Jack had mentioned a withdrawn restraining order in the Snyder closet, but nothing further. Taylor remembered it was from Brisbane, before the move north to seek their fortune. ‘Tell me about the DVO you had out on Cameron.’
A wave of the hand. ‘A complete overreaction on my part. I had the court cancel it after I calmed down.’
‘So it wasn’t a matter of domestic violence?’
‘No, no. Nothing like that. He got frustrated one night and threw a glass. It hit me in the back of the head. At the time I was sure he aimed it at me, but later I realised he’d never have done it on purpose. I regret what I did.’
The story sounded fishy. Taylor scribbled in her notebook. Check Snyder’s interstate rap sheet. She crossed the last “t”, looked up at Lydia. ‘I noticed a stack of packing boxes in a room off the hallway. Are you moving somewhere?’
‘Ha! Where would I go? I’ve got no money. I quit my job six weeks ago, still waiting for the dole payments to kick in. There’s a stupid waiting period when you leave employment voluntarily, even if said job sucks.’
That didn’t tally with the LinkedIn record, but there’s no legal obligation to keep your profile truthful and up to date. ‘What job was that?’
‘I had a part-time admin job with a local charity. Shit pay, but I needed something to keep me occupied.’
‘Why’d you quit?’
‘The boss was a bitch, kept bringing up Cameron in conversations, regurgitated all the online rubbish. She did it to bait me, I’m sure. Anyway, it all got too much and one day I told her to stick her lousy job up her fat arse.’
Taylor tugged her scrunchie. ‘Would you call your relationship with Cameron post-breakup amicable?’
‘Yeah, I’d say so. He was less inclined to shout at me, let’s put it that way.’ A wry smile penetrated the tear-stained face.
‘From what I can gather his business was on the up.’
‘He was doing OK, on the face of it. When he got the liquor licenses for the pool parlours, Trick Shot and Chalkies started to take off.’
‘He didn’t feel like sharing the successes of his business with you?’
‘Listen, Detective, I might have worked for a charity, but I’m not one myself, you know what I mean?’
‘But now you’re set to receive a portion of his estate, right?’
‘Ha! Like I said, on the surface he was successful. Why do you think we started off living here in Bonnie Street?’
‘You tell me.’
‘Because it’s all he could afford when we moved up here. It’s in a cheap suburb but at the “Paris end” as they say. Once the cashflow started to improve, his ambitions grew as well. He had plans of turning that old fish factory into some massive games centre.’
‘That would’ve pissed off Randall Sowell.’
‘Probably. But the project might never have got off the ground anyway.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Cam was up to his eyeballs in debt. Borrowing money left and right to show the world he was the North Queensland Monopoly champion. Once the creditors get their share of his estate, there’ll be nothing left for me. If you think I had a hand in doing him in so I could get rich, forget it!’
More shorthand notes. Conduct thorough investigation of Snyder’s businesses and finances. Perhaps psychological evaluation of Lydia. Sharp mood swings could be indicative of….what?
‘What can you tell me about the people he mixed with at the pool halls he owned? Could he have made enemies there?’
Lydia shrugged. ‘Maybe. I never went to either of them. Places like that attract the wrong crowd.’
Taylor nodded. Another note. Interview pool hall employees and clientele. ‘Just a few more questions and I’ll be out of your hair.’
‘Sure.’ Lydia stared at the tabletop, massaged her temples slowly with the tips of her fingers.
‘I’d like to ask you about the piles of boxes. If you aren’t moving house, what’s in them?’
‘Photos of me and Cameron from happier times. Our wedding, honeymoon, holidays. I was going to give them to him. I didn’t want them around here, reminding me of how good we used to have it.’ Lydia stood unexpectedly. ‘Just a minute, I’ll make us a cup of tea.’
‘Seriously.’ Taylor shook her head. ‘No need.’
Lydia gave a dismissive wave as she waddled to the kitchen, flicked on the kettle and dropped tea bags in chunky white mugs. ‘How do you take it?’
‘Milk, two sugars.’ Taylor quickly texted Jack to stay away, she’d established a good rapport with the estranged widow Snyder and he’d only spoil it. A minute later came the curt reply. OK. I trust you. Be there in an hour.
