‘Just the facts of this morning’s sweep, thanks Margaret. Then we’ll be grabbing a coffee.’
‘Right. I’ll stick to the salient points.’
‘Promise?’ said Jack. ‘No detours down speculation lane?’
‘No.’
‘Right. This is what I know. The neighbour at number 2 Rogers Close of the inner-city suburb of Mortimer, Mr Raj Mallick, called the station at 6:15am to report that he could see the body of Cameron Snyder in a pool of blood through a lowset window that looks into Snyder’s basement.’
‘Why was he looking through the bloke’s window early in the morning?’ said Taylor, more relaxed now the deceased was an abstract concept and not a vampirish cadaver inches away from her face.
‘I’m getting to that. I’m telling you the facts in order as requested by your partner, DS Lisbon.’ She nodded at Jack with a sarcastic smirk.
‘Go ahead,’ said Taylor through gritted teeth. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’
‘As I was saying.’ Proctor wriggled her backside into her chair, warming to the task. She spoke without referring to any documentation. ‘Mr Mallick called the CIB hotline and Constables Trevarthen and Semmens were despatched immediately to secure the crime scene. Mallick told Constable Trevarthen he and his wife had heard loud talking coming from Snyder’s house last night, thought nothing of it since he sometimes had friends over to play pool, and went to bed. Early this morning he was awoken by uncharacteristic howling by the deceased’s Staffordshire terrier. Mallick knocked and rang the bell, no answer. He then walked down the side of the house to check the backyard. On the way his attention was drawn to light coming from the lowset windows looking into the basement. He bent down, saw the victim and called it in.’
‘What about the dog?’ said Taylor.
‘Tied up outside beside two empty bowls.’
‘It’s not still there, surely?’
‘No. I took her to my place to keep Watson company.’
‘Very public-spirited of you, Margaret,’ said Jack. ‘So you arrived, when?’
‘About 7:30am, together with other members of the forensics investigation unit. I’ve got a preliminary report prepared for you.’ She passed a manila folder across the table. ‘More details regarding DNA and other forensic evidence will be emailed to you when ready.’
‘Summarise the preliminary report’s contents for us, please, Margaret.’
She took a sip of tea, cleared her throat. ‘Sure. After a brief examination of the kitchen area, hallway, bedrooms and bathroom, the forensics team and I headed to the basement to assess the cadaver. The body lay next to a full-sized snooker table, face down. There was ample blood around the body and small splatters from the practice stabs. I quickly established the blunt and sharp force trauma injuries I described to you earlier. No obvious weapon was found, although I recommend a more thorough examination of the crime scene as the poolroom is full of small, hard objects that may have been used to strike Mr Snyder and then wiped clean of prints and/or DNA. Same goes for the knife which may have been wiped clean and placed back in a kitchen drawer. Or the perpetrator could have taken it with them.’
‘What kind of objects are in the poolroom?’ said Taylor.
‘You name it. Billiard, pool and snooker balls, cues, dozens of trophies, statuettes, ashtrays. Then there’s the bar full of bottles and glasses and whatnot. We dusted as much as we could for prints and took a range of forensic samples. Rather a large undertaking, so I envisage a return visit tomorrow to continue examining the scene.’
Jack rubbed his chin. ‘Very interesting. What else?’
‘A broken glass coffee pot with a plastic handle and spots of blood in the kitchen would indicate a struggle took place there before the murder was committed. Tiny glass shards from the pot were found on the kitchen floor and also embedded in the soles of the victim’s flip flops. DNA analysis will reveal whether that blood belongs to the victim, someone else or both.’ Proctor leaned back, folded arms across her chest. ‘Most likely the coffee pot was used by Snyder to hit another person. I think those small droplets are someone else’s.’
‘Why?’ said Taylor.
‘There’s nothing on Snyder’s body to indicate he was the one cut with shards of glass.’
‘No,’ said Jack. ‘His cut was a doozy.’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’ Proctor’s face wore a self-satisfied expression as she held her cup to her lips. ‘The tiny pieces of skin left behind on the tiny shards could point us directly to the killer.’
‘I don’t share your optimism, Margaret,’ said Taylor.
