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

by Blair Denholm

  ‘Wonderful, Lydia,’ said Jack. ‘You’ve been a great help. Now if you could just let me know his home address, we’ll be on our way. Oh, and his phone number. I somehow forgot to get it from him last time we spoke.’

  Back on the highway Jack flung the Ford Territory from lane to lane, zigzagged around slow-pokes who had the temerity to observe the speed limit. He turned on the blue flashing lights and sirens and a path magically opened up down the guts of the road. Taylor squinted and chugged a draught of water from a one-litre bottle, swallowed hard. She slowly opened her eyes, turned to Jack and said, ‘How’s about I put a call through to Cairns? Let’s get a couple of uniforms over to Gillmeister’s house, see if he’s there. And if he is, make sure he doesn’t leave.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why on Earth not?’

  ‘I don’t trust Cairns CIB.’

  ‘Don’t be obtuse, Jack.’

  ‘No, I said. I want this collar. Jabba could have worded up the officers at Cairns station not to cooperate with me. He hates me now.’

  ‘That’s paranoia talking, mate.’

  ‘Maybe so. Besides the matter of Hook, I don’t want some plain-clothes dick stealing my…our…thunder.’

  Taylor huffed, put the two-way receiver back in its holder. ‘Your decision. If we arrive and he’s not there…’

  ‘Then we wait, we ask the neighbours, we track him down.’

  ‘You’ve lost the plot.’

  ‘Don’t worry. He’ll be there.’

  ‘Spidey senses again?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  They drove in an uncomfortable silence for fifteen minutes before Jack spoke. ‘I’m kind of in two minds about this arrest, Claudia.’ He adjusted the radio to pick up an alternative indie music channel. He screwed up his face when the reception crackled then gave out, switched it off.

  ‘Really? Nailing Gillmeister means you get to make your flight home.’

  ‘Yeah. But he might’ve actually done the world a favour by ridding it of Snyder, know what I mean?’

  ‘Jack. You can’t be serious! Killing someone is never justified.’

  He fixed his eyes on the Harley Davidson motorcycle in front. ‘Yes, of course. Never justified.’ Like hell it wasn’t.

  Chapter 27

  Trent Gillmeister rented a single-storied red-brick house. A soulless box, the perfect complement to all the other bland homes on the street. The front lawn needed a good mowing three weeks ago, now only slashing by a combine harvester would bring it under control. Junk mail jammed the mouth of the tin letterbox and spilled onto the pavement.

  ‘There’s the Skoda,’ Taylor pointed to her left as the patrol car crawled past the house. The Czech-designed sedan was painted a colour the manufacturer called “corrida red”. Named after the Spanish word for bullfight. Jack knew those weird details because Taylor couldn’t help herself from researching the subject on the drive to Cairns.

  Jack parked four doors down from Gillmeister’s house, a row of vehicles and trees providing a degree of cover as they prepared to take down the suspect. He glanced at his watch. 5:03pm. He turned to Taylor and said, ‘I want him in a holding cell before the sun goes down. Let’s go.’

  The detectives alighted from the vehicle, closed the doors gently. Both patted the Glock 22 service pistols concealed under their jackets and started walking. A light breeze was blowing inland from the Pacific Ocean, the sky was a blue so rich it felt like you could pluck a piece and rub it between your fingers.

  They strode without speaking, footsteps falling into cadence, like soldiers. Then a right at the driveway of 17 Purcell Drive, along a cracked concrete path, still marching in sync. At the front entrance they exchanged a quick nod and a grim smile, what Jack called the “I’ve got your back” look. He rapped on the door with the back of his knuckles.

  As agreed, Taylor called out. A female voice was less likely to arouse suspicion. Long and drawn out, a hint of pleading, like a helpless neighbour in need of assistance. Tre-e-e-ent. No answer. Jack turned the door handle. Locked. He pressed his ear to the door and heard nothing but the sound of blood pulsing inside his head.

  ‘Keep trying, I’ll go round the back,’ he said.

  A nod from Taylor and the DS took off.