‘Now, where were we?’ Taylor forced a feeble grin as Lydia placed a mug before her, the contents sloshing about.
‘Discussing your relationship with Cameron.’ No point delaying the inevitable. ‘You’re not going to like this question, but I’m obliged to ask. Were you having a sexual relationship with Mr Snyder even though you’d separated?’
Lydia drew her head back, her lips dipped at the corners. ‘Excuse me?’
‘One of Cameron’s neighbours told us you’d occasionally visit the deceased for an hour or more at a time. I can only make assumptions until you put me right. Were you sleeping together?’
The woman cradled her head in her hands, the sleeves of her dressing gown slid down revealing thin, white wrists patterned with heavy blue veins. Like fragile, bone china porcelain. Taylor realised now how emaciated the woman was, a couple kilos shy of anorexic.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Why?’
‘Why? Because I still loved him despite everything, that’s why!’
‘Did you sleep with him at his residence on or around Monday night, March 4th, the day he was murdered?’
Bewilderment clouded Lydia Snyder’s face as she picked at a loose thread of the chequered tablecloth. ‘No. He was supposed to be in Cairns that night, checking out some faulty vending machines at Chalkies. I don’t understand any of this.’
‘There’s something I have to tell you, Lydia. Something you’re not going to like.’
‘What?’
Taylor hesitated.
‘What!’ Lydia bellowed, thumping the table with her bony fist. ‘What else could be worse than the love of my life being murdered, huh? Tell me that, smart-arse detective?’
For an instant, Taylor regretted taking this line of questioning. Lydia was already on the ropes. But no, there was a murder to solve. Her feelings were secondary, as Jack would have insisted.
‘Forensics officers found a recently used condom in a waste basket in Cameron’s bedroom.’
‘What the hell?’ Lydia palmed her forehead. ‘Impossible!’
‘So I take it you’re saying that was not the result of an encounter between you and Cameron?’
‘Oh my God! Oh my God! This can’t be true.’
‘Were you of the belief that you were a separated couple in a monogamous sexual relationship? Forgive me for saying, but that comes across as rather naïve.’ Bloody hell, Taylor was sounding as callous as Jack right now.
‘We were getting things back on track, how could he do this to me?’
‘But you were about to take the boxes of photos back to him. I don’t understand.’
A light switched on behind the red eyes. ‘It’s not your fucking job to understand, is it? It’s your job to find out who killed Cameron. Our relationship was…complicated. We needed each other, but we also needed our own space. Him more than me, but I got it. We loved each other, and no one can tell me otherwise.’ She pushed off against a table, shuffled to the kitchen sink and stared out the window. She continued to speak with her back to Taylor. ‘You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone planted a condom in Cameron’s house to make him look bad in my eyes.’
An odd theory, Taylor thought. Why do that and then kill the man? Unless…they were two separate acts? But no. The likeliest scenario was that Camero
n Snyder had sex with another person, most likely candidate at this point – Renee van der Klopp. She left and the killer paid their fatal visit later in the night. Time to disabuse the poor woman.
‘It’s a used condom, Lydia. There’s semen in it. In a wastebasket in Cameron’s bedroom. We’re yet to confirm who was wearing it and who else was involved. Look, I’m sure you’re telling the truth, but for our records, and to eliminate you as a suspect, would you consent to us taking a DNA sample from you?’
A drawer opened, cigarettes emerged and Lydia Snyder was soon surrounded by a cloud of menthol smoke. She popped open the window and blew the fumes outside. Half came back in, made their way up Taylor’s twitching nose, but the DC said nothing.
‘Yeah, of course. My fingerprints are on record from a misspent youth in Sydney, so you may as well have my DNA too. I’ve got nothing to hide.’ To prove it, Lydia Snyder spent the next fifteen minutes opening up about Cameron Snyder’s ambitions, other figures who were prominent in his personal and business lives, the child they lost to a rare disease, Snyder’s unbridled patriotism that got confused with right-wing sympathies. That explains the Reddit photo. The information poured out like water from a burst dam. Taylor was glad she’d taken a course in Pitman shorthand, for those occasions when a witness might be less candid if they knew they were being voice recorded.