‘Me either,’ said Jack. ‘We look forward to your full report.’
‘Two more things,’ said Proctor. She leaned forward again and tapped a pen on a white desk blotter. ‘The most interesting parts!’
‘What?’ Jack had thought she was done talking. He already had one arm in the left sleeve of his jacket, the other aimed at slotting into the right.
‘This.’ Proctor placed a thin silver necklace on the table. On the end, a charm locket engraved with the name Lydia. ‘We found it in the curled-up fingers of Snyder’s right hand.’
‘The ex-wife,’ said Taylor. ‘Uniforms have already informed her of what’s happened.’
‘We’ll be chatting with her ASAP,’ said Jack. ‘Apparently she took the news rather badly, went into shock, like she still cared for the guy.’
‘Hang on,’ Taylor countered. ‘Perhaps she’s just a person with a sense of decency. You’d go into shock if your ex-wife was murdered wouldn’t you, Jack?’
Silence.
‘Jack?’
‘I’m thinking…’
Proctor shook her head. ‘Would you two mind discussing ex’s and motives and so on somewhere else? I want to have another look over the body. I’m not satisfied I’ve discovered all there is to know yet.’
‘Sorry, Margaret.’ Jack stood, gestured to Taylor that they’d finished here for now. ‘We’ll get out of your hair in a minute. You said there were two things. What was the second? ’
‘I’ll spare you a physical demonstration, but we also recovered a used condom. It was found in a small waste bin in the bathroom wrapped in toilet paper. I should have the results of the analysis tomorrow for you. If the wearer was Snyder, we’ll know straight away. If not, it could take a bit of trawling through databases. As for the other participant – I’m guessing a female – we’ll only know if they’re on record, of course.’
‘What?’ Jack’s eyebrows lifted. ‘I thought you could only determine who the bloke was. You know, from his little deposit.’
‘Not at all, DS Lisbon. We’re able to retrieve cells shed by a female during sex from the external surface of a condom. Put simply, we use fluorescence to locate female cells and then employ polymerase chain reaction-based methods to positively identify the female.’
‘That’s simply put, is it?’
‘Well, yes. This technique’s been around for several decades.’
‘Geez Louise,’ said Taylor. ‘This sounds like a helluva case.’
‘Indeed.’ Jack unwrapped a stick of spearmint gum and tossed it into his mouth.
‘Not nicotine ones?’ Taylor observed.
‘Correct. Turns out all I’d done was switch from one type of nicotine addiction for another. I’m trying this sugarless variety for a change.’ Jack executed a couple of exploratory chews and frowned.
‘Won’t you get addicted to those too?’ said Proctor. ‘I’ve been studying obsessive behaviour in an article by Lara Menzies et al published in 2010. Clinical psychology’s a subject I’ve always been interested in. Did I mention the case of the–’
Jack held up a hand. Once on a roll, Proctor was hard to stop. ‘There’s one thing I’ll never stop being addicted to, Margaret.’
‘Oh? What’s that?’
‘Catching killers. Come on, Taylor. I just got a text. Wilson’s waiting for us at the crime scene with Trevarthen and Semmens. I wanna talk to that ne
ighbour.’
Jack saw Taylor shaking her head as they pushed their way through the swinging plastic doors and exited into the main corridor. ‘What?’
‘Addicted to catching killers? I reckon that’s the corniest line you’ve ever come up with.’
‘Really? Stick around, kid. I promise you they’ll only get worse.’
Chapter 6
Located at the end of a cul-de-sac in a quiet neighbourhood of the middle to upper-class suburb of Mortimer, the late “Cueball” Cameron Snyder’s house was a tidy, two-storey white-brick building. The unfenced front yard comprised a small patch of lawn dwarfed by an expansive concrete driveway. Between the couch grass and the house was a riotous bed of azalea bushes crying out for pruning. In the driveway stood Inspector Batista’s sapphire blue Mazda CX-5 and two squad cars. In a double carport to the left of the house, screened by a high stand of densely packed bamboo – Snyder’s black Toyota Rav 4, thick with squashed insects and road dust the colour of cocoa powder. Probably acquired on his frequent trips to Cairns and back. Along the bottom of the back windscreen ran a corny sticker of questionable taste: Pool Players have Long Sticks and Hard Balls. Jack stopped beside the Toyota as the detectives approached the front door of the house, wiped away a patch of dirt and cupped his hands up against the glass.
