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

by Blair Denholm

  ‘Are you a racist, Mr Gillmeister?’ Taylor again.

  ‘Of course not! What kind of question is that?’

  ‘The sex worker is an Indigenous woman,’ said Jack. ‘Perhaps that played a role in your behaviour.’

  ‘It was night. All I saw was her short skirt and high heels. That’s what wound me up. What she was, not who she was.’ Phelan laid a hand on his client’s forearm, but Trent wasn’t shutting up. ‘Lydia was still sleeping with the arsehole even though he was…well, you know what he was doing to her. To think he’d have sex with my sister when it suited him, and then other women, it made me sick to my stomach…Plus, I was already riled up.’

  ‘Why were you riled up, Trent?’ said Jack. ‘You travel to spend the night with Lydia, she trots off to bed and you suddenly get the urge to visit Snyder? It’s sounding more and more like premeditation.’

  ‘Yes,’ intervened Phelan. ‘Perhaps you should stop answering questions now.’

  ‘No, no. It’s fine. I’ve always been honest. I tell my students to tell the truth. I’d be a hypocrite otherwise wouldn’t I?’

  Phelan nodded. ‘Your prerogative, mate. Although I advise against speaking any further.’

  ‘I don’t care. What’s done is done.’ And then, out it poured. Lydia had fallen asleep while they were watching TV, stonkered by tranquilisers. Trent picked her up and carried her to bed. As he was tucking her in, her t-shirt slipped up and he saw welts and bruises on her hip. Whether or not it was the result of a beating by Snyder, didn’t matter. He drove across town to Snyder’s place, to have a stern word. Maybe slap him around a bit.

  ‘I was mad as hell, but still more or less thinking rationally. I knocked softly, figured he’d think it was the hooker coming back. Maybe she’d left something behind, you know? It was all I could do not to smash the fucking door down.’ He stopped for a moment, took a drink of water. ‘I was right. There was a brief smile on his face. He thought it was her. The smile soon vanished when he saw it was me, let me tell you. Showed his true colours, the coward.’

  Gillmeister described the confrontation in the kitchen, how he demanded a promise from Snyder that he’d cut all ties with Lydia. He vowed he would, but Gillmeister shoved him hard in the chest for good measure and he fell.

  ‘Cameron banged his head on the way down. More words were exchanged. I tried to get the necklace.’

  ‘The one with the charm locket with Lydia etched onto it?’ said Taylor.

  ‘Yeah. He didn’t deserve to wear her name close to his heart.’ Another sip of water. ‘I curse myself for leaving it in his hands. Can I get it now?’

  ‘No,’ said Jack. ‘It’s evidence. What happened next?’

  ‘We struggled some more. He must’ve known I was going to give him a serious arse kicking because he whacked me over the head with a coffee pot. I touched my head, saw blood, and that was it.’

  ‘Keep going,’ said Jack. He wanted all the details Trent could remember.

  ‘Something snapped in my head. You know how people say you see red when you’re angry? I reckon I did that night. It wasn’t just the blood, everything was a red haze.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I chased him down the stairs into the basement. I saw his fancy pool room, thought about his business growing while Lydia was stuck in that pokey flat.’

  ‘That’s not a reason to murder him.’

  ‘No. But the bruises, the broken cheek bone, the lies. They were enough. I dunno, I grabbed something heavy, whacked him over the head. He passed out.’ Tears formed, a stray one ran down his cheek. ‘Then I raced to the kitchen, grabbed the biggest knife I could find, then back to where he was lying.’

  ‘And?’ Jack knew this part would play a crucial part in the sentence Gillmeister received.

  ‘I propped him up, kind of poked him with the knife. Jesus.’ He dragged his manacled wrists to his face, wiped sweat away from his chin with a forearm. ‘I couldn’t bring myself to do it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I lost my nerve.’

  ‘But you…’ said Taylor. She exchanged a perplexed look with Jack.