As she stashed the jotter away, Taylor noted Lydia’s mood had shifted seismically since the interview commenced. The woman was now completely calm. She returned to the table and took a seat. Her eyes were much clearer. Perhaps the diazepam was taking effect. ‘Thanks for your time, Ms Snyder. We’ll be seeing you down at the station for those swabs, yeah?’
‘I’ll be there later this afternoon.’
A knock on the door. Jack. Like clockwork, exactly one hour after his text.
Jack raised his middle finger to a driver who cut him off at the Oliphant Street roundabout, pushed the button to lower the window and stuck his head out into the balmy 28 degree air. ‘Fuck you!’ He roared before calmly lowering the window. ‘Sorry, Claudia, but did you see that arsehole? I’m sure he was looking at the mobile phone in his lap. Lucky for him I’m in a hurry to catch a killer and then a plane.’ He tugged his seatbelt, looked left, indicated and exited the roundabout. ‘So, what was the upshot of your wee chat with the bereaved.’
‘First and foremost, she claims she didn’t have sex with Snyder the night he died.’
‘I’ll bet London to a brick Proctor’s chemistry set points us towards Renee.’
‘You know this could be completely separate from the murder, don’t you, Jack? I’m keen to check out this business rival, Randall…
‘Sowell.’ Jack finished the sentence. ‘I got the same tip from Harry Sheffield. Which sets my Spidey senses atingle.’
‘Why?’
‘Two persons of interest immediately finger the corporate enemy. Convenient.’
‘Or it’s simply the truth, Jack.’ She relayed to Jack a summary of Lydia’s tempestuous relationship with Cameron Snyder.
‘The bit about the daughter who died. Did she say what the disease was?’
Taylor frowned. ‘Huntington’s. I’ve never heard of it.’
‘Me either. Must be one of those rare ones.’
Jack pulled up at a chain-brand coffee shop, slipped the car into park. Taylor was left unsatisfied after Lydia’s weak tea and readily agreed to the stop. The detectives placed their order, secured a seat by the window and watched the good citizens of Yorkville streaming past on their daily lives.
‘I wonder how Wilson’s getting along with the accountant,’ Taylor mused as a waiter brought their drinks to the table. ‘To be honest, I’m surprised you entrusted him with the task.’
‘Time’s of the essence.’ Jack tapped the face of his watch. ‘Besides, he’s one of those types who can see patterns in numbers. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was “on the spectrum”, as they say.’
‘I’m sure that would’ve been picked up in the recruitment process,’ said Taylor dismissively. ‘But you’re right. He’s up to the task. Even with sleep deprivation.’
‘Be fair, Claudia. I let him lie in until midday.’ Jack slurped a cappuccino from a dark black-and-gold cup, gnawed on an almond biscotti.
‘Let’s hope he can find something useful. You think the secret lies in his business dealings?’
‘My preferred option is it’s a crime committed on the domestic front and Proctor can find the key among the physical evidence. It’ll save us valuable time.’ And when he said us, he meant him. ‘I’m also keen to know what Hook was about to divulge before he keeled over on me last night.’
‘I’m not sure you’ll be speaking to him until you get back from the UK. If we solve the case before then, that is.’
‘Oi! Your lack of confidence is unbecoming, DC Taylor. We will solve this case.’ Taylor held up a laminated menu to shield herself from crumbs that flew from Jack’s lips.
‘Watch where you’re spraying, will you!’
‘Sorry. Anyway, I’ve got the latest update on Jabba’s health. I rang Cairns this morning and was fortunate enough to speak to Constable Tinsdale.’
‘The one Hook was bullying?’
‘The very same. She passed on the news the Assistant Commissioner will require triple bypass surgery as a matter of urgency. And you know, there wasn’t a trace of empathy in her voice.’
‘Shit! When can we speak to him?’
‘Apparently he’s still sedated and not allowed to receive visitors. Word is he’ll be released tomorrow. His wife Juanita will have to tend to the slob until he’s lost enough weight to undergo the procedure.’
‘Poor woman.’