‘See anything interesting in there? said Taylor.
‘Nope.’ He tried the handle, no luck.
Twin cane palms bookended the front portico, under which stood the ever-ebullient Constable Kylie Smith, hands behind her back. Bouncing up and down on her toes, she greeted the detectives with a toothy smile that illuminated a lightly freckled face. Not yet jaded by the job. Give her time. She’ll soon lose that enthusiasm.
‘Who’s here, Kylie?’ said Taylor.
‘Who isn’t would be a better question. I think Aden’s in the kitchen, the rest are in the basement. Whoever heard of a basement in an Australian home?’ She shook her head. ‘I haven’t.’
‘No,’ agreed Taylor. ‘I’ve actually never even seen one. I think they have them in the southern states.’
‘Very suss, if you ask me.’ Smith wrinkled her nose like a bad smell just passed under it.
‘Why?’ said Jack. ‘What’s odd about it?’
Smith shrugged. ‘I dunno. Seems kind of creepy, people lurking about underneath a house like cockroaches.’
‘My place in London had a basement. Do you think I’m creepy, Smith?’
‘I…ah…’
‘Best you don’t answer that, Kylie.’ Taylor curbed a burgeoning smile. ‘Keep up the good work, Constable. Don’t let anyone in, OK?’
Smith nodded wordlessly, her face turning red after Jack’s challenge.
Just inside the front door was a small chrome-and-glass table, on it a macrame doily and a carved wooden bowl containing pens, business cards and two sets of keys. Jack snatched the bunch with the Toyota keyring, pointed it at the car and pressed. A noise blipped, lights flashed. ‘We’ll check the interior of that car on the way out,’ Jack grinned. He side-eyed Taylor. ‘I’ve never had a basement in my life, by the way. Always lived in apartments.’
‘Yeah, I figured as much.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re renting a small flat when you could easily afford a nice house on your salary.’
‘Why would I need a rambling effing house when it’s just me living in it? A modest flat’s all I need. Makes no sense to me why people throw good money away on luxuries.’
‘Like that Toyota Hilux you bought last year? Cost you about over sixty grand, didn’t it?’
‘That’s different.’
‘Why?’
‘Never mind. Come on, let’s have a look in here.’ Jack and Taylor ducked under blue-and-white police tape across the frame of the doorway to the combined kitchen and dining room. Shards of glass and the plastic handle of a coffee percolator holder were marked off by a series of plastic yellow evidence markers on the tiled floor. Droplets of blood, decreasing in size as they trailed away from the floor under the sink, piled high with dishes, stopped at the threshold into the hallway. Jack recalled the discussion with Proctor. In his head, he visualised an argument and a scuffle in the kitchen, Snyder whacking his assailant over the head with the coffee pot and fleeing down below, with the enraged and bleeding killer on his tail. And, bizarrely, some pre-fight shagging in a location and with participants yet to be determined.
‘Evening, detectives,’ said Constable Trevarthen, rising to his feet from a kitchen chair. The screen of his iPhone glowed blue on the table. Trawling the Internet to kill time, Jack surmised. ‘Glad you could make it.’ Trevarthen glanced at his watch. ‘Can I go now, sir? My son’s got football training this evening and I’m late to pick him up.’
‘Go over what you’ve seen since this morning,’ Jack demanded.
‘It’s all in my notes, sir. Plus I’ve already told Proctor. Can’t it wait until the morning?’
‘No, it can’t. I want your take on it. Everyone sees and reacts to things differently. You were first on the scene with Semmens. Tell me what you saw. Fifteen more minutes and you can go.’
‘But my kid’ll be–’
‘Your kid will be fine. Need I remind you we’re looking for a killer? From what Proctor’s told us, a damned vicious one. The victim, until this morning, was of prime interest to Assistant Commissioner Hook and all manner of effing security agencies.’ Jack also knew Trevarthen’s son was ten years old, overweight like his dad, and unlikely to suffer any long-term harm by missing one training session. On the contrary, he’d be delighted to watch TV instead of running laps around a park.