  The side of the house was a tangle of weeds. Rusty corrugated iron leaned against the perimeter fence, which left a gap barely wide enough to walk along. Jack high-stepped over rotting sleepers, ever mindful of poisonous beasties lying in wait for a careless English copper. He stopped at two sets of sash windows, curtains half drawn, and peered inside. An almost empty bathroom then another room, unfurnished except for a mirror and a pair of dumbbells. At a guess there was 30kg of weight on each of those bad boys. Trent was no weakling. A dash up the other side of the house revealed three more sets of closed windows, this time with fully drawn curtains.

  He made his way to the back door. The sounds of Taylor’s insistent knocking and beseeching voice carried around the side of the building. Gillmeister should have answered the door by now. Jack was starting to think the man had flown the coop.

  Both entrances covered, Jack was now in a position to force entry into the property. He cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘Claudia! I’m going in. Stay there and stop him if he tries to escape.’

  He turned the door knob. Locked like the front door. A quick step back to build momentum was followed by a violent kick to the middle of the wooden door. It rattled slightly in the frame, but Jack realised it was unlikely to yield to more kicks. He scanned the backyard. Ten metres from the clothesline was a copper-coloured metal bowl on legs. On closer inspection, a firepit. It contained plenty of ashes but also a small, half-burnt log of wood that had somehow escaped incineration. He grabbed it, returned to the back door and hurled the log at the bevelled glass panel. It shattered into tiny pieces on impact. A dog started barking in an adjacent backyard.

  ‘Trent Gillmeister!’ Jack roared into the empty space. ‘Make your way to the back door with your hands up!’ He stuck his head in the hole and listened. Silent as the grave. A glance down. The protruding key. He leaned over, turned it clockwise and pushed the door open.

  It took less than a minute to determine Gillmeister was gone. Clothing yanked out of wardrobes in the bedroom and toiletries scattered around the bathroom floor told Jack their quarry had fled in a hurry. No laptops or other devices left lying around. What looked like his teaching timetable was scrawled on a whiteboard in the kitchen.

  A series of impatient knocks reverberated through the house. Shit, Claudia’s still out there. Taylor’s hand-on-hip stance when he opened the door was worse than a slap in the face. ‘I told you to ask Cairns CIB to secure the place. But no, Mr Wonderful can handle it all by himself.’

  ‘Leave off, Claudia. I’ve got you here with me.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Sure.’ She was right, but he felt no inclination to argue the point. ‘Listen, interrogate the neighbours, see if they know anything. I’ll call Lydia.’

  ‘Does this look like the kind of neighbourhood where people even talk to each other, let alone know each other’s business?’ They both took in the surrounding houses, shut up tight and not a soul about. ‘That’s a rhetorical question by the way. And you’ll be lucky to get any sense out of Lydia. Look at the time. She’ll have dropped another Valium or Xanax by now.’

  ‘Don’t care.’ Jack dialled the widow. He put his hand to his head, began pacing back and forth, looked up to see Taylor staring at him. ‘You still here?’ he barked. ‘Go and talk to the neighbours.’

  Taylor swore under her breath, made her way to the house to the immediate left. To Jack’s astonishment, the widow Snyder answered on the fifth ring. ‘Hello, who is it?’ Still groggy, but hopefully more coherent than two hours ago.

  ‘Hi, Lydia. Jack Lisbon here. We found your brother’s house and his car, but he’s not around.’

  ‘Have you called his mobile?’

  ‘Of c
ourse I have,’ Jack lied. Ringing him would be a last resort if they couldn’t track him by other means. An appeal to his conscience to do the right thing and hand himself in. But there was a risk Gillmeister would panic even more and disappear into the void. ‘Perhaps you could be a love and call him for me, huh? He didn’t answer when I rang. I think I might’ve said something to upset him.’

  ‘What the hell’s going on? This is all sounding very dodgy.’

  Think, Lisbon, think. ‘He’s in terrible danger. I need to get hold of him before the bad guys do. Otherwise…’

  ‘What bad guys?’

  Taylor was back, standing close by Jack’s side, arms folded across her chest and eyes ablaze.

  ‘I can’t say. But these people think Trent’s going to finger them for murdering Cameron.’

