‘You could be in luck. Small doses can clear the system in about 12 hours. But there’s no guarantees. Mate, you never struck me as the type to snort coke.’
‘What can I say? I work in a high stress job.’
Jack recalled the man was a stockbroker. He imagined the man sniffing lines of powder off the toilet seat or a hooker’s breasts in his downtown office tower. Or maybe that was the stuff of Hollywood.
‘Our experts’ll want to have a look at your vehicle to gather evidence.’
‘Like what?’
‘Angle of impact and extent of damage to determine crash speed, stuff I have no clue about.’
‘I need that car for my work. Will I get it back today?’
‘Are you serious? It’s undriveable, the front end’s completely caved in.’
Wayne scratched his head. ‘Yeah, I can see that. I’m not an idiot. But I could at least get it towed to a repair shop, get the ball rolling, y’know?’
‘It’s not my call when you get your car back, mate. It could be evidence in a murder inquiry. We have to get the all clear from the road accident forensics team.’
Wayne’s face fell like he’d just heard his mother had died. ‘Fuck me. What a day.’
‘For now, stay in the shade and try not to stress. I’ll be back to take you home once you get the all clear and I’ve got a better handle on what went down.’
‘Don’t you believe what I told you?’
‘Of course. But you admitted you can’t recall much of the detail. I need to talk to some more people. There may be witnesses with good recall among this crowd of rubberneckers. Don’t panic, everything’s going to be fine.’
He patted Wayne on the shoulder, pulled up blue-and-white police tape and moved to the centre of the road.
Jack stood next to the point where the vehicles collided, surveyed the scene around him. Two beefy uniformed cops, Aden Trevarthen and Noah Semmens, took details from a short line of witnesses, queuing up to have their say. Some members of the public had their mobiles out, vultures with no sense of decorum eager to get their videos uploaded to social media. In the middle of the road, the offending white Camry kissed the crumpled bonnet of Wayne’s orange Hyundai Veloster. Wilson and Smith directed traffic around the prang. Broad black skid marks indicated where the Camry started its uncontrolled slide, but what actually happened was hypothetical until the forensics team gathered all the facts and revealed their findings.
Jack took some snaps on his mobile to give himself reference points for the inquiries ahead. Tyre marks, shattered plastic, skin, bone fragments and blood. Almost your ordinary everyday head-on collision. Except one man, in the company of a person unknown and now disappeared, had been launched into space, and the driver who caused it had fled the scene. There was an excellent chance the two absent players were in cahoots.
A paramedic in olive green overalls hoisted a gurney up to its maximum height and locked it in place.
‘Is he going to be OK?’ Jack asked as he reached the door of the van.
The young olive-complexioned man shook his shaved head. ‘I’m afraid it’s game over for this guy. He held on like a trooper, fought for every breath, but his injuries were just too severe. If he’d lived, he’d have been a dribbling vegetable in a wheelchair for the rest of his days.’
‘Do you know who he is?’
‘Yeah. Dale Collins. An American citizen according to the ID in his wallet. Probably a tourist who forgot to look right.’ Could be a contributing factor, Jack thought. Statistics showed Americans on vacation in Britain got hit more often by cars; they’re used to looking left instead of right before crossing the street. Same driving system Down Under, so the same scenario would apply. The ambo handed a laminated plastic card to Jack along with the man’s wallet. The name started to ring a bell. Dale Collins.
‘Can I have a peek before you cart him off to the morgue?’
The cover peeled back slowly, blood stained the inside of the sheet. Although half the road victim’s face hung limply like a rudely hacked off chunk of meat, what was left was enough. The wide-eyed death stare belonged to the coach of the Yorkville Scorpions. As lifeless as a flat basketball. Saturday night’s game going ahead was starting to look like a long shot taken from well outside the 3-point line.
Jack wrapped stale nicotine gum in a tissue and thrust it in his pocket. Mental note: remove before putting pants in the washing machine. Last time he forgot and the results were sticky to say the least. He ducked under the police tape and meandered back towards the two constables corralling witnesses. Let’s hear what they have to say.
Chapter 5
Witnesses, Jack knew from bitter experience, are about as dependable as a Kazakhstani laptop. But sometimes they were all you had to go on. In total, only five people had stuck around to assist with statements. The people he’d spoken to so far reckoned there were two or three others in the vicinity at the time of the incident, but they must have slunk away when the cops started asking for help.
