The sentence handed to Harlow was a record for Yorkville. Sixty-five years with no eligibility for parole. Twenty years for each of the murders and a bonus five for the other offences. Andrew Harlow would die in jail. The accused remained impassive throughout the Judge’s summation.
At 5:26pm Judge Byrne dismissed all present and ordered the now convicted triple murderer be taken to the high-security Copperhead Correctional Facility. Jack sighed and stood. It was time to reacquaint himself with a long lost friend, cold lager in a tall glass. One would pull him up, no more. Then home and a sleeping pill. But not straight away. Opening his car door, he spotted Charlie Bartlett with his arms around his weeping mother, boyfriend Jeremy Clifford standing off to one side, hands in pockets.
‘Mind if I have a word?’ said Jack. ‘Not interrupting anything am I?’
‘Where’s your partner?’ said Charlie. ‘I thought you and her were always together.’ Charlie released his mum from the embrace but held onto her hand. The gesture touched Jack in a way he didn’t expect. That kind of love between a parent and child was something he’d never experienced. At least he couldn’t remember it.
‘No. Not always. She’s out there protecting society. Only one copper was required to see this thing through to the end. Muggins here drew the short straw.’ Jack affected a goofy smile.
‘What can I do for you, Detective?’ All emotion had been drained from Bartlett Junior.
‘I’m not sure really. I guess I just wanted to know you’re…OK.’
A blank stare was Charlie’s reply. Jack switched his gaze to Mrs Bartlett, but she quickly looked away and buried her face in a lace handkerchief. Amazing how a woman could feel such grief for the ex-husband who deceived her. She and Terry must have shared some good times. They’d produced Charlie, a good man, someone his parents could be proud of. And he would be a constant reminder of Terry having been in her life. Out of the corner of his eye Jack saw Jeremy kicking stones, probably keen for the annoying detective to leave them in peace. None of them wanted him there.
‘Stupid of me to impose.’ Jack turned to go. He could already taste the beer. Perhaps it would wash away the foul bitterness in his mouth.
‘No, wait.’
‘Yes?’
‘We’re grateful for what you’ve done. I only wish Harlow had the balls to admit to what he did to my father.’
‘Me too. Perhaps he will one day.’
‘You think so?’
‘No. He pleaded not guilty to everything. Even the drug dealing. I can’t figure him out. Best for all he’s headed for jail and will rot away inside it.’
‘Or someone inside gets to him,’ said Jeremy Clifford.
‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,’ said Jack.
‘He’s fucked, and I don’t care if you heard me or not. I know blokes inside who’d shiv the bastard for a packet of smokes.’
‘Let it rest, Jeremy,’ Jack urged. ‘The man will suffer more by being locked away for the rest of his life. Killing him would be the merciful way out.’
‘Nah. Not only did he murder Charlie’s dad, it’s because of him I’ve got no one to fight for the title.’
‘Won’t it be declared vacant now? From what I hear you’d wipe the floor with any contender.’
‘Yeah, I probably could. But I was ready to prove myself by beating the best, you know? Not taking on some chump. There’s no one else in my division I can’t beat with my eyes shut.’
‘I don’t know what to say, sunshine.’
Clifford dropped his head. ‘There’s nothing you can say, Detective Lisbon. Whatever will be will be.’
Jack nodded, shook everyone’s hand and walked away, for some reason thinking of Doris Day. He shoved two pieces of gum in his mouth and had a rethink. Taylor was on a date with some bozo she met online and he couldn’t think of any colleagues he’d like to get drunk with. And he’d never stop at one. Don’t delude yourself. A job well done and justice served would be rewarded another way. Maybe a gruelling gym session with lots of bag work. Then he had another thought. He flicked through his phone contacts and found the number he’d added “just in case”. He’d done some Internet stalking in between breaks during the trial and found out she was single. He got in the car, turned on the AC and dialled the number.
‘Yes?’
‘Is that Denise Hutchinson from Chapman, Kinberg and Associates?’
‘Who’s calling?’
‘DS Jack Lisbon.’
‘What on earth do you want?’
Not promising. ‘I was wondering if you’d ah…’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m interested in some of the legal aspects of the trial I’ve been involved in. Things I don’t understand, stuff that might be useful in future cases.’
‘Like what?’
‘Oh, like ah…’ Jesus, Lisbon, think. ‘Like rules of evidence in a murder trial, what’s admissible and what’s not when there’s no body.’
‘But there was a body. Three of them. I’ve been following the trial, you know.’
‘Yeah, of course. But Terry Bartlett was only found at the last minute.’
‘Mmm. These things can be rather complicated.’ Was that a hint of interest? ‘Not subject matter for a short phone call.’
Be bold, Lisbon. ‘How about we meet up for a drink and discuss it further. My shout.’