‘You got that right.’
They finished their coffees, paid the bill minus the traditional coppers’ 10 percent discount, set sail for the office of Randall Sowell’s company, FarQ2 Enterprises.
Chapter 13
As he sat in the accountant’s pine-lined office, Constable Ben Wilson sensed his head nodding forward. He blinked, took a deep breath, rubbed his face hard with the palm of his hand. Sitting in the patrol car all night with only the radio for company, adrenaline pumping thanks to DS Lisbon’s talk of terrorists, had depleted nearly all of his energy reserves. By 7:30am, when the forensics team arrived at the crime scene to conduct a second sweep of the house, all he wanted to do was sleep. He’d managed a couple hours of restless shuteye at home before DS Lisbon called on him to double-up with another shift. Eager to help crack the case, Wilson purchased a sixpack of highly caffeinated energy drinks and a bag of sugar-coated cinnamon donuts, headed to the station, grabbed a police car and set off to interview the accountant.
As he waited for Mr Yosef Soplyak to end a phone call, speaking in an accent thicker than mangrove mud, Wilson recalled the one incident that had added a modicum of interest to his lonely vigil. With eyelids drooping, at 02:47 Wilson was jerked into focus by the appearance of a dark, late-model sedan. It had crept into Rogers Close, high beams dazzling on approach, and jolted Wilson into full wakefulness. The vehicle slowed to a crawl as it glided by the murder victim’s residence. Perhaps the driver clocked the police tape draped across the front door, maybe they had a change of heart about stopping for a closer inspection, or perhaps they were looking for another address and realised they’d turned up a dead end. Wilson had ducked low to avoid being seen as the car completed the circle at the end of the cul-de-sac and continued on its way, destination unknown. It happened so quickly and unexpectedly, he’d been unable to ascertain the licence plates or anything else that may have helped identify the car. The patrol car was equipped with automatic number-plate recognition, which uses infrared to capture images day or night. Only problem, Wilson forgot about using it until after the car was gone. The driver was nothing but a silhouette. There may have been a passenger, Wilson couldn’t be sure. The urge was to pursue – it could’ve been the perp returning to the scene of the crime – but his job was to make
sure no one got into the house and tamper with the scene. He dialled the station, requested another patrol car head to the area, but what would it be looking for? Too vague on details. Request denied.
All of this the constable had dutifully reported to Detective Sergeant Lisbon, who first berated Wilson for letting the car go but then forgave him for sticking to the plan. Then he rewarded the constable with the job in hand. Grill the dead guy’s bean counter.
‘Sorry, that was an important call to the Australian Tax Office.’ Soplyak placed the telephone back in its cradle. He stood, reached across the table and shook hands with the police officer. Wilson pegged the accountant to be in his late fifties to mid-sixties. Clipped beard, sparkly green eyes, professional bearing. ‘I’m at your service.’
‘I’d like you to tell me everything you can about Cameron Snyder.’
‘On what grounds? Do you have a warrant?’
Wilson shook his head. ‘I’m not asking for documents – at this point. And you’re under no obligation to divulge anything. But I would urge you to co-operate.’
‘I am still in shock at the news, to be honest.’ Soplyak tut-tutted, pressed his lips together and gave a slight shake of the head. ‘I’m not even sure where things stand with his affairs now he’s…dead.’ A hand pushed back a twist of curly hair that flopped over a pale brow. ‘That is a matter for his lawyer, I imagine.’
‘I’ll tell you where things stand.’ The constable channelled his inner Jack Lisbon. Must have been the Red Bull working its magic. ‘We’ve got a well-known pool hall owner who was, until his death, on the radar of Australia’s top security agencies. With the CHOGM meeting coming up soon, this matter needs to be resolved quickly.’
Arms folded across a medium-sized chest. In fact, Wilson thought everything about Soplyak could be described as average. His own build and appearance, even the equipment and furnishings of his workspace, were as ordinary as white bread. The one stand-out was a bulbous nose that seemed to be constantly sniffing the air. ‘I see. That puts a different light on things.’
Trick Shot: an absolutely gripping mystery and suspense thriller (The Fighting Detective Book 3) Page 9
