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

by Blair Denholm

  ‘Narelle Plumpton, the Director, was very co-operative. When I mentioned there were strong suspicions Lydia had been a victim of abuse, she couldn’t dig up the details fast enough.’

  ‘What’s in the record?’

  ‘I’ve forwarded the file to both of you, and also to Batista.’

  ‘We’ve no time to read it, Smith.’ Jack failed to keep tetchiness out of his voice. ‘Summarise it please.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Lydia presented at the Outpatients Department on Australia Day, January 26, with a fractured cheek bone and bruising to the left side of her face. She claimed to have fallen against the side of a brick barbecue. She was intoxicated with a blood alcohol concentration of 0.15.’

  ‘Thanks, Smith, well done,’ said Taylor. ‘We’ll be sure to read it in more detail when we get a moment.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not finished. I also asked if it would be possible to check Cameron Snyder’s records.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He had a broken hand set in plaster the next day.’

  ‘Which means the falling-into-the-barbecue story was bullshit,’ said Jack. ‘Snyder’s fucking well hit her.’

  ‘I guess, so.’

  Jack thanked Smith for her excellent work and promised to buy her a beer after they’d apprehended Gillmeister. Smith said his arrest would leave a hollow feeling in her stomach. Especially if he got a long sentence. Snyder’s death was no tragedy.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Taylor. ‘But murdering Snyder wasn’t the way to achieve justice.’

  ‘Women are sick of waiting for justice, DC Taylor. If you ask me, Gillmeister deserves a medal.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you, Constable Smith. But I note your point of view.’

  Jack said, ‘Over and out,’ and hung up the radio handset, turned to Taylor. ‘I was sensing that wasn’t going to end well.’

  ‘No sweat. I wasn’t keen on getting into a philosophical discussion with Kylie over the rights and wrongs of taking the law into your own hands.’

  ‘Good. I’m never keen on that discussion.’ Because I have done the same as Gillmeister, but you must never know, dear Claudia.

  Updates poured in over the two-way. Police had their eyes peeled at Cairns airport. No sign of Gillmeister. He’d not booked any flights in his name, but no one could rule out attempts to travel on false identification, alterations to appearance such as losing the beard, shaving his head etc. Despite the long odds, officers were also posted at the Greyhound terminal and the city’s only train station. Again, no sign of the suspect. Jack relayed to Batista his theory Gillmeister had gone to ground at Bronwyn Karlsson’s rented property and that he and Taylor were on their way, ETA six minutes. Batista offered to contact Cairns station to secure reinforcements.

  ‘Not necessary, sir. Taylor and I can handle it.’

  ‘Overruled. Backup’s non-negotiable. You saw what he did to Snyder, didn’t you?’

  Jack was formulating a riposte when Batista did to him what he did to Smith. ‘Over and out.’

  ‘Is this it?’ Jack searched for a letter box or a street number affixed to the lowset brick wall.

  ‘Yep. GPS says it is. Looks like a half-acre block.’

  ‘Lovely. Places to run and hide.’

  The Territory bumped along a narrow, rutted driveway, branches slapping the sides of the vehicle as it bounced along. It took less than a minute before they saw the small homestead, a neat, white weatherboarder. The front lawn was modestly enhanced by potted red and orange geraniums, swans carved out of old tyres, a couple of avocado trees. Underneath a carport sat a lime-green Toyota Yaris and three bicycles. One was adult size, the other two clearly for small children. If anything looked less threatening, it was the picture of bucolic serenity before them. Jack wound down the window, cocked an ear. Nothing, save for chirping forest birds and insects.

  ‘Sundown’s in ten minutes. Ready for this?’ said Jack.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Bring the taser. I’d rather not have to shoot him if at all possible.’

  ‘You’re thinking like Smith, aren’t you? You see him as some kind of hero.’

  ‘In a way, yes. But I’m worried about collateral damage. Look at those bikes. I reckon there’s a couple of kiddies in there.’

  ‘Fair enough. Still…’

  ‘Still nothing. Check your weapon.’ Both detectives inspected their Glocks. All in order. ‘This time, you take the rear. Buzz me when you’re in position by the back door. Got the taser?’

  ‘Yes.’

