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

by Blair Denholm

  ‘Wow, you really seem to piss everyone off, Mr Sowell.’ said Taylor. ‘Or can I can you Randall?’

  ‘You can call me Randy,’ Sowell leered at Taylor and gave a rapid wink.

  Jack’s fist came crashing down on the table, rattling the glasses and ice cubes. ‘And now you’ve pissed me off!’ He reached out, twisted the collar of Sowell’s crisp, white shirt and dragged him halfway across the table, sending glasses and cola spilling onto the floor. A loud crack sounded as knuckles made “incidental” contact with the interviewee’s jaw.

  ‘Ease up!’ Taylor cried. ‘No need to get offended on my behalf.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Jack, shoving Sowell by the shoulders back into his seat. ‘Now, just answer my questions without any lip, OK?’

  Sowell nodded obediently, rubbing the side of his face.

  ‘Can anyone confirm your whereabouts on the night of the murder?’

  ‘Yes. My mother.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ said Taylor. ‘Does she live with you? If so, you’ll have to prove she was awake between 22:00 and midnight.’

  ‘No I don’t.’

  ‘Don’t be cheeky,’ said Jack. He was itching to land a punch square in the middle of Sowell’s pasty mug.

  ‘My mother lives in Perth. We had a Skype chat that ended, lemme check my calendar.’ Sowell pulled out his phone, pressed a few buttons. ‘That’s right. It was 10:30pm here, so it must’ve been 8:30pm there. Not too late for an old woman to be up, you’ll agree.’

  ‘You keep records of phone conversations with your mother?’ Jack asked incredulously. It was almost as if he’d set out to give himself an alibi.

  ‘As it happens, she’s in a care facility, doesn’t have a lot of time left.’ His voice trailed off, barely audible.

  ‘Sorry, I missed that,’ said Taylor.

  ‘She’s fucking dying, all right! That’s why the calls are in my diary. They’re scheduled by the home she’s staying at, not me.’

  Jack almost felt bad about roughing up the man. But not quite. He side-eyed Sheffield, who wore a slightly remorseful expression. A terminal mother, enough to evoke sympathy for even the biggest of arseholes. He could still be capable of murder though. ‘That doesn’t account for the time until midnight. I calculate a maximum half-hour drive from your house…yes, we looked up your address…to Snyder’s residence. That gives you a window of one hour or so to enter the house and murder your worst enemy.’

  ‘That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?’ Sowell laid his iPhone faceup on the table. ‘Please, you can see here I was in a teleconference with a partner of mine who’s currently in South Africa. I know it’s only a diary entry, but I’m happy to hand over my laptop on which the call was made.’ He pocketed the mobile and smiled.

  Jack couldn’t decide if the man was telling the truth. His alibi could very well check out, but his behaviour here with bodyguards in tow suggested he was the type of snake who’d order a hit rather than carry it out. ‘I’m going to take you up on that offer.’

  ‘No problem. We can go back to my office now and fetch the computer.’

  ‘Excellent. Plus we’d like DNA swab and fingerprints. You prepared to head down to the station later this afternoon?’

  ‘Of course.’ Sowell made a quick call, cancelled a meeting with someone called Deepak. ‘Let’s go then, officers.’

  ‘I thought you only wanted physical samples and a look at my devices? I’ve handed everything over, cooperated in full. Now you’ve dragged me in here. This is an outrage!’ Sowell’s china-blue eyes darted about the walls inside Interview Room No. 1. ‘I demand to call my lawyer.’

  ‘And so you shall. But not yet.’

  ‘Why the fuck not?’

  Jack tapped the side of his nose. ‘CHOGM.’

  Genuine surprise elevated Sowell’s eyebrows. ‘What the fuck’s that?’

  ‘I’ll tell you, as long as you promise to stop swearing. My partner is watching and listening behind that pane of glass there. So behave yourself, Randy.’ Inspector Batista was there too.

  ‘Sure.’ Arms folded defiantly across his chest. Jack had to admit, Sowell was the best dressed person he’d ever had in the interview room, not counting his on-again-off-again girlfriend lawyer Denise Hutchinson, who always scrubbed up a treat. But a nice suit wasn’t going to be enough to save Sowell’s sorry arse.

