department store.’

  ‘Well I guess you were wrong about that, weren’t you?’ She readjusted her position in the recliner. ‘I love Steve and that’s it. Besides, I’ve not exactly been the most virtuous wife.’

  ‘Please go on,’ Jack gestured with open palms.

  ‘I don’t think this is at all relevant,’ barked Steve. He shot Helen a look that said Why did you even go there?

  ‘Does it have a bearing on your investigation?’ said Helen, screwing her lips up like she regretted what she’d just blurted out.

  ‘It might,’ said Jack.

  ‘Like hell it does!’ Helen stood, gathered a handbag off the floor. ‘I’m not prepared to discuss my private life. It’s got nothing to do with what you cops are meant to be doing. Finding out who killed Dale. Despite what that tosser Martin Welsh said, everyone loved Dale.’

  ‘Except the person who killed him.’

  ‘Obviously! Come on, Steve. Let’s go.’ Holding her husband’s hand, she turned at the threshold. ‘You’re wasting your time hounding us. I swear, none of us is involved. If you contact me or my husband again without cause, I’ll be filing for harassment.’

  ‘Ms Sarsby…’

  ‘Enough, Jack.’ Taylor grabbed Jack’s wrist. ‘Let them go.’

  Taylor pressed the button to wind down the passenger window.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Jack cast her a death stare.

  ‘Smelling the ozone.’ She inhaled deeply.

  What is this strange ritual? ‘Put it up again.’ Jack shifted into second gear to turn left onto Scanlan Drive. ‘You’re letting in the hot air.’

  ‘C’mon, it’s only warm. The sun went down three hours ago. Look, it’s been raining. Can’t you smell the earthiness?’

  ‘No. All I can smell is rats. Rats lying to us. We’ve had a shit day with shit results. Now all I want is cool air, dammit.’ He overrode the window button and Taylor had to jerk her hand out of the way.

  ‘Oi! Give us a bit of warning, why don’t you?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  They drove in silence for two minutes before Taylor broke it. ‘You know, Jack, we’ve got the wrong end of the stick.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The three of them back there. Lying their heads off.’

  ‘I’ve got no doubt about that.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with the death of Dale Collins. At least not directly.’

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘I don’t think Steve Sarsby was the one who was fooling around with Fil Collins. It was Helen.’

  Jack snapped his head around. ‘What the hell?’

  ‘The lack of tension between her and Steve. Her saying she wasn’t the most virtuous of spouses. The cosiness of it all. Besides, something in my subconscious has made a surprise reappearance.’

  ‘Wot?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure the glass I saw in the sink had traces of red lipstick on it. They were faint, and I guess at the time I thought it must’ve come from Fil. Now I’m thinking it was Helen. Same colour as she was wearing tonight.’

  ‘Dammit, why didn’t you say something about it back there?’ He gestured over his right shoulder. ‘We could’ve flushed them out, exposed their little conspiracy.’

  ‘Forget it, Jack. It’s not a conspiracy. They’re just people who want to keep their dirty laundry private. If they’ve got anything to do with the murder, I’d almost be prepared to give up chocolate.’

  ‘But why would Collins give Steve his marching orders if he hadn’t done anything wrong?’

  ‘Guilt by association? Perhaps the very sight of Steve reminded Dale of Fil’s dalliance with another woman. I don’t know. But my gut tells me Steve’s the innocent party in all of this.’

  ‘No wonder he smokes.’ Jack reached for
the nicotine gum in the console. Now he thought about it, Taylor was most likely correct, but he hated being taken for a fool. He switched on the radio to a local FM station that played classic 80s hits. REO Speedwagon burst forth from the speakers. “Take It on the Run”. For the first time Jack realised how much the whiny singer sounded like Weird Al Yankovich. A rubbish song for his rubbish mood. Let it play.

  ‘Why are we going this way?’ Taylor grabbed at her scrunchie. ‘Don’t you want to get home and forget about the case for a bit?’

  ‘Not yet. I wanna take a look at the crime scene again.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  Jack pumped the button on the steering wheel and the radio volume went up another couple of notches, drowning out Taylor’s sigh of exasperation.

  ‘DS Lisbon, you’ve lost the plot.’

