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

by Blair Denholm

  ‘Really?’ said Trevarthen. ‘Looks like you’re flat out with work.’

  ‘Yeah, well. Tommy tends to set his own rules. He’s got a bit of a temper on him.’

  The constables exchanged a look. ‘Really?’ said Semmens. ‘Then why’d you take him on?’

  ‘Because he’s a shit-hot auto electrician. He can fix any problem with alternators and batteries. The bloke’s the best, so I don’t care if he needs an extra smoke break.’

  ‘You didn’t get any financial incentives for hiring a man on parole, did you?’ said Semmens, looking back at the cell phone.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The government’s started this new program of offering wage subsidies for taking on ex-offenders. Sure you’re not taking advantage of that?’

  ‘OK, maybe that does help a bit with the cashflow. But he’s still an excellent worker. You know, officers, you should bring your police vehicles to me. I’m a huge fan of those Kia Stinger pursuit vehicles. I can offer a 10-percent–’

  ‘Look, Mr Bacardi…’ said Trevarthen.

  ‘That’s Campari.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry. We’re getting way off track and we don’t have all day.’ Trevarthen pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Reckon you could fetch Mr Thomson so we can have a chat with him?’

  Campari despatched a lanky youth in overalls two sizes too big to get Thomson. A minute later a human beast, standing at least 6’3” and sporting a shaved head, cauliflower ears and abundant blue and green neck ink, emerged through the plastic strip door at the end of the garage. Oddly, his overalls were so clean it looked like he’d just taken them out of the packaging. The errand boy trotted behind obediently, at a safe distance. The cops exchanged an anxious look. Yes, they were armed with Glocks, but Thomson looked like he could chew up both weapons until they were the consistency of porridge. The closer he got, the more frightening he became.

  ‘You do the talking,’ Semmens whispered, his fingers twitching. Logically, the man wouldn’t take on two armed policemen, both of them big men by any standards. Yet Thomson’s mere presence set pulses and hearts racing, and not in a good way.

  ‘OK,’ Trevarthen whispered back.

  ‘Wadda you dickheads want?’ The beast snarled. ‘You better not be wasting my time.’

  ‘We’re just here to clarify a couple of things. How about we sit down somewhere?’

  ‘How about we don’t.’ Technically it was a question, but the intonation said statement. ‘I gotta get back to that Volvo over there.’ Thomson pointed at a Holden Commodore. Trevarthen’s eyebrow jumped as he realised the man was here for the easy pay check and a tick on his record, not his expertise when it came to automobiles.

  ‘Righto. I’ll keep it brief.’ Trevarthen explained the content of the texts found by digital forensics.

  ‘Youse have no right accessin’ my phone!’ Thomson’s lip curl was on a par with Billy Idol’s. ‘Not wiv’out my permission.’

  Semmens pointed out there were two sides to the conversation, and they only needed to access Snyder’s records to also see what Thomson himself had contributed.

  ‘Still shoulda consulted me about it.’

  Trevarthen struggled to hide his exasperation. ‘How can we do that beforehand if we don’t know who Snyder’s been in communication with until we look into his–’

  ‘You’re not hearin’ me, boys. I don’t care!’

  Thomson jabbed his finger to within a millimetre of Trevarthen’s name badge. His breath stank of cheap stale tobacco and something rotten, like there was old meat stuck and decomposing between his uneven yellow teeth. The temptation was strong to cuff the unpleasant man, but even with Semmens on hand it would be a tough job to subdue Thomson. Besides, Thomson had technically done nothing wrong other than be an obtuse prick. ‘Please put your hand down.’ Trevarthen could hear the quavering of his own voice. ‘We’re all civilised here, right?’

  ‘Course we are.’ Thomson plucked a match from his pocket and started chewing it. ‘It’s still an invasion of my privacy, no matter what path you took to get there. Now, get to the fucken point. What do you want from me?’

  ‘Where were you on Monday night gone?’

  ‘With me mum.’

  ‘Can she verify that?’

  ‘Yeah. And so can the other fifty people who were there.’

  ‘What? At you mum’s place?’

  ‘I never said that. I was helping her out at the Bingo hall. She has trouble keepin’ up with the caller and marking the numbers on her card,’ Thomson sniffed.