  ‘I’ll explain to you what CHOGM is and why it’s important.’ Jack embarked on a theatrical monologue about visiting dignitaries, threats of assassination, mayhem on the streets, bombings, linked it all with Cameron Snyder’s supposed implication in matters of national security. ‘So you see, Randy.’ Jack smiled and Sowell winced each time the DS used the epithet. ‘You, my friend, are also under the eye of our agencies.’

  ‘Give me my phone back. I want my lawyer.’

  ‘Not yet, mate. I’ve got special powers when security’s at stake.’

  ‘Bullshit. Under what Act?’

  ‘The Special Security and Terrorism Act, 2006, gives me the power to restrict your right to a lawyer for a period determined by me at my discretion.’ Total bollocks, but it sounded legit.

  ‘You know I’m going to report you for assaulting me back at Trick Shot, don’t you?’

  ‘An empty and stupid threat, sunshine. Your word against mine, DC Taylor’s and Harry Sheffield’s. No, son, it’s you who should be worried.’

  Sowell massaged his temples, stared at the table, muttered under his breath.

  ‘Let’s assume for a moment you had nothing to do with the murder of Cameron Snyder, shall we?’ Jack continued.

  ‘Why assume? I did have nothing to do with it, for fuck’s sake.’

  Jack had quietly walked behind Sowell, still fixated on the tabletop. The DS yanked the back of the steel chair, Sowell stumbled to the hard floor, banging his head on the table legs on the way down. Taylor would be fuming behind the glass, but Jack couldn’t care less. Time was ticking, he only had two and a bit days to figure this out. Missing out on being reunited with Skye at the end of the week was not an option. He half expected Batista to come barging through the door, but the Inspector had promised some extra leeway. As long as Jack didn’t strike the man or draw blood, the boss would leave him undisturbed.

  ‘Hey, what did you do that for?’ Sowell whimpered.

  ‘You promised not to swear, sunshine. Then you went back on your word. Doesn’t engender respect or trust, know what I mean? Now, sit still, look at me when I’m talking to you, and keep the language clean. Got me?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sowell was defeated. Without his goons to hide behind, he was weak.

  ‘Let’s play pretend for a moment. I’m a crown prosecutor, looking to nail your backside to the wall. You’ve got…’ Jack counted off on his fingers, ‘…a long-standing feud with the deceased, one that goes back to college days, at least three independent people pointing at you as the most likely suspect. Finally, we discover you running your envious eyes over Trick Shot not two days after the owner is killed in his own home, from what we can surmise by someone he knew well enough to let inside. How would you respond to those accusations?’

  ‘They’re nonsense. Once you’ve got the results back from my swabs and devices, you’ll see everything I’ve said is the truth.’ He wriggled uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I agree, it may appear a bit…ghoulish…checking out the pool hall so soon after Cameron’s death.’

  ‘That’s an understatement. It’s disgusting.’

  ‘Perhaps. But not illegal.’ Bravado was creeping back into Sowell’s demeanour. ‘Check my record. I’m clean as a whistle.’

  That much was true. Jack was starting to get that gut-wrenching feeling he was barking up the wrong tree. Sowell was a slimeball, but that didn’t make him a killer.

  Jack spun a chair around, sat on it backwards, smiled politely. ‘OK, Randy. Let’s imagine I believe you. You’ve known Cameron for years. Who do you think might have had it in for him?’

  ‘I can rattle two names
off the top of my head. Keith Lynch and Tommy Thomson.’

  Those names meant nothing to Jack. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Lynch is small time dope dealer.’

  ‘I know all the suppliers in Yorkville. Never heard of him.’

  ‘That’s because he deals out of Mareeba.’ A town nearly 100km inland from Yorkville, Mareeba came under the jurisdiction of Cairns Police. ‘He hangs out at the Cane Cutters’ Arms Hotel with a bunch of other low-lifes.’

  ‘Why do you know so much about him?’

  ‘He used to work for me, but I found out he was a coke-head redirecting company funds into his own account. I fired him because I don’t like users and thieves on the payroll.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Rumour on the streets is Snyder owed Lynch. Cameron had tapped out all his official lenders, so he borrowed off another guy.’

  ‘Lemme guess. Tommy Thomson.