  ‘Wait, wait, wait. This makes no sense. Why has Trent told me none of this?’

  ‘Because he doesn’t want you in danger. He’s very protective of you, am I right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Jack resumed pacing, racking his brain. Taylor’s eyes popped as his act became more and more bizarre. Jack stopped walking. Bring it home, Lisbon. ‘We know Trent was watching Cameron’s house the night he was killed.’

  ‘What? No, I told you. He was here with me.’

  ‘No, Lydia. He slipped out for a while when you fell asleep. He was on a stake out. He knows who killed your ex-husband. The culprit learned Trent saw what happened and wants to silence him. Forever.’

  ‘Fuck!’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Call him now, but do not, I repeat DO NOT let him think you know anything. If you do, he’ll act erratically and be in even more danger. And so will you. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘When I hang up, call him immediately. I need to know where he is, but you mustn’t ask him directly. He might think the bad guys have got to you and he’s being lured him into a trap.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Ask him if he’s anywhere near the site of the gas leak in the city.’

  ‘What gas leak?’

  ‘There isn’t one. I’m banking on him wanting to reassure you he’s safe. He might say something like, Don’t worry, I’m at the shops or wherever he happens to be.’

  ‘Ah, I get it. You’re a sneaky one, Detective.’

  That was putting it mildly. ‘Just a bit of Psychology 101. So, will you call him now please?’

  ‘Sure. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting.’ Jack disconnected the call, pocketed the phone. He ran a hand over his face, turned to Taylor. ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Yes, to my great surprise. But that performance with Lydia, wow. That was disgraceful. The lies!’

  ‘Give me a break. What’s worse, lies or murder?’

  ‘I thought you said whoever murdered Snyder did the world a favour?’

  ‘Never mind what I said. Tell me what you found out.’

  Before she had a chance to speak, “London Calling” erupted in Jack’s pocket. He jabbed at the green button to take the call. ‘Lydia?’

  ‘Put it on loud speaker this time,’ said Taylor. ‘I wanna hear what she says.’

  Jack did as she requested, held the mobile out in his palm. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He wouldn’t tell me.’ Lydia was on the verge of tears.

  ‘What?’ Jack thundered. ‘He had to!’

  ‘No need to yell at me, Detective.’ She paused to sob and sniff. ‘I did…exactly…what…you asked, but he…refused…to say anything. He must be really scared.’ More sobs. ‘Want me to…try again…later?’

  ‘Yes. But be discreet.’

  ‘Lydia,’ said Taylor. ‘I’m listening in on the call. Is that alright with you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Trent’s neighbour Mrs Truelove said he left in a cab with a large suitcase about an hour ago. You know where he might be headed?’

  Jack’s eyes bulged. He held the phone against his thigh before Lydia could answer the question, said to Taylor, ‘Call the airport, train station and bus terminals. Give ‘em a description of our guy, ask their security to hold him till we get there. And…’ through gritted teeth ‘…call Cairns Police, tell ’em to send all the squad cars they can spare to the transport hubs.’

  ‘I thought you wanted the collar.’

  ‘I do. But it’ll be worse if he escapes, ’innit? Christ, it could already be too late.’

  ‘Jack, you can’t buy a ticket or go anywhere without handing over your ID, plus there’s cameras everywhere. He can’t get away. If he’s flown to Sydney, we’ll just ask NSW Police to grab him off the plane at the other end while we work the extradition procedures.’

  Everything Taylor said made sense. As long as the suspect was heading for a major transport link. But Gillmeister had already demonstrated he was no fool. Would he be so naïve?

  ‘Just do as I ask, then call Batista, get everyone on the phones. Ring the airlines, Queensland Rail, the bus companies. You’re right, he won’t get away, but it’ll save a shitload of mucking about if we apprehend him before he goes anywhere.’

  Taylor said, ‘Onto it,’ headed to the Territory, hopped in and closed the door behind her. Jack remembered Lydia was on the line, waiting.

  ‘I’m back,’ Jack said apologetically. ‘Where might he have gone in a taxi, leaving his car behind?’