  ‘What?’

  She turned the radio off.

  ‘It’s,’ she glanced at the dash clock, ‘almost 9:00pm. You heard what Inspector Batista said about overtime.’

  ‘This is on my time. I won’t claim it.’

  ‘I want to go home!’

  ‘Just bear with me for a couple of minutes. I want to satisfy my curiosity.’

  Taylor folded arms across her chest. ‘What the hell are you curious about? Forensics is still working on all that stuff.’

  Jack pulled up where one of the killers pushed Collins into the oncoming Camry. A blue X had been spray-painted onto the grass to mark the spot where it happened. Two crazed men working together to murder one of Yorkville’s most loved and respected public figures. So far, the investigation had drawn a big fat donut. Despite odd behaviour and violent outbursts, no one in the cast of players was looming as a real suspect. He checked over his right shoulder and alighted from the Kia. Taylor was already waiting for him on the footpath.

  ‘What do you hope to…’

  ‘Shhh.’ Jack put a finger to his lips. ‘Just be quiet for two minutes. Then we go back to the station.

  The two detectives stared up and down the deserted roadway. A light breeze rustled in the treetops, cane toads serenaded the night with their incessant mournful croaks. ‘I can see why they chose this location,’ Jack whispered. ‘The timing’s strange though. Late evening, like now, would have made more sense. No witnesses.’

  ‘How do you lure your victim to a place like this at night without arousing suspicion? I think the time they chose was the best compromise.’

  ‘Hmm. I guess so.’ Jack looked over his shoulder into the scrubby entrance to Currie Park. ‘Did forensics check thoroughly back there, where that kid Zach said the second man disappeared?’

  Taylor sighed. ‘Yes, Jack. They’ve done their job, and continue to do it. You’re tired and need to go to bed.’ Her arm lightly snuck around his waist. She guided him the two steps to the passenger door, opened it. ‘I’ll drive back to the station. We can have a fresh start in the morning. OK?’

  ‘Sure. Whatever you say, Claudia.’ Taylor’s arm touching him was a comradely thing to do. He knew it would never, should never, be more than that. He was a red-blooded straight man and he needed female companionship. To that end and for want of viable options, he’d keep dating the charming, patient Denise Hutchinson until that relationship started to go backwards. Denise would eventually tire of Jack’s lack of desire for anything other than meaningless sex and a few laughs. She’d get sick of him, cast him aside and move on. She had to, she was a lawyer with plenty of brains. Until that happened, though, it didn’t hurt for Jack to fantasize a wee bit, pretend that Taylor liked him more than as a work colleague. Jack slumped into the passenger seat, buckled the seatbelt and promptly fell asleep.

  Chapter 18

  He pointed the remote at the screen and pressed the red button. Camry driver already knew what the lead story would be on the 10:00pm news. Ace reporter Holly Maguire looked sharp. As usual, she wouldn’t disappoint. She stood on the footpath of Scanlan Drive, hair perfectly groomed and eyes twinkling as she engaged with the camera. She had a knack of making you think she was addressing you personally, not thousands of viewers. She should be in the movies, this one; the woman sure can act.

  Maguire (direct to camera) – Yorkville Police are no closer to making an arrest in the baffling murder of Dale Collins. At a press conference earlier this evening Inspector Joseph Batista provided an update on the investigation.

  Batista appeared on the screen, smiling and nodding. Always resplendent in his uniform. Channel 11 would do the usual trick of editing out questions asked by other media outlets, make it look like their woman was the most incisive journalist in town.

  Maguire – Inspector, when will we have an answer?

  Batista – Yorkville CIB are pursuing a number of leads, through the basketball and wider communities. As you know, we’re hunting two men, both of above-average height, the driver dressed entirely in black, the accomplice in shorts, cap and t-shirt. I wish we had more details, but we’re confident someone will come forward with key information. We’re hopeful of a breakthrough in the coming days.

  Maguire – That sounds encouraging. Rumours are rife that star player Leroy Costa is a suspect. Can you throw some light on that?

  Batista – Come on, Ms Maguire. You’ve known me long enough to know I don’t indulge in speculation with the media. Just hard facts.

  Maguire – Do you have any suspects at all?