  ‘Correct. A slimebucket of the first order, lives in Cairns.’ Sowell grinned with self-satisfaction, leaned back in his seat. ‘So you’ve got two crims owed money by the same guy. Maybe they teamed up to off Snyder.’

  ‘Anything else you’d like to tell me?’ Jack almost regretted asking. He needed the list of suspects to get smaller, not bigger.

  ‘Yeah. Look on the other side of the family tree.’

  ‘Explain.’ The regret intensified.

  ‘Lydia’s mob. She’s got a brother in Cairns, Trent Gillmeister. A physical education teacher if memory serves me correctly. He was very protective of little sis when they were teenagers.’

  ‘Protective and murderous aren’t exactly the same.’

  ‘You must know there were some domestic violence issues back in Brisbane.’

  ‘The DVO was withdrawn. It’s ancient history.’

  Sowell shrugged. ‘Yeah, I know. I’m just giving you another lead you might like to chase up.’

  ‘Any evidence Lydia played around on Cameron? Maybe there was a boyfriend who wanted Lydia all to himself.’ It was a long shot. From what Taylor said, the woman was devoted to Snyder, in her own unique way.

  ‘Wouldn’t have a clue. She was pretty unstable mentally. Probably still is. From what I knew of them as a couple, she loved him and vice versa. But look at how they split, the relationship couldn’t handle the turbulence.’

  ‘What about you? How’s your marriage? Happy wife, happy life?’

  ‘You need to do your homework better, Detective Lisbon. I’m a single gay man without a care in the world. I tried marriage, to a woman, turned out it wasn’t for me.’ Sowell wore a grin like a split pumpkin. ‘My focus these days is on growing my business, not breaking hearts.’

  Jack had done his homework. More precisely, Taylor had. And what Sowell said stacked up. He’d shunned settling down in a relationship, preferring to indulge his whims. Fancy cars, boats, jet skis, the man had more toys than Santa’s workshop.

  ‘What do you know about the Wild Colonial Boys?’

  ‘Not much. I can already anticipate your next question. Yes, Snyder’s pool halls are decked out in all that patriotic Aussie shit, but I don’t believe Cameron had any involvement with radical politics. The guy who managed Trick Shot before Sheffield was a WCB member, and when Cameron found out he got rid of the bloke. The dude left in a huff, pissed off back to Melbourne.’

  ‘Maybe he bore a grudge, came back to kill Snyder?’

  Sowell shook his head. ‘I doubt it. Check it out if you like, but I reckon you’d be wasting your time. Believe it or not, I want this matter cleared up as quickly as you do. People murdering businessmen in my home town makes me nervous. Why do you think I have those two body guards around me? I only hired them yesterday.’

  ‘OK, Mr Sowell. You’re free to go.’

  As Sowell sauntered out of the interview room, escorted by Constable Smith, Jack rang Wilson. ‘Thanks for that emailed report from your visit to the accountant. Very useful.’

  ‘You’re welcome, sir.’ Wilson sounded chuffed. Rightly so, Jack was spare with his praise.

  ‘You talked to the lawyer yet?’

  ‘No, sir. There’s been a hold up. He’s only just arrived back at his office.’

  ‘Shit. Don’t waste too much time with him. Make sure you get a look at the will’s beneficiaries.’

  ‘What if he refuses?’

  ‘Ring me and I’ll have a word.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Jack ended the call, smiled awkwardly at Taylor and the Inspector as they entered the interview room. ‘That went OK, don’t you think?’

  Batista’s lips formed a tight line. ‘Not so sure about the pulling-out-the-chair prank, though.’

  ‘Come on, sir. No damage done. He won’t say boo about it.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  Taylor flipped open a notepad. ‘I made some very quick enquiries about all the people Sowell named. Want my opinion on how to tackle that?’

  ‘Sure.’ A frisson ran down his spine as Taylor took the reins. What the hell was that about?

  ‘Don’t bother driving to Mareeba to talk to Keith Lynch. He fronted Cairns Court late January and copped six months jail for dealing coke. Turns out he was using more of the product than he was selling. A quick read of the case notes tells me he’s a minnow among minnows. No friends and stone broke. Hired a pro bono lawyer from Legal Aid.’

  ‘Thomson?’

  ‘Another kettle of fish. Very dangerous, a long list of priors, quick to resort to violence. He’s served a combined six years for GBH and extortion. Yet he’s somehow managed to keep his nose clean since 2015.’