‘I’d be delighted, Detective Lisbon.’
‘Call me Jack. Meet you at the Pelican Bar at 8:00 o’clock?
‘You’re on.’
The TV news was nothing but doom and gloom. Alarmism and sensationalism. But it’s what the people want, apparently. What they’re led to think they want, more like it. That bloody Holly Maguire, exaggerating again. A tourist was mugged outside a nightclub on The Esplanade at 3:00am last night, and now people sleeping in their homes are in grave danger. What utter crap. Jack felt like throwing his Diet Coke at the screen. Instead, he pulled out his phone to make the call he’d been planning for a week.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s me.’
‘I know it’s you, Jack.’ His ex, Sarah, spoke without the usual venom. Maybe absence did make the heart grow fonder. ‘Your number’s come up on the screen, you muppet.’
‘What time is it there?’
‘Quarter after ten in the morning. You do know what day it is, doncha?’
‘I do indeed. Care to put her on?’
Rustling sounds and static while Sarah handed the phone to Skye. ‘Hello, Daddy!’
‘Happy birthday, sweetheart.’
‘Thanks. I’m eight now!’
‘No way!’ He heard the signal of an incoming call. Ignore for now.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Did you get the present I sent?’
‘Yes, it’s awesome. I showed it to all the kids at school.’ A stuffed kangaroo. Made in China but he cut the label off. Let her think it was a genuine item. ‘When are you coming to visit me and Mummy?’
‘Not for a while, darling. But I’m saving hard. Maybe you can come visit me one day. Would you like that?’
Skye squealed with delight. ‘Yes, please. I want to see a real kangaroo. Have you seen any?’
‘Sure have.’ Mainly flying over the car and squashed by the side of the road. ‘They’re really cute. Just like you.’
‘OK, that’s enough.’ Sarah’s voice in the background. ‘Say good-bye to Daddy now.’
‘Bye Daddy!’
‘Happy birthday again! Talk to you soon, love.’
‘She’s got to be off to school now, Jack.’
‘I understand.’ The incoming call signal buzzed again. Hopefully it was Denise, wanting to thank him for the great night they had discussing legal matters. And a few other things.
‘Sounds like you’re getting on all right over there. The move must’ve been good for you. I seen you put that killer away. It’s been all over the news here.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Quite the big time detective. I ca
n only say I’m pleased how you’ve pulled your socks up.’
‘Thanks. That means a lot.’ And it did. She’d always been sparing with praise. Mainly because he’d been an arsehole ninety percent of the time. ‘Can I call the kid more often?’
‘Sure, Jack. I don’t see why not.’
‘I appreciate that…Hang on, there’s something breaking on the news here. I’ll talk to you later, OK?’
‘Sure.’
The newsreader spoke against the backdrop of an image of Copperhead Jail, the razor-wired entrance. ‘We understand a prisoner has been stabbed multiple times in a frenzied attack. We’ve received an anonymous call the victim is Andrew Harlow, last month himself convicted for the murder of three men. We’ll keep you updated as we learn more. Meanwhile…’
Jack called Batista. ‘What the fuck? How does the press know this before us?’
‘Because they got a tip off from inside and we didn’t. Get your arse over there and see what’s going on.’
‘Yes, boss.’
DC Taylor was already on her way and promised to wait for him at the front gate. The prison’s own response team had dealt with the incident and determined there was no threat to other inmates or guards. Jack put on the Buzzcocks’ Love Bites CD to accompany him on the one hour drive to the prison. The legendary punks were belting out “Ever Fallen in Love”, a classic Jack knew off by heart. But he heard none of it. In his mind all he could picture was a fuming Jeremy Clifford punching and kicking seven bells out of Andy Harlow and singing “Que Sera Sera”.
Don’t forget your freebie
Remember to click here to download the FREE prequel, Fighting Dirty. Read it right to the end, because it contains a bonus free second prequel.
About the Author
A bit about me
BLAIR DENHOLM is an Australian fiction writer and translator who has lived and worked in New York, Moscow, Munich, Abu Dhabi and Australia. He once voted in a foreign election despite having no eligibility to do so, was almost lost at sea on a Russian fishing boat, and was detained by machine-gun toting soldiers in the Middle East.
When not writing novels, he works as a Russian language specialist for an international conservation organisation.
He currently resides in the wilds of Tasmania with his partner, Sandra, and two crazy canines Max and Bruno.
You can connect with me on:
https://blairdenholm.com
https://twitter.com/blairdenholm
https://www.facebook.com/blairdenholm
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16940478.Blair_Denholm
Also by Blair Denholm
Be sure to check out the my acclaimed Game Changer series: SOLD and Sold to the Devil. Loved by readers around the word, these are turbo-charged thrillers you won’t be able to put down.
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