Trick Shot: an absolutely gripping mystery and suspense thriller (The Fighting Detective Book 3)

by Blair Denholm

  ‘Back to the matter of the neighbours,’ Jack continued. ‘There’s only four houses in the cul-de-sac, including this one. We interview Mr Mallick first, that leaves two. Easy enough for you and me to handle.’

  ‘We won’t be finished until after midnight,’ Taylor groaned.

  ‘Too bad. We need to solve this one pronto so I can jet off to Blighty at the end of the week.’

  ‘It’s going to cost the department a fortune in overtime.’

  ‘Not my problem.’ Jack twisted a thin plastic rod that opened the kitchen Venetian blinds. Streetlights shone circles of white onto the concrete footpath below. Fat moths battered into each other in their confusion. ‘The lights are on in the other two houses.’

  ‘Wilson and Smith can question them.’

  ‘No. You and me, Claudia. This is too important.’

  ‘Come on, Jack. They can handle it.’

  ‘I said no!’ Instant regret for the outburst, but Taylor’s defiant stare told him she hadn’t taken it personally. ‘Look, sorry, but I don’t want rookies buggering things up. They’re tired and…’

  ‘Jesus, Jack. We’re all tired. It’s been a bloody long day.’

  ‘Just go with me on this. You can have a nice lie-in tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Sure.’ Sarcastic surrender. ‘What about Mr Mallick, then? You’d better pop over and tell him we’ll be over shortly. Wouldn’t want him ducking out to the shops or anything would we? And why don’t you have a quick word with the other neighbours while you’re at it.’

  ‘Smart thinking.’ No please, no would you mind, but Jack barely noticed. Taylor’s assertiveness sent a surprise tingle down his spine. ‘Meet you in the basement in five.’ He raced to the immediate neighbour’s house. He introduced himself to the kindly-faced, nervous Raj Mallick, told him not to venture off anywhere until he and Taylor had questioned him. The man nodded vigorously, clearly eager to do his civic duty. Jack thanked him, repeated the process with elderly Pat O’Grady at No. 5 and a much younger Rex van der Klopp at No. 3 and headed back to the crime scene.

  To get to Snyder’s basement, Jack descended a long, narrow staircase which opened up onto a massive floor space. In the middle stood a full-sized pool table, and at the far end a bar with enough booze to require a liquor license. Around the periphery, racks of cues, triangles and chalk on string, shelving that hosted a myriad of statues, knick-knacks and memorabilia. An 80-inch TV sat high on one wall, surrounded by old-school cloth pennants from the 1980s and posters of sporting legends. An Australian flag draped over the top wooden frame of the bar. Next to a double-door refrigerator hung a flag Jack wasn’t familiar with. Dark blue background with a central white symmetrical cross. There were five white, eight-pointed stars, one in the middle of the cross and one at each of its four ends.

  ‘What’s that?’ Jack pointed at the banner. ‘Very eye-catching design.’

  ‘It’s called the Eureka flag,’ said Taylor. ‘I’m a bit hazy on the history but it’s popular among the trade union movement.’

  ‘It’s not a call to arms for rednecks is it?’ For some reason the flag put Jack in mind of the American Confederate flag.

  Taylor shook her head. ‘If anything, it’s more your leftie types who associate with it.’

  ‘Really?’ Jack decided to research the matter in more depth. ‘I thought they were more into the hammer and sickle.’

  Taylor shrugged. ‘Are you sensing some kind of political motive for the crime?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Jack searched his pants pocket till his fingers found the pack of gum. ‘If the security agencies were interested in him, maybe there’s a link to a right wing group. Or a left wing one, fuck knows with all the loonies about these days.’

  ‘Interesting theory. Hook was vague with the details, but what you say could fit the bill. Political extremism’s supposed to be on the rise in Australia, but I’ve seen no evidence of it in Yorkville.’

  ‘It’s just a thought bubble at this point, Claudia. Anyway, let’s see what our esteemed colleagues have been up to here in the dungeon.’

  A rapid-fire debrief with Constable Semmens confirmed Trevarthen’s account. An initial inspection of the premises by both officers found no evidence other persons were living at the house. Constables Wilson and Kylie Smith were later arrivals, well after forensics, and their role had been limited to “fetching tea and biscuits and looking for anything suspicious”. Jack sent Semmens, Wilson and Smith home. Told them to be at work bright and early next morning for some heavy lifting, in other words phone calls, door knocking and trawling data bases.