  ‘Where can we find the charming Tommy Thomson?’

  ‘He was based in Cairns, as Sowell said. But he’s recently reported to his parole officer that he’s moved to Yorkville.’

  ‘Saves us a long drive.’ Jack managed half a smile.

  ‘Maybe even a short one.’ Taylor tucked her notepad into her handbag. ‘He’s working as a grease monkey at the Subaru repair shop in Fulton Street. One block away from here.’

  Chapter 16

  The sleek office of solicitor Garfield Walters was as modern as accountant Soplyak’s had been old hat. Wilson could feel electrons buzzing around him from the myriad of computers, printers and God knew what other gadgets that were running. Or perhaps it was elevated caffeine levels induced by several litres of Red Bull. The Constable had read in New Scientist magazine that sleep deprivation can cause a temporary high. Perhaps that was what he was experiencing right now. He prayed he’d still have enough focus to get the information DS Lisbon had asked for.

  ‘Thanks for taking the time to see me, Mr Walters.’ Wilson sensed his face spasming as he stifled a yawn.

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ said the lawyer, waving the matter away. ‘This is a horrible, horrible thing to happen. I’ll cooperate in any way I can to help the police find the killers.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ No time to waste on pleasantries. ‘I’d like to see a copy of the will, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Except that.’ The lawyer rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. ‘Confidentiality considerations.’

  Wilson held up a finger. Exactly what he didn’t want. ‘Just one second while I call my–’

  ‘Only joking.’ A fleeting pink smile emerged from behind a luxuriant russet moustache. His mien immediately returned to serious. ‘The poor man’s dead, murdered most violently from what I heard on the news. I quite liked Cameron and I want to see the culprit caught. Confidentiality be buggered.’

  Walters left his desk, returned with a thin plastic folder. He opened it and proceeded to mark bands across selected parts of text with a bright yellow highlighter pen. He slapped the cap back on the pen with a flourish and turned the will around for Wilson to read. ‘Here, I’ve highlighted the beneficiaries and the percentage of Cameron’s estate they can expect to receive.’

  The person to gain the most was Lydia, with 80%, followed by a charity dedicated to researching Huntingt
on’s disease getting 10%, and the remaining 10% going to Lydia’s brother, Trent Gillmeister. ‘Rather surprising to see the widow’s brother listed here,’ said Wilson, forefinger resting on the page. ‘And this annotation. A small token by way of an apology.’ Wilson’s droopy eyes looked up at the solicitor. ‘An apology for what?’

  ‘No idea. I’ve never met the brother. Just Lydia five years ago. A lovely woman. At least she was back then. Such a shame the marriage broke up.’

  ‘You think the breakup could have anything to do with the murder?’

  Walters narrowed his eyes, scratched an earlobe. ‘I’d be the last person qualified to offer a theory on that. My dealings with Mr Snyder were not particularly frequent. Middle of last year was the last time, when I made that slight change to the will by adding Trent.’

  ‘A pity none of the beneficiaries will receive anything.’ Wilson handed the will back to Walters.

  ‘Excuse me?’ The lawyer looked genuinely surprised. ‘I’m not aware of anyone filing an injunction against the estate. Do you know something I don’t?’

  ‘No, it’s nothing like that. I mean there’s nothing left in the war chest.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The accountant showed me the books. Well, he handed me three whacking great boxes full of papers. The upshot is, the man died almost broke, with liabilities far exceeding his assets. Big creditors will get first pick of the crumbs.’

  ‘How interesting. I had no idea he was in such bad financial shape.’

  ‘Looks like Lydia’s not going to be moving into that nice house in Rogers Close.’

  Walters adjusted his glasses. ‘No, but I reckon she’s going to be OK. At least for the foreseeable future.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ From what Wilson knew, the woman was unemployed with no prospects other than a miserable life on welfare.

  ‘There’s a special trust fund set up for Cameron and Lydia. It’s got a healthy balance of $250,000. I won’t bore you with the details, but it was established by a check I received from someone three years ago. It’s also structured in such a clever way that creditors will not be able to touch the funds in the trust. Safer than Fort Knox. Another condition of the trust is that neither beneficiary shall be made aware of the founder’s identity until that person passes away.’