  ‘When did the Bingo finish?’

  ‘Hmm. I’d say about 9:30pm. I took mum home and stayed the night at hers.’

  ‘Cameron Snyder was killed between 10:00pm and midnight. With all due respect, you could have tucked your mum into bed with a warm cocoa, dashed over to Snyder’s and murdered him, then returned to your mum’s house before–’

  ‘Leave my mother out of it!’ The brute bellowed. Both officers recoiled half a step. ‘You blokes are off yer fucking rockers, ya know that? Cameron Snyder, God grant him eternal rest,’ Thomson made the sign of the cross, eyes closed, ‘owed me $450. Do you really think I’d go to the trouble of killing a bloke for that pissy little amount?’

  ‘Others have killed men for less.’

  ‘I’ve never killed no one. Not even when people owed me thousands. You think I’m stupid?’

  ‘We have to ask these questions.’ Trevarthen couldn’t look Thomson in the eyes, which seemed to be darting independently of one another.

  ‘Yeah, doing your job ’n that. I’ve heard it a million times from pissant coppers like you pair of losers.’

  Trevarthen felt his core body temperature inching upwards. Instinct told him Thomson had zero to do with the murder, but the constable wouldn’t let him off that easy, even if his voice was quavering. ‘We’ll be double-checking your alibis with all the relevant people, including your mother. If there’s even the slightest discrepancy, we’ll be back with a warrant and arrest you for obstructing the course of justice.’

  Thomson’s fingers trembled before forming a pair of hard-boned fists the size of house bricks. ‘How about you fuckwits take a hike before I lose my shit and start massaging you with that tyre lever over there.’

  ‘We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions,’ said Trevarthen handing Thomson a business card. As he did so, he imagined how much differently DS Lisbon would have handled this arsehole. Thomson would’ve been on the ground moaning before he could blink. ‘I’m thinking of having a word with your parole officer about your impolite behaviour.’ The officers turned and headed for the roller door. ‘You’ll be back behind bars before the day’s out.’

  Thomson tore up the card, laughing as he watched the little white pieces flutter to the floor. ‘Please, do tell him,’ he called to the officers’ retreating backs. ‘That pussy’s even more scared of me than you two wankers.’

  Chapter 19

  ‘We’re a little underprepared on Gillmeister. We need good background material.’ Jack ran a hand through his close-cropped hair as he and Taylor waited at the MacDonald’s drive-through counter. He surreptitiously checked the new ‘do in the mirror. After a series of dud barbers in Yorkville hellbent on giving everyone a hipster cut, Jack had finally found one who could style his hair short enough without making him look like a neo-Nazi. ‘I’ve got a feeling about this guy.’

  ‘Like you had about Randall Sowell?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jack took the coffees and fries from a too-happy teen in a headset, arranged them in the console already overcrowded with detritus of on-the-go snacks. ‘Just like him.’ Why did she have to be such a smart-arse all the time?

  ‘I’m just bringing the details up now on the school’s website,’ said Taylor. ‘Here we are. Teaching staff list. Trent Gillmeister, physical education teacher. An email address and a small passport style photograph. That’s all.’ Taylor turned the tablet to show Jack the man’s profile photo: genial face atop a coll
ar and tie, gap-toothed smile and a thatch of curly blonde hair.

  ‘Looks a nice enough bloke,’ said Jack as he buckled his seat belt. ‘Although I knew a baby-faced killer like him back in the UK. Check out the eyes. Too close together.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘What else can you find on him?’

  She scrolled, typed something into a search engine, pressed a combination of on-screen buttons. ‘Plenty. He used to be a personal trainer in Sydney with his own consultancy. Lots, and I mean lots, of photos. Make a single woman weak at the knees.’

  ‘What?’ Jack failed to hide the faint jealous note in his voice. ‘Gimme a look.’ He reached for the iPad but Taylor gripped it tight, wouldn’t surrender it.

  ‘Ooh, would you look at this. Rippling muscles coated in sweat, lifting big heavy weights. What’s this move, a biceps curl?’

  ‘Show me, dammit.’