  DS Lisbon’s eyebrows dipped in the middle as he and Taylor approached the Inspector, leaning against the bar and tapping an iPhone with one finger. The tall man’s head sat a millimetre under the Aussie flag, a whopper at around two and a half metres across. Jack coughed, Batista looked up with a slight shake of the head, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Jack wondered if he might be texting someone on a sensitive subject. Someone like Jabba Hook.

  ‘Yes, Jack?’

  ‘What’s the deal, sir? I can’t remember the last time you attended a crime scene. Especially at this late hour.’

  The chief scratched his chisel-shaped chin. ‘I’ll be doing more of it in the future. I’ve been too bogged down in the administrative side of things. I need to get more hands on, so to speak.’

  Jack sensed there was more to it. ‘Is that the only reason, sir? Nothing to do with old Ray Hook, is it?’

  ‘What? No, of course not. Besides, I was doing a bit of late-night shopping and this house happens to be on my way home.’ That much was true. Batista’s home was located in the next suburb. ‘I kind of knew the victim, too.’

  ‘You did?’ said Taylor. ‘How?’

  ‘Only in a roundabout way. I played snooker in a social competition a few years ago. At the pubs around town. I’ve never been very good at the game, so I’d sneak in a few practice frames at Trick Shot so I didn’t look too hopeless come match time. I’d seen Snyder there maybe once or twice. He was one of those in-your-face types. Smiling all the time, but you knew it was fake. Ingratiating himself with the clientele.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Jack. ‘I know the type well. London’s crawling with ‘em. They don’t always deserve to be killed in their own homes, though.’ He stepped around a rough outline on the floor where the body had lain. Not of chalk – the floor was carpet tiles – but one made of numbered yellow evidence markers in an approximate body shape. The largest blood stain was an inky black patch that wrapped around two of the thick legs of the snooker table and halfway under it. ‘There are exceptions, though.’

  ‘Deserved or not,’ said Batista. ‘We’re going to find out who did this and bring them to justice.’

  Jack leaned close to the Inspector, but spoke loud enough for Taylor to hear. ‘You sure Hook didn’t have a word in your shell-like, sir? Seems odd us getting the call up to Cairns, being told Snyder’s of strategic importance, he winds up dead, and now you make an appearance as rare as the Yeti at the Sydney Opera House. You did look all sheepish when I caught you on the phone just now.’

  Batista glared, turned the screen around to Jack and held it inches from his face. ‘Look, I’ve had just about enough of your insolence, Jack. I was letting Marjorie know I’m going to be late for dinner. Satisfied?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jack shuffled his feet on the spot. ‘Sorry about that. Nothing personal. It’s just that I don’t trust that Assistant Commissioner, sir.’ Disingenuous, Lisbon. You haven’t been straight up with your colleagues either. ‘I was flattered he sought us out to take care of a matter of national importance, but something stinks about the whole business.’

  ‘Listen, as it’s just the three of us, I’ll be frank.’ Batista glanced over Taylor’s shoulder, as if making sure no one had returned unnoticed. ‘I rang Hook to tell him about Snyder’s murder, told him you officers were no longer to carry out his little job and I’d ordered you back to Yorkvill
e. He was all panicky, said the country’s security would be even more at risk. I asked him how, but he started babbling on about CHOGM and Canberra and espionage and all kinds of nonsense. He still wants you to follow his orders, DS Lisbon.’

  ‘But that’s pointless,’ said Jack. ‘I’m pretty sure you can’t slander a dead person.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I said to him. But he’s even more agitated now the bloke’s been killed. He said I was to order you back to Cairns to finish the job he’d given you.’

  ‘What did you say?’ said Taylor.

  ‘No, of course. I told him if it really was a cloak-and-dagger operation, he’d have to get ASIO onto it. You and DS Lisbon are police detectives, for God’s sake, not bloody spies.’

  ‘Quite right, sir,’ said Jack. ‘Odd, though. I thought Hook’d be relieved. The bloke’s dead, so you’d imagine any security implications would also…you know…die.’ Jack decided to run his theory of political extremism up the proverbial flagpole. ‘Reckon this paraphernalia suggests he was a nutjob?’