  In a crouching run, Taylor disappeared from view. In seconds, Jack’s phone vibrated in his pocket. She’s in position. Half a dozen strides onto the porch. No need to cup an ear to the door this time. The sounds of giggling children and the hum of a TV were clear. Not the ideal environment for taking down a desperate man. Three knocks packed with all the authority he could muster. ‘Bronwyn Karlsson? Open up, please.’

  The patter of small feet and the door swung open. A tiny hand gripped the doorknob. The snot-nosed kid in dirty jumpsuit beamed up at Jack.

  ‘Is your mother at home?’

  ‘Who is it, Oliver?’ A squeaky male falsetto came from within the house. Then the voice’s owner appeared next to the toddler. ‘Waddaya want?’ A skinny, bare chested teenager in camo shorts that struggled to stay up. Lucky to be seventeen, but already sporting a pierced eyebrow, a forearm tattoo and a no-fucks attitude.

  Jack flashed his badge, made sure the teenager got a glimpse of his holstered pistol. ‘I’ve come to collect Trent Gillmeister. Is he here?’

  ‘He’s down the back paddock with mum.’ The sight of the gun had zero impact on the lad’s demeanour. ‘They’re fixing a pump or somefin.’

  ‘Are you Bronwyn Karlsson’s son?’

  ‘Yeah. Alex.’

  ‘Reckon you could take us there, Alex?’ said Jack.

  ‘Too easy. Has he done somefin wrong?’

  ‘We just need to ask him a couple of questions,’ said Taylor.

  The lad frowned and shrugged his scrawny shoulders. ‘I don’t give a rat’s if youse are here to arrest Trent. I don’t like him much, to be honest. Mum can do better.’

  Jack and Taylor followed close behind the youth as he led them away from the house. They trod a worn pathway until it gave onto a wide open expanse. A hundred metres away Trent Gillmeister, with what appeared to be a wrench in one hand and a cloth in the other, was on his knees, craning his neck to inspect the base of a huge water tank. Bronwyn sat on her haunches a metre away from him.

  Taylor touched the lad on the arm ‘Go back to your brother and sister.’

  ‘Can’t I stay and watch?’ The lad plucked a piece of grass and started chewing it.

  ‘Go!’ said Jack. ‘I’ll have you for abandoning small children.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Alex trudged back towards the house, kicking stones as he went.

  ‘That’s why I never want to have kids,’ said Taylor.

  ‘My Skye will never be like him.’

  ‘Are you that naïve? Girls are even worse,’ laughed Taylor. ‘Come on, let’s get him.’

  Only twenty metres away now, their soft-footed approach had gone undetected. With his eyes glued on Gillmeister, Jack failed to see the bandicoot hole on the edge of the path. His foot dropped straight into it, twisted slightly to the right. Pain seared through his foot, but he managed to suppress a cry. Taylor instinctively grabbed Jack around the waist, he gasped softly under his breath. Leaning on her for support, he extracted his foot from the hole, wriggled it and winced. It hurt like the blazes. He made a tentative step. Yes, he’d manage to walk, albeit with a limp.

  They edged closer, still undetected. Now a mere ten metres away, they could hear the conversation between Gillmeister and his girlfriend. ‘You’ll have to pop down to the hardware store.’ Gillmeister clambered to his feet and wiped his brow. ‘Looks like the tap’s completely buggered.’

  ‘Are they still open?’

  ‘No, it’s…’


  ‘It’s what?’

  ‘It’s too late.’

  ‘No need to sound so dejected, babe. We’ll go tomorrow.’

  ‘No,’ interrupted Jack. ‘He means it’s too late for him.’ Gillmeister stared blankly at Jack over Bronwyn’s shoulder. She snapped her neck around, mouth hung open. Gillmeister dropped the wrench on the ground with a thud. Without being asked, he held his hands in the air above his head. Jack hadn’t had a peaceful surrender like this in years.

  ‘What the hell?’ said Bronwyn. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Trent Gillmeister,’ said Jack. ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of your brother-in-law…’

  ‘Ex!’

  ‘…Cameron Snyder.’ The rest of the rights spiel was conducted with Taylor aiming a taser squarely at the suspect’s heaving chest. ‘Do you understand what I’ve said, Trent?’

  Gillmeister let out a deep breath, tears welled in the corners of his eyes. ‘Yes, I understand. Let’s get this over with.’