  She handed him the tablet with exaggerated care and a beaming smile. ‘Be my guest. Didn’t know you were so enamoured of the male form, DS Lisbon.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Claudia. But you’re right. He could make a certain type of woman swoon.’ Jack had to admit to himself, the handsome Trent Gillmeister looked like a model out of a glossy fitness magazine. And on closer inspection, his eyes weren’t too close together at all. Chiselled features, buff body. Granted, filters could have been used on the professional-looking shots, but you still needed the raw material to work with. One thing was for sure, the man’s face was too pretty to be a fighter. Unless he was so good no one could lay a finger on him, like Ali. Doubtful. ‘You got the phone number for the school there? I think we should make an appointment before barging in.’

  ‘That’s not your usual style, Jack, giving people advance warning of our impending arrival.’

  ‘Agreed. But Cairns is a fair drive, innit? I don’t wanna turn up at the principal’s office to find the bloke’s not there.’ As Jack stirred a sachet of brown sugar into the takeaway coffee, Taylor dialled the number of the school on the dash comms display. A woman answered on the fourth ring. Jack introduced himself and Taylor, said they were an hour away, requested Gillmeister’s mobile number.

  ‘Sorry, I’m not authorised to give staff members’ phone numbers,’ said the haughty female.

  ‘This is an urgent matter.’

  ‘You could be someone pretending to be the police, how am I to know?’

  ‘I assure you, we’re–’

  ‘Just one moment while I consult the timetable.’ A rustling sound, some coughing. ‘He’s in the middle of conducting a self-defence class for the senior girls at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?’

  ‘No. Get him to call me back when the class finishes.’ Jack left his number and disconnected. He glanced at the time on the dashboard. 2:10pm. It was a 45-minute drive to Cairns from their current location, barring road accidents and other mishaps. He turned to Taylor. ‘What time does school finish in this part of the world?’

  ‘3:00pm.’

  ‘Jesus, we’d better get a move on then. I don’t want him missing the memo and disappearing before we get there. Tell me more about Gillmeister on the way.’ Jack gulped down the remainder of his coffee and tossed the cup over his shoulder. He rammed the gear into drive, depressed the accelerator hard. The rear tyres squealed on smooth concrete as the Ford Territory exited the car park and lurched onto the highway, miraculously missing an open-mouthed elderly tourist behind the wheel of a rented camper van.

  Settled into a cruising speed at a smidgin over the speed limit, Jack received a call from Trevarthen over the two-way. ‘Thomson’s an absolute prick, sir. He’s denying involvement. Said no way he’d kill a person for such a paltry sum.’

  ‘Was he credible?’

  ‘Hard to tell. He was fucking scary, I’ll say that much. Threatened to attack us with a tyre lever! I called his mother, she backed up his alibi.’

  ‘As you’d expect.’

  ‘Yeah. Semmens and I reckon he’s worth pursuing further. He’s a loose cannon, could easily have killed Snyder for reasons other than a loan debt. Insulting his mother, for one.’

  ‘Thanks, Aden. If we get stuck with other enquiries, we’ll have another chat with Prince Charming.’

  ‘Sure. Only do you reckon you could talk to him next time?’

  ‘Come off it, man. You’re an armed policeman, working with another armed policeman.’

  ‘Yeah, but you’d be better at messing the bloke up with your fists, hey?’

  ‘Jesus, Aden. That’s not what I’m all about. Diplomacy’s more my thing.’ Jack heard Taylor chuckle, he turned and frowned at her. He instructed the constables to continue door knocking businesses around Trick Shot, and when they’d finished that, research the hell out of potential cuckolded husband Rex van der Klopp, maybe even pay him a visit at his workplace. Jack still had nagging suspicions about the couple with the odd Dutch surname.

  Fifteen minutes later and Taylor had run out of coffee. She’d also run out of information to tell Jack about Trent Gillmeister. He’d documented his life highlights on social media, but been spare, verging on silent, in his posts over the last two years. ‘That wraps up his bio, Jack. A single man focused on body image. And…shit, you nearly hit that guard rail. Will you slow down, for goodness sake?’

  ‘Calm down, Claudia. I missed it by miles.’

  ‘Right,’ she muttered, shaking her head.

  ‘Let’s back this up.’ Jack ignored his partner’s exasperation. ‘I promise I was listening hard, but I missed a bit when that semi-trailer tore past. How long did you say he’s been in the state teaching?’

  ‘One year.’