  ‘I realised I’d made a big mistake, decided to go home and let him lick his wounds. I thought I’d frightened him enough that he’d do what I demanded. Stop seeing Lydia. And then…he came to. It was like a zombie waking up in a fucking horror film. His eyes snapped open, filled with evil. I couldn’t help myself. I struck at him, drove the blade into his neck as far as I could. If he hadn’t woken up at that moment, I would’ve turned around and walked out the door.’

  The stabbing was instinctive. Almost. The fact Trent had gone back to the kitchen to get the knife wouldn’t help the defence. Phelan might be able to get a reduction after all. He’d have to be in top form, though. The DPP in this region wasn’t known for showing leniency.

  ‘I’ll have a word with the Prosecutor, sound them out on the possibility of a plea bargain,’ said Jack. ‘What do you think, Claudia?’

  She nodded. ‘I agree. But only to spare Lydia the agony of a trial.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Phelan. ‘I’ll gather my arguments and contact the Prosecutor’s Office. I’ll be pushing for a wholly suspended sentence. Trent’s got no priors.’

  As Taylor exited Interview Room 1, Jack hung back to close up after Phelan and Gillmeister vacated. ‘Come on, guys. Let’s go. You’ve got a ride waiting for you.’ Trent, now formally charged with murder, would be held in remand at Copperhead Jail until his case came to trial.

  Phelan rested a hand on Gillmeister’s shoulder, offered a last word of encouragement. ‘Stay strong. We’ll get through this.’

  The prisoner’s face fell as the reality of his situation finally hit home. ‘You think so?’

  ‘I’m sure of it.’ Phelan then embraced Gillmeister, tears cascading down his face, pulled him close for a hug.

  Jack wasn’t as confident as the lawyer. But it didn’t matter what Jack thought. He’d done his part, what was expected of him, caught the perpetrator and charged him appropriately.

  As the escorts took Gillmeister to the waiting armoured van, Jack stood with hands on hips. Good luck, Trent. You’re going to need it.

  Chapter 30

  The desk tidy up. A widespread ritual performed by people preparing to go on holidays. A paper placed in a tray here, bulldog clips in that container there, pens in a holder, done. The real work of the tidy up – sorting the files – would be handled capably in Jack’s absence by Constable Ben Wilson.

  A glance at the bottom right corner of the computer screen told Jack the good news. Shift was over in ten minutes. He logged off all systems and shut the computer down. He stood, scooped the three essential items from his desktop and delivered them to their allotted pockets: wallet – pants back, keys – pants front, phone – jacket inside.

  Not many colleagues to farewell, the office was almost empty. All available uniforms were attending a serious accident involving a petrol tanker and a telegraph pole. No injuries but lots of directing traffic required. Jack could imagine the fumes, the horn honking by frustrated commuters. Sucks to be those cops, especially with a late afternoon storm forecast. Only Claudia and Batista were left on deck.

  ‘See you in a month, Claudia.’ Jack said, barely believing the words as they left his mouth.

  ‘What? You’re leaving already? There’s still…nine minutes to go.’

  ‘If I don’t hustle, Batista will have me down at the crash site hosing petrol off the bleedin’ road.’

  Taylor rocked back in her swivel chair, looked up at him with a faint smile. What was that in her eye? Sadness? She leapt to her feet, threw her arms around his neck. Her breath was hot on his skin. ‘I never thought I’d say this, but I’m going to miss you, Jack.’

  ‘Steady on, DC Taylor,’ Jack whispered an inch from her right ear. ‘You weren’t like this last time I went on holidays.’

  She let go, took a step back. ‘Your last break was a one-week fishing trip to the Great Barr
ier Reef. This time it’s a whole month. And with this murder case coming up…’

  ‘Relax. I checked. The Gillmeister trial doesn’t come up in the court’s schedule until after I get back. I’ll be there to support you when it’s time for us to give evidence.’

  ‘I could’ve handled it without you.’

  ‘Of course, I didn’t mean…’

  They stood staring into each other’s eyes for a moment, unable to look away. Jack blinked first. ‘Right, I’ll be off then.’

  ‘See you, Jack. Say hi to that kid of yours for me.’

  ‘Will do.’ He tipped her a salute, turned and headed for the car park.