  Jack extracted the steel cuffs. ‘Hands behind your back, mate.’ As he grabbed Gillmeister’s left wrist on the way down, he heard a couple of loud yelps.

  Taylor!

  He swung his head to see Bronwyn, face down, resting on her fingertips like a Ninja. Taylor rocked back and forth on the ground, clutching her lower leg with interlocked fingers, the taser two metres away. Bronwyn must have executed a sweep kick on Taylor, caught her completely off guard, and the taser went flying.

  The distraction was enough for Gillmeister to twist his body and break free from Jack’s grasp. He turned and sprinted for a chain-link fence at the end of the property. Chasing him on a bung leg was pointless, and now Taylor was out of commission. He had to act fast, or Lucy Liu here would have Jack on the ground in no time, too.

  There was only one option. He levelled his pistol, took careful aim at the legs of the retreating figure. Instructors always say to aim for the centre of the body, but that was when you were under threat. Hitting the legs was more difficult, and Jack hadn’t been as diligent in his shooting practice as he might have. ‘Trent!’ he screamed. ‘Stop or I’ll shoot.’

  The man kept running, the fence closer and closer.

  Jack lined him up, squeezed the trigger.

  BANG!

  Trent ducked his head but kept running. Only ten or so steps and he’d vault the fence and disappear. He sensed Bronwyn approaching from the side.

  ‘Jack!’ Taylor yelled. Then a guttural roar as Bronwyn was struck by the taser. Taylor must have shrugged off the pain, crawled to retrieve it.

  ‘Good girl, Claudia!’

  Once more chance. He closed his left eye, steadied his grip, fired a second time.

  This time, Trent went down and stayed down.

  Jack heard another shriek from behind. He turned to see Taylor unceremoniously ram a knee, presumably the good one, into Bronwyn’s back. She wielded the cuffs like a lasso before manacling the woman. ‘Stop squirming, will you! You’re only making things worse for yourself.’

  ‘Get the fuck off me!’ Bronwyn would not do as she was told, wriggled like a fish on a hook. From her position on the ground, she twisted her head, caught sight of her man lying prone by the fence. ‘You’ve killed him, you bastards!’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ I bloody hope not. Jack hobbled towards the body, sighed with relief when he saw the man’s back rising and falling slowly.

  Then, a new voice. ‘Detective Lisbon?’

  Jack spun around. Batista’s promised backup. Two burly uniforms. Their ambling walk turned into a run when they clocked the two bodies on the ground and the limping detectives. ‘Officers are back at the house with the three kids. They said they heard a couple of loud bangs,’ said the taller of the two uniforms. ‘Christ! What’s happened here then?’

  ‘One murder suspect shot in the back of the right thigh. He’s in shock but not losing blood. Not enough to worry about, anyway. One aggressive female in handcuffs. What do you want to do with her, Claudia?’

  Taylor scruffed Bronwyn by the collar, hauled her to her feet. ‘I’m thinking of charging her with assaulting a police officer. That’s in addition to aiding and abetting.’ Bronwyn went still. ‘But if she stops playing the fool, I could be persuaded to let her off with a caution. Are you going to behave?’

  Bronwyn nodded slowly, staring at the ground. ‘I’ve got kids and…’

  ‘We understand,’ said Jack. ‘I’m sure DC Taylor won’t press charges. As long as Trent tells us you knew nothing about what he did.’

  ‘I swear, I didn’t know anything! I just acted instinctively to protect him just now. It’s my army training kicking in.’

  ‘I’m inclined to believe you,’ said Jack.

  Bronwyn silently mouthed the words thank you.

  ‘You know, with sweet fighting moves like you demonstrated on my colleague here, you might like to consider a career change.’

  Taylor flashed Jack a dagger stare as she undid the handcuffs. ‘I’m sure she’s needed at the school. If she teaches self-defence to those girls like she does the business, then that’s the place for Bronwyn. Doing something useful. Not wasting her life in the force.’

  Freed from her shackles, Bronwyn raced to Trent, dropped to her knees and let out a terrible wail. One of the uniforms pulled her aside. ‘How is he doing?’ Jack called out to the officers.

  ‘He’ll live,’ said the shorter one. ‘Ambulance is on its way.’

  ‘Right.’ Jack smiled at Taylor. ‘Looks like I made my deadline.’