  Taylor’s phone rang, she excused herself and took the call on the other side of the room.

  The chief jerked his head upwards and frowned. ‘It’s unlikely a couple of patriotic flags proves anything. Still, it’s an avenue worth exploring.’

  ‘Why do you think Hook’s so antsy about Snyder?

  ‘I wish I knew. I’ve had a quick look through the victim’s record and it makes for short reading. Two driving violations. Also a restraining order filed by his ex-wife when they were living in Brisbane.’

  ‘OK,’ said Jack. ‘Finally a possible motive. The ex-missus organising a hit against a wife beater.’

  Batista pursed his lips. ‘I doubt it. She retracted all her allegations the day after the domestic violence order was granted. Said she made it all up.’

  ‘Maybe he forced her to retract, sir. It’s been known to happen.’

  ‘Yes, but that single incident was five years ago and they only separated the middle of last year. No interactions with the police since then.’

  Jack folded his arms across his chest. ‘I’ve known of men who’ve kept their wives cowering in fear for longer periods than that.’

  ‘Yeah, I know that can happen. Only in this case I’m starting to think Snyder was up to something dodgy that involved Hook personally.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised by that version either, boss,’ said Jack. After a pause: ‘What if he calls me again?’

  ‘Refer him to me,’ growled Batista, returning the iPhone to his pocket. ‘I’ll handle the fat fool.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried about your own arse if he’s so…influential?’

  ‘Not in the slightest.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’ve got something over him. Something only I know about.’

  ‘What?’

  Batista touched the side of his nose. ‘Let’s just say his wife Juanita would raise hell if she found out what her devoted husband did on a police rugby trip to Sydney in the mid-1980s.’

  ‘I can’t imagine him as a footballer.’

  ‘Believe it or not, Ray Hook was quite the athlete in his day. The higher up the food chain he went, though, the more obese he became. And more of a prick.’

  ‘He’s certainly that, sir. But surely his wife would forgive him something that happened over thirty years ago. It could be like your theory about Snyder and his missus. A misstep in the heady days of youth, but good behaviour thereafter.’

  Batista shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘What did he do?’ Jack tried to sound blasé despite curiosity eating him alive.

  ‘Can’t say. How do I know you wouldn’t blab it all over town?’

  ‘Come on, Inspector. You know me by now.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  Jack smiled. Batista could keep his effing secret. The upshot – Jack wouldn’t be dancing to Jabba’s tune. The plane ticket was paid for, the letter for Sarah was signed and the boss had a mystery ace up his sleeve.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re grinning for, Lisbon. When’s your flight to London?’

  ‘Four days away.’

  ‘That gives you till the weekend to find the killer.’

  ‘Wot? The airline won’t be so generous about rescheduling me a second time. Plus I’ll lose the bleedin’ upgrade. Taylor can handle it with Wilson’s help if I’m not here.’

  ‘The weekend, DS Lisbon.’ Batista waved away Jack’s protestations. ‘Your leave’s in the balance. Make an arrest or it’s rescinded until you do. Hook may be a fat fool, but he’s got a reputation for ruining detectives’ careers when things don’t go his way. And I’d hate for him to ruin yours.’

  ‘But you said you had…’

  ‘Never mind what I said. I might have ammunition against Hook, but I don’t want to use it unless I’m desperate. And I haven’t quite reached that point yet.’

  ‘I bloody have!’

  ‘Your first job in the morning’s a chat with the vic’s ex-wife, Lydia. The uniforms who delivered the bad news said she broke down big time. More like a widowed newlywed than an estranged partner, apparently. Backs up my belief the violence back in the day was either a one off, or she made up the story.’

  ‘Yeah. We heard she took the news badly. Maybe DC Taylor and I should pop around tonight, when we’re done with the neighbours?’

  ‘No. Let the woman get some sleep. You’re likely to completely alienate her if you go at this hour.’

  ‘Right.’ He wants it solved fast, but puts the brakes on. ‘Whatever you say, chief.’

  ‘Don’t forget, you’ve got until the weekend if you want that vacation, Lisbon.’ Batista donned his hat and strode up the stairs.