  ‘And how long’s he been up here in North Queensland?’

  ‘Three. Two years at teachers’ college on a fast-track program and then into the job in Cairns. Cameron and Lydia Snyder moved to Yorkville five years ago.’

  ‘It’s a wee bit odd, innit? Sowell said Gillmeister was super protective of his sister. If that was the case, he would’ve come sooner than that, hey? I reckon either Sowell was exaggerating about Gillmeister’s care factor or…’

  ‘Or maybe there was an incident that drew him here? Taylor finished the thought for Jack.

  ‘That’s what I’m thinking. And you said he unsuccessfully applied for a job teaching in Yorkville first, didn’t you?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘Something’s triggered the relocation. Any news yet from Kylie Smith on Lydia’s medical records?’

  ‘Be realistic, Jack.’ Taylor eyeballed the digital dash clock. ‘She would’ve only just finished up at the hospital. She’s not a magician.’

  ‘Wishful thinking, I know. I’m just anxious to get this tucked away so I can fly home to my kid.’ Jack turned in his seat, fixed Taylor with puppy dog eyes. ‘Know what I mean?’

  ‘Of course, I understand. Sometimes you have to let things take their own course, Jack. Smith will contact us the minute she’s got anything.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I know.’ The DS needed air, pressed the button to wind down his window. A cool breeze carrying the warm, sweet scents of the tropics filled the interior of the car. He fumbled in his pocket, unwrapped a stick of gum and jammed it in his mouth. They had reached the leafy suburb of Redlynch on the western fringes of Cairns. Not long now.

  ‘Take that left turn,’ said Taylor. ‘According to the GPS, St Hilda’s Catholic School for Girls is half a kay up that road.’

  The two detectives sat in a sparsely furnished anteroom. Jack wriggled, trying to find some comfort. The only decorations in the narrow space were wall-hung portraits of the stern-faced principle, Ms Ruth Havlik, and Queen Elizabeth II. Both were taken when the subjects had fewer wrinkles. The hard and unforgiving wooden benches transported Jack back to his school days in inner London. To pass the time, Jack absentmindedly flicked through a dusty St Hilda’s yearbook from the 1980s. He soon tired of looking at pictures of teenage girls sporting ridiculous perms and returned the
book to the shelf it lived on. He noticed Taylor’s face contorting as she tapped away on her iPhone.

  ‘Who’re you messaging?’

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘Come on, tell me.’

  ‘If you must know, it’s a guy I met on Tinder. He’s asked me on a second date tonight and I’m saying yes.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘What do you care?’

  ‘I don’t.’ Boy, did he care. ‘Only you were miserable as hell after that last dating fiasco.’

  Taylor lowered her eyebrows. ‘That’s my problem, not yours. Besides, he was a cop, this man isn’t. And he’s not married, I double checked this time.’

  Jack had already gone too far to turn back. ‘I don’t want you distracted while we’re working on this urgent case.’

  ‘What, I’m not allowed to have a personal life because it’s inconvenient for you?’ She swung her head back to her lap, completed the message and pocketed the mobile.

  ‘That didn’t come out the way I meant it,’ Jack mumbled. ‘I worry about you, that’s all.’

  ‘Bullshit. You need this case tidied up ASAP and if I have to put my life on hold, too bad for me. You’re a selfish prick sometimes, Jack.’

  She was right, so he said nothing further about it. Instead, he dialled Constable Kylie Smith. The call went to voicemail and he left a message to get back with Lydia Snyder’s medical information if and when she got any. He hung up, turned to Taylor and said, ‘Sorry, sunshine. You’re right. I was thinking of myself, but half of what I said was God’s honest truth. I do worry about you.’

  ‘I know,’ said Taylor softly, a pink blush spreading across her cheeks. ‘Let’s not argue, hey?’

  A loud trilling bell signalled the end of the school day.

  The fussy receptionist who’d answered the detectives’ initial phone call and greeted them on arrival opened the creaky door, ushered in Trent Gillmeister and disappeared. It was clear the use of filters in the man’s online pictures had been minimal, if they’d been used at all. In real life he was bursting with health and vitality, and no less handsome. One major difference. The neat, mid-length beard framing dazzling white teeth had been grown after he’d sat for the staff photo.