  Stuck in peak-hour traffic, Jack cursed himself for taking Oliphant Avenue, busy at the best of times. In his haste to escape, he’d forgotten about the oil tanker spill. Cars were banked up for four blocks, funnelling three lanes into one like treacle through a colander. All was not lost, he had his music for company. With thoughts of London flooding through his mind, he pressed the forward button on his music compilation USB. The numbers ticked along until he reached the treasured folder. The one containing MP3 files of every Clash song ever recorded. It played in alphabetical order, but Jack liked to mix it up with shuffle. Thumping the steering wheel and shouting the lyrics to “Rock the Casbah”, he attracted goggle-eyed stares from other motorists, finger pointing from children. He didn’t care. He was going home.

  As the song faded away, the next one launched without a pause. Only it wasn’t the USB, it was his phone. He’d left it in the pocket of his jacket lying crumpled on the passenger seat. The Bluetooth connection between the mobile and the Hilux’s speakers brought the details up on his dash monitor. Holy mother of God. What’s this all about? He switched off the music, took the call.

  ‘Assistant Commissioner, what a surprise. I thought you were still in intensive care with tubes up your honker.’

  ‘They discharged me, thank Christ. Juanita’s promised the doctors she’ll put me on a strict diet so I can get this operation happening.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’

  ‘Listen. I heard the news this morning.’ Hook’s breathing came in rasps that echoed inside the car. ‘You’ve made an arrest. Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Only one problem. You’ve obviously got the wrong man.’

  ‘The man you suspected, Randall Sowell, had nothing to do with the murder.’

  ‘Bullshit.’ Cough, wheeze, cough. ‘It had to be Sowell. You’ve fucked up somewhere.’

  ‘No, Ray. It’s you who’s fucked up. We’ve got overwhelming circumstantial, medical and physical evidence, and if that wasn’t enough, Trent’s bleedin’ confessed.’

  ‘What? I don’t understand. Lydia’s brother?’

  ‘I know all about your dalliance with your wife’s sister and the kid she popped out. The one you’ve kept hidden. What a violent prick he turned out to be, hey? There were plenty who wanted him dead. Including Trent Gillmeister.’

  ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Yes, you do. Why deny it? Of course, you’ll be called upon to give evidence, too.’

  ‘What’s in my past has nothing to do with this matter.’

  ‘Are you referring to how you threatened four lads when they were about to testify against Snyder?’

  ‘Hearsay.’

  ‘You were aware Snyder systematically abused Lydia, right?’

  A long pause. ‘No. That’s bullshit, too.’

  ‘We’ll see about that. And I’m confident the Financial and Cyber Crime Group are going to take a very keen interest in where you got the $250,000 from.’

  Choking and gasping from Hook’s end of the line.

  ‘But, hey. I’m reasonable. I could be tempted to say nothing about it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Lydia’s using some of that cash to pay for Trent’s defence. If I spill the beans, well, the money would be confiscated, leaving poor old Trent high and dry. And that’s something I don’t want to happen.’

  ‘Poor old Trent? You must be joking. He killed my son!’

  ‘So now you’re saying it was Trent, not Sowell?’

  ‘I…ah…no!’

  The sky darkened as low thunder rumbled and the blanket of slate-coloured clouds lowered. The forecast storm was coming early. Droplets appeared on the car’s windscreen, activating the automatic wipers.

  ‘Dear oh dear. You’re in quite a pickle now, aren’t you, Ray? Nothing you can do about it though.’ Jack drew up next to the accident scene. He smiled and waved at Constable Trevarthen, who was directing traffic around a series of orange cones. Trevarthen flashed a big grin and gave a thumbs-up. ‘I haven’t decided which way I’ll run with this. I guess we’ll have to wait till the trial. A month in the Old Dart and it’ll be clearer in my head which way to proceed.’

  ‘Fuck you, Lisbon.’

  ‘Everyone at Yorkville CIB wishes you a speedy recovery, sir!’

  Jack disconnected the call, turned up the music and burst into song.