  Batista – Again, I can only repeat we’re following up all leads and forensics is continuing to work hard with the physical evidence. The press will be kept up to date with any developments.

  Maguire – I’ve received information Fernando Gomez is considering offering a reward if you haven’t arrested anybody by the last round of playoffs, should the Scorpions advance to the grand final. That would be embarrassing for the Yorkville Police, wouldn’t it?

  Camry driver sent a spray of Pringles crumbs flying as he burst out laughing. This was too good! No chance the cops would ever nail him. They were clueless. As long as his accomplice kept his nose clean and laid low as agreed. He took a deep drink of Coke. How’s Batista going to respond to that barb from Maguire?

  Batista – I’ve got no idea where you heard that. It’s a new one on me (low, unconvincing chuckle)

  Maguire – I heard he got the idea after last year’s triple homicide, when a high profile businessman offered a reward for–

  Batista – A reward that went unclaimed because my team, lead superbly by Detectives Lisbon and Taylor, solved the case. The perpetrator is currently languishing in Copperhead Jail. Remember?

  Maguire – Maybe the generous financial stimulation offered by a member of the public spurred you to try harder? Is that what’s happening again?

  Batista (face reddening) – With all due respect, Ms Maguire, that’s a bit rich, calling our competency into question. We made the arrest in the homicide case you just mentioned based purely on excellent detective work. Sweat and brains. Now, if I may address the perpetrators directly. Hand yourselves in. Sooner or later, we will find you, and we will arrest you.

  Ha ha! Well done, Inspector. Paraphrasing from the famous movie. He even looks a bit like Liam Neeson. Only you’re wrong, mate. You won’t ever catch us.

  He flicked off the news on the Smart TV, switched to Internet and pulled up a clip of his favourite violinist in all the world, an acclaimed genius from the wilds of Siberia. A talented and beautiful woman. So much more attractive than the mindless groupies that seek out NBL players. Or the bimbos like Helen Sarsby who marry them. One day he’d find a woman like that violinist, someone who appreciated higher culture and blessed with an intellect to match his own. If Holly Maguire was into the finer things in life, now that would be a winning combination. The search might take years, but he’d be patient. Patience wasn’t a problem.

  Despite laughing at Batista’s closing words, there was always a chance, despite the careful planning, that everything could go to shit. To put his mind at ease, he placed a call using the burner phone. It rang out. H
e dialled a second time, only for it to ring out again. Jesus, what’s wrong? He dialled a third time. Zip. He waited twenty-five minutes, surfed around Twitter, called again. If the he doesn’t pick up, maybe there’s a problem. The man finally answered, on the first ring.

  ‘Why the fuck didn’t you pick up the phone? You have to be contactable at all times. We agreed on this.’ He massaged his forehead.

  ‘Don’t panic, dude. I was taking a shower. I couldn’t hear the phone ringing over the water.’

  ‘Listen up. I won’t call you on this phone again. After this conversation I’m taking a walk along the pier and throwing it into the ocean. I suggest you get rid of yours too. But be careful about it.’

  ‘Gotcha.’

  ‘Is everything OK? You sound a bit off.’ Could the nerves have got to him?

  ‘Yeah, sorry. I haven’t really spoken to anyone in a while.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. How’s the accommodation?’

  ‘I’ve settled in OK. Hey, the apartment you scored me is amazing, by the way. It’s got an awesome view over the Gold Coast. All the way down to Tweed Heads.’

  ‘You’ve not been approached by anyone?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No one asking any suspicious questions?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘How have you kept your mind occupied?’

  ‘Been going to the beach and playing computer games. No stingers or crocodiles in the water here. But you know me. I’m easily pleased.’ He gave a sharp laugh. He’d loosened up, must be craving conversation with a familiar person. ‘Hey, I saw an ad in the paper today. Someone’s looking for guys to join a local basketball comp. I’m thinking of popping along and checking it out.’

  ‘Don’t you dare go.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me. We have to let this thing go cold. Lie low.’

  ‘C’mon, I’m itching to play. It’s only minor stuff, not much more than a social league.’

  ‘Wait, I told you! They’ll all be talking about the NBL playoffs, Dale Collins. You think you can keep a straight face with that chat going on?’