  ‘What was all that about?’ said Taylor, rising from a plush sofa and gripping her mobile phone tight.

  ‘Batista’s threatened to revoke my holidays if we don’t find the killer before I’m due to fly out.’

  ‘He can’t do that, Jack.’

  ‘Don’t matter. I’ll take it as a challenge.’ Jack wrapped tissue around a wad of gum, tucked it in his pants pocket and immediately got to work on another piece. ‘Who was calling you just now?’

  ‘Mum. About my sister.’

  ‘She OK?’ Claudia’s older sister Annie had undergone surgery for skin cancer. ‘Yeah. Turned out to be minor, thank God.’

  Jack was genuinely pleased. He’d met Annie at a barbecue last month. A pleasant woman, shy and retiring, she was the antithesis of Claudia. A distant cousin had recently died from melanoma and Annie was terrified her diagnosis was going to be terminal.

  ‘After I got off the phone to mum I did a quick online search, looking to see if Snyder was involved in anything political. I found a Reddit post about a right-wing organisation based in Cairns. They call themselves the Wild Colonial Boys, or WCB for short.’

  ‘And you’re telling me this because? And what the fuck’s Rabbit?’

  ‘Reddit. It’s a website that’s very useful for detectives.’

  ‘Is it now? Why haven’t I heard of it?’

  Taylor shrugged. ‘Because you’re out of touch.’

  ‘Leave off..’

  ‘Back to this post. I couldn’t find Snyder’s name mentioned anywhere, but I found a photo. Look.’ Taylor held the screen inches from Jack’s nose. He took a half step backwards to remove the instant blur. The photograph was grainy and slightly out of focus. It depicted a group of seven grinning men in a tight bunch, four in the front, three in the back. They held green beer bottles aloft and brandished the sign of the horns with their free hands. All wore blue singlets emblazoned with the iconic Boxing Kangaroo, purple and black tattoos bloomed on muscular arms.

  ‘What am I looking at?’

  ‘I think it’s our murder victim, middle of the back row.’

  Jack clicked his teeth. ‘No, it ain’t him. Snyder’s bald. This bloke’s got hair. Plenty of it. Looks like bloody Brian May from Queen.’

  ‘I thin
k it’s one of those novelty curly wigs. And the nose is the same.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘I’m sure of it. Look at the glint near his earlobes. The gold earrings.’

  Taylor was bang on the money. Again. It was Snyder.

  Chapter 7

  ‘What can you tell us about Cameron Snyder?’ Jack sipped on a strong coffee flavoured with cardamom. The fragrant exotic scents that swarmed Jack’s senses the second Mallick opened the door weren’t letting up. It transported him back to his neighbourhood in Peckham, where the aromas of Asian food cooking in the evenings were as familiar as a mother’s touch.

  ‘Apart from the gruesome discovery this morning, not much to tell.’ Mallick rubbed his hands together like he was washing them.

  ‘Was he a good neighbour?’ Jack took another sip of his coffee, smacked his lips in appreciation.

  The man shrugged. ‘Not good, not bad. He tended to keep to himself. Over the three years we’ve lived here I think I exchanged words with him maximum half a dozen times. He was always polite, smiled and waved whenever we caught each other’s eye. I can’t believe he was…murdered.’

  ‘Yes, shocking.’ Jack nodded understandingly. Mallick wasn’t describing behaviour typical of a racist man who’s part of a right-wing outfit. Although Snyder could have been faking geniality towards his Indian neighbours.

  ‘Nothing like that ever happened around here. This is a nice, safe, neighbourhood.’ A small side-to-side head wobble. ‘ I’m going to be changing the locks on our doors, I can tell you!’

  ‘I’m sure there’ll be no need for that,’ said Taylor. ‘Nothing appears to have been stolen, so chances are high it was someone known to the victim. You and your family are in no danger.’

  A portly woman in a colourful sari, springy grey hair tied back tightly over a round forehead, appeared beside Mallick. She rested a hand on her husband’s neck and rubbed gently. Her eyes flickered as she flung a tea towel over her shoulder. ‘Are you sure about that? I’ve been reading about Mr Snyder on the Internet. “Very crooked man” seems to be the majority view.’