  ‘Yep. With a day to spare. Just the paperwork and processing.’

  ‘Couldn’t you handle that for me?’

  ‘No!’

  Chapter 29

  Introductions over, it was time for the interview. With luck, it would be a short one. Jack closely observed the lawyer as he pulled a manila folder from a shiny leather portfolio. He placed the case on the floor, addressed the detectives with a businesslike smile that was more flat line than upward curve. Errol Phelan was a natty little gentleman, slicked-down hair and round rimless spectacles. He’d been flown up in a hurry from Brisbane, paid for by Lydia from an emergency advance on the trust fund money she received yesterday morning. Because of the confidentiality clause, Garfield Walters couldn’t reveal where the funds came from. Lydia didn’t seem to care. To her it was manna from heaven.

  The irony, Jack thought. Money set aside by Hook for the victim being used to defend the accused. As Phelan boasted prior to the interview, Lydia engaged him on the recommendation of Walters. Phelan had by far the best record of any defence lawyer in the state. Many of his clients walked even when it seemed their guilt had been proven beyond doubt. Her brother may have murdered the love of her life, Phelan explained, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Gillmeister copping a long sentence for an act of protection. That sounded illogical to Jack, but then again, people’s actions were often guided by feelings far removed from logic.

  The evidence was in and it was conclusive. Gillmeister’s dabs and DNA were now in the system forever. They were also all over the crime scene, from the trophy to the blood droplets trailing from the kitchen into the hallway. Only the knife was missing.

  ‘Where did you hide the murder weapon?’ said Taylor.

  ‘I got rid of it. Tossed it off the end of the Yorkville Pier.’

  Jack stopped the tape and suspended the interview. He called Constable Wilson to organise a team of divers to scour the sea floor for the weapon. On the resumption of questioning, Jack pointed out the evidence given by Misty Roach. Her testimony would place Gillmeister near the scene on the night.

  ‘We don’t intend to plead innocent in this matter,’ Phelan explained. ‘Mr Gillmeister will, however, be seeking a reduction in the charge of premeditated murder to manslaughter.’ The brief looked confidently at Jack, switched his gaze to Taylor. ‘There are genuine mitigating circumstances. Ones you may be aware of, others you may not.’

  ‘If it were up to me, sunsh
ine, I’d reduce the charges without blinking,’ said Jack. ‘But it’s not up to me. In any event, we’re fully aware Snyder abused his wife.’

  ‘Ex-wife,’ said Gillmeister, shackled hands resting on the table. He groaned softly as he shifted position in his chair. The bullet Jack fired yesterday had nicked the man in the fleshy part of the thigh and exited out the front. A quick visit to the hospital in the back of the ambulance, a couple of stitches and then back to the remand cell for an overnight stay. Strong painkillers, hot coffee and chocolate bars supplied by the night duty constable should have made the sleepover relatively comfortable.

  ‘Uh-uh,’ said Taylor. ‘She was still his wife when this incident occurred. More than a year ago, when they were living together as man and wife.’

  ‘Are you talking about when he punched her in the face last Australia Day?’

  ‘Yes. We know about that incident.’ Taylor leaned back in her chair. ‘We’ve joined the dots.’

  ‘Ha! His abuse of my sister went on for years. Ever since they were teenagers. And it continued after they separated.’

  ‘And you resented that?’

  ‘Of course I did. It all came to a head last Monday night. One thing led to another and I guess I snapped.’

  Jack held up a finger. ‘The problem’s the way you went about it, Trent. That’s what’s going to see you locked away for a long time, mate.’

  ‘My client asserts he was provoked,’ said Phelan.

  Jack shook his head. ‘Perhaps. But the DPP’s going to push for the maximum sentence because of the ferocity of the attack. Forensics has pieced it all together, mate. You belted him with the trophy, probably dazed him or knocked him out, then you’ve gone and got a knife, had a few practice attempts before plunging it deep into his neck.’

  ‘Yeah, something like that.’ Gillmeister glanced at the ceiling, took a deep breath, looked back at his interrogators. ‘You know, in the end it wasn’t his violence that made me…that enraged me.’

  ‘No?’ said Taylor.

  ‘Nope. It was that prostitute walking out of his house with a big smile plastered all over her face.’