  Chapter 31

  The first-class window seat offered a perfect view of London as the Qantas 777 circled in a holding pattern. Or it would have, if the fog hadn’t blocked out everything except the tips of the tallest buildings. Heavy air traffic had pushed back arrival time by 45 minutes. Sarah would be pissed off with the delay, but Skye would be jumping out of her skin. It wasn’t everyday she got to visit the busiest airport in Europe.

  ‘Another drink, sir?’ The flight attendant, polite to the point of annoying, tilted her head to the side and beamed through a face packed with make-up thicker than a slice of bread.

  Jack blinked, tired from a lack of sleep over the 18-hour flight with only a short stopover in Singapore. Waiting to reboard at Changi Airport he’d checked his email. He nearly fainted when he read the message from Taylor. Hook had another heart attack. Didn’t pull through. ‘Any chance of a coffee?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Jack fired up his mobile, connected to the onboard Wi-Fi and re-read the press-release attached to Taylor’s email. Raymond Ogden Hook was described as a role model for every officer in the Queensland Police. An unblemished record of service stretching over 35 years. He left behind a wife and two children. Would have been three if Trent hadn’t offed the secret son. Jack was in two minds about exposing Hook now he was dead. Seemed in poor taste.

  The attendant brought the coffee and asked if Jack wouldn’t mind drinking it fast. She’d had word they were about to commence descent. As she picked up another passenger’s tray, the pilot announced it was time to buckle up, he’d received clearance to land. Jack’s heart thumped as the wheels dropped from the undercarriage and the engines roared. After five years away from home, he was finally going to see his beautiful daughter.

  The formalities were a blur. He’d never flown first class, so the expedited clearance of security and customs came as a pleasant surprise. Walk-through metal detector, a going over with the buzzy wand thing, retina scan, a glance at his passport, all over with a minimum of fuss.

  And then, it was time to face the audience. His heart galloped, he felt like a teenager on a first date.

  Carousel. Suitcase full of gifts. Green lane. The automatic door slid open, he rushed through, almost tripping over his drag-along bag.

  And there she was. Skye. Dressed in the Yorkville Scorpions basketball uniform he’d mailed her for Christmas, hopping up and down. Untamed curly hair and a smile brighter than North Queensland sunshine. Twice as big as he remembered her. The suitcase castors clacked on the concrete floor. Jack was sprinting now. Her arms were outstretched, her eyes gleaming. Jack grabbed her under the armpits, she squealed as he hoisted her into the air.

  And then, the old familiar voice, the Jamaican accent. In his fixated state, he’d somehow failed to see Sarah, his ex-wife, standing next to Skye. ‘You be damn careful, Jack Lisbon. Don’t you hurt that child, or there’ll be hell to pay.’

  Jack pul
led Skye’s head tight against his cheek. ‘She’s in the safest hands she could possibly be.’

  ‘If you say so. C’mon. There’ll be a long queue at the taxi rank if we don’t hurry.’

  ‘I’ve pre-ordered a limo.’ Thanks, Jabba. First class perks supplied from beyond the grave.

  ‘How on Earth can you afford that?’

  ‘Because,’ said Skye. ‘My Daddy’s the best detective in the whole wide world!’

  ‘What she said.’ Jack laughed, put Skye back on the ground.

  Then, something dawned on him. His adoring daughter might be delighted with the return of Jack Lisbon, but there were many in London who wouldn’t be. He’d made a ton of enemies when he worked for the London Metropolitan Police, criminals with long memories and short fuses. Coming home could have put not only his life in danger, but Skye’s. If anything happened to her he’d never forgive himself. He gripped her hand tight. ‘You ready? Let’s go.’

  Books by Blair Denholm

  The Fighting Detective Series

  Fighting Dirty (prequel - FREE on Amazon)

  Kill Shot (Book 1)

  Shot Clock (Book 2)

  Trick Shot (Book 3)

  The Russian Detective Series

  Revolution Day (Book 1) – coming soon

  Game Changer Series

  SOLD (Book 1)

  Sold to the Devil (Book 2)

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  “Hands in the air! Nobody move!” When a pair of crazed gunmen take a bank full of hostages, off-duty cop Jack Lisbon finds himself caught up in a terrifying siege. Pulp Fiction meets Dog Day Afternoon.

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