  ‘Ah, lemme think,’ said Lydia, breathing heavily but the crying under control. ‘Maybe he’s thinking of flying back to Sydney to stay with mum for a bit. Hey, do you think he already found out the bad guys are looking for him?’

  ‘I reckon he did,’ said Jack. ‘Apart from leaving the state, is there anywhere local he might have headed to? A bush retreat or somewhere like that where he could hole up?’

  ‘He’d be useless out in the scrub. But if he was desperate. Geez, I’m so scared for him now…I…’ Sobs returned, choked off her words.

  ‘Friends, a girlfriend?’

  ‘He mentioned he’s been seeing a new woman. Name starts with B. Let me think…ah…’

  The pause dragged on too long for Jack’s liking. ‘Do you know where she lives?’

  ‘No idea. Like I said, she’s new. He’s only been dating her for about…a month. But from how he spoke about her, I reckon he was rather smitten.’

  ‘Last name?’ Jack looked over to the car, watched Taylor engage over the two-way, one hand waving about animatedly.

  ‘Sorry, no. But I’ve remembered the first name, if that’s helpful. Bronwyn. I’ve always like that name. Welsh isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, all the women in Wales are called Bronwyn. Anything else you can remember about her?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘That’s fine, Lydia. You’ve been a great help.’ Jack prayed the Cairns cops would nab Gillmeister before he departed for wherever he was headed. He terminated the call and trotted back to the car. He ripped open the passenger door and shot Taylor a look of desperate expectation. ‘Well?’

  ‘There’s only one major train out of Cairns per day and it leaves at 8:30am. Same with the bus, which goes an hour earlier at 7:30am. I can’t imagine him sleeping on a bench until tomorrow morning to get the next one. Which leaves flights. There’s plenty of them, heading in all directions, even overseas. My hunch is that’s where he’s gone.’

  ‘Great.’ Jack rubbed his forehead. ‘He could be on his way to bloody Japan!’

  ‘Unlikely. In any case, half a dozen officers have been dispatched to the airport. The Feds and airport security are also keeping any eye out for him in the international terminal.’

  ‘OK, let’s drive to the airport and see what’s occurring.’

  Taylor held up a hand. ‘I think we deserve a ten-minute break first. You think there’s any coffee in his house?’

  How did she know exactly what he wanted? ‘As it happens, there’s one of those Delonghi espresso mac
hines in the kitchen. Know how to operate one?’

  ‘How hard can it be?’

  Back inside, Taylor found two cups, figured out how the machine worked, poured two cups of steaming black coffee. Setting them on the table, she glanced up at the whiteboard, divided into days of the week, times and classes. ‘What the hell is Bron, do you reckon?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘On the board. He’s written. Mon. 14:15. Gr.10. Self def. Bron. assist. Could that be like a bronze medallion, you reckon? Like in surf lifesaving?’

  ‘Like hell. It’s Bronwyn!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I’ll tell you in the car.’

  Chapter 28

  ‘You find any Bronwyns on the school’s website?’ said Jack.

  ‘Just the one. Bronwyn Karlsson. Physical education teacher. A bit on the severe side, judging by the photo. Quite an attractive woman overall.’

  ‘I don’t care if she’s a bleedin’ super model. Where does she live?’

  Within minutes Taylor had obtained the address the simplest way possible. White pages online. She dialled the number to make sure the B. Karlsson listed was the woman they were seeking. The chirpy voice mail message confirmed it was. Hi, this is Bronwyn. Sorry I missed your call. Leave a message and I’ll call you back. Bi-yee!

  ‘You’re a marvel, Claudia. Sherlock Holmes, eat your heart out.’ Jack grinned.

  Taylor smiled back. ‘When you’ve got it, you’ve got it, I guess.’

  There was no time to savour the success of Taylor’s investigative bullseye. The two-way crackled to life. Jack snatched at the receiver.

  ‘DS Lisbon.’

  ‘Constable Smith here, sir.’

  ‘Yes, Kylie. What’ve you got?’

  ‘The Director of Yorkville General Hospital emailed me an extract from Lydia Snyder’s medical record.’

  ‘Well done, Smith,’ said Taylor. ‘How on Earth did you manage that without a warrant?’