‘My wife won’t be happy, sir. She already reckons I neglect Cornelius.’
‘Tough shit.’ You already neglected the boy by calling him Cornelius, Jack wanted to say but held his tongue. ‘Talk.’
‘Can I at least sit down again?’
‘No. Please don’t roll your eyes at me.’
Trevarthen drew a deep breath.
‘And don’t sigh.’
‘Sorry, sir. Let’s see. Noah, I mean Constable Semmens and I, met the neighbour Mr Mallick at the front door at 7:08am. I’d brought some liver treats to distract the dog we were told about. Staffies are great dogs but they can be aggressive. As it turned out, she’s only a pup and her bark is definitely worse than her bite. The damn thing nearly licked us to death when we forced the front door open.’ He described how Semmens got acquainted with the beast, tied to the railing of a deck out the back. He rustled up a feed of dog biscuits to keep it occupied. Turned out the mere presence of other humans in the house had a calming effect on the hound, who gulped down the kibble and promptly went to sleep. At that time, Trevarthen made his way to the basement and found the deceased in a drying puddle of blood next to the pool table. The constables, together with Smith, who arrived shortly thereafter, inspected every room of the house and found no other persons on the premises. At 7:30am an ambulance appeared in the driveway, paramedics made sure there was no sign of life left in the victim. Shortly after that, Dr Proctor and her team of forensics scientists arrived to make a sweep of the house.
‘Did any of the neighbours other than Mallick come over for a sticky beak?’ said Taylor.
‘No. But a woman at number 5 and a couple at number 3 stood on their front lawns for a while, watching Proctor and her team arrive. I walked over to them, told them a person had died at number 2 and they could go about their business.’
‘Did you say it was a homicide?’
‘Of course not, sir. I know to wait till it’s all official.’
‘Good lad. Go on.’
‘I asked them if they’d seen or heard anything, they said no.’
‘Not surprising. There’s a lot of space between those houses and Snyder’s compared to Mallick’s,’ Jack observed.
‘Yeah. Anyway,’ Trevarthen pressed on, ‘I told them there could be follow up questions about the deceased and they should be prepared for a kn
ock on the door from CIB. Of course, I didn’t use the words “victim”, but I’m sure they’re smart enough to work out first responders don’t arrive en masse when someone dies of natural causes, right?’
The detectives nodded.
‘After I’d spoken with the neighbours, I went back inside the house to assist in any way I could. The scientists worked non-stop with only a short break, leaving just after 5:00pm. Us constables then secured the rooms containing primary evidence – the kitchen, bathroom and poolroom – as well as the entrance. It’s been mind-numbingly boring for the most part and now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be on my way.’
Jack patted Trevarthen on his broad shoulder. ‘See, Constable, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Off you trot. See you in the morning for a debrief.’
‘What about the neighbours?’ said Taylor. ‘Shouldn’t we get the uniforms to knock on a few doors, rattle some cages?’
Trevarthen’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. ‘You can’t be serious? I’ve been stuck here all day and I’m fucking starving!’
Jack opened the right-hand door of a stainless steel fridge, bent at the knees and peered inside.
‘What are you doing?’ said Taylor. ‘You can’t take the food.’
‘Why not?’ He unwrapped a foil-encased object, sniffed. ‘Here, Constable. Fancy some leftovers?’
‘Jack!’ Taylor nearly shrieked.
‘Wot? There’s enough food in there to feed an army.’
‘It could be evidence.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. The bloke’s been stabbed and hit over the head with a heavy object. You reckon this fried chicken might play a crucial role in the investigation?’
‘Too early to say.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Claudia.’ He held out the chicken to Trevarthen, whose eyes danced from one detective to the other. ‘You want it or not?’
‘Um, no thanks. I’ll grab something on the way home. I’m free to go, right?’
‘How can I resist those puppy dog eyes? Off you go then, sunshine.’
Trevarthen didn’t have to be told twice. He donned his hat and scarpered.
Trick Shot: an absolutely gripping mystery and suspense thriller (The Fighting Detective Book 3) Page 4