Before talking to the last onlooker, Jack double-checked his notes. The first four witnesses had all snapped their heads around when they heard the Camry screaming down the street. It appeared his mate Wayne was going to prove the least credible witness because the onlookers were sure the car was travelling at between 90 and 100 kph by the time it struck the victim. Much faster than Wayne’s assessment.
What the witnesses did agree on boiled down to the following. One: Camry driver appeared to deliberately steer into Dale Collins who was catapulted into the air, flipped a couple of times and landed hard on the asphalt with a stomach-turning splat. Two: Camry driver then braked hard but couldn’t prevent his vehicle ploughing into Wayne’s car. Three: Camry driver, of above-average height, alighted, uninjured or only slightly injured, and started running south in the direction of the Botanical Gardens. Despite the oppressive summer heat, the offender wore a dark hoodie, black pants and gloves, even a ski mask. Four: By the time Wayne emerged from his car and staggered to check on the victim, Camry driver had disappeared. Five: people were pointing, screaming and running in all directions. Unfortunately, none of the eyewitnesses had been quick-minded enough to whip out their mobiles to photograph or film anything until after the crash and the driver had scarpered. Jack wasn’t surprised, as the entire incident would have taken under two or three minutes to unfold.
The last witness gave his name as Zach Hyman, first-year engineering student at Yorkville University. The cocky adolescent leaned nonchalantly against a chrome and black kick scooter. Jack frowned disapprovingly at the lad’s low slung shorts which revealed most of his underpants.
‘Yeah, I saw it all. The bloke who drove the Camry into the dude jumped out of the wrecked car and high-tailed it up Strudwick Avenue. I’m amazed he wasn’t badly hurt. I chased him but he disappeared into the Botanical Gardens.’
‘Was there someone accompanying the victim as he crossed the road?’
Zach nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, actually there was.’
No other witness had mentioned a second person; this kid’s statement backed up Wayne’s account.
‘What can you tell me about the victim and his companion?’
‘They were walking close for a bit, the second fella kind of shuffling along behind the dude who got killed. After the accident, he’d vanished.’
‘Maybe you’re imagining the second person. None of the other witnesses recalled seeing him.’ Make him think he’s the only one who saw the second person, see if he sticks to his guns.
‘Maybe they had the wrong angle of it, but he was definitely there. He was tucked in behind the victim, so I guess he could’ve been obscured. Plus, if you look at the point where they stepped off the footpath, it’s well shaded by some big trees.’ Jack noted the kid had a great eye for detail. Sure to be a grade A student. ‘I also remember a sound made me look in their direction just before the bloke got hit by the car.’
‘What sound?’
‘Kind of like when you get winded by a punch
to the guts. Like an “oof” noise.’ Jack knew all about getting punched in the guts, and dishing it out. ‘Hey, I could be way off the mark,’ Zach said conspiratorially. ‘But it almost looked like the dude’s mate had pushed him into the oncoming car. I reckon it was a set up to kill the poor bloke.’
Jack half closed one eye and nodded. It seemed more and more likely to Jack the Camry driver and the person with Collins were working together to murder the coach. To make it look like an accident. ‘Describe the second guy for me if you can.’
The kid rubbed his chin. ‘White, taller than average, like the driver. I think he had on red board shorts and a black t-shirt. White sandshoes.’
‘Face?’
‘Nope, sorry. He was wearing a baseball cap, shading his face. And dark sunnies.’
‘Any logos or distinguishing marks on the cap or clothes?’
A head shake of disappointment.
‘Did you call the police?’
‘Nah.’ Zach scratched his inner elbow, placed a foot on his scooter’s deck.
‘Why not?’
The teenager shrugged. ‘Didn’t think to. I figured someone else would. By the time the dust settled, everyone was filming it on their phones, some even right up next to the guy bleeding on the road. Fucking ghouls, if you ask me.’
‘What about the person you chased, the driver?’
‘Real tall and lanky, I was sure I could catch him on my scooter. He was dressed head to toe in black, even a freaking hoodie. In this heat. Unbelievable.’
‘Did you call out for anyone else to help you stop him?’
‘A couple of times, but people just got out of the way or pretended not to hear me. No one wants to get involved in anything that looks like trouble these days. Pathetic. I also ought to mention something else: he had a balaclava on when he got out of the car and took off, but it was gone when I yelled at him to stop and he turned around.’
‘Could you describe his face?’
‘Again, sorry. He was so far away, I don’t reckon it’d be a good description.’
‘Think.’
‘White guy, no facial hair that I could see.’
‘Big nose, anything unusual?’
‘Like I said, he was a long way away. A blur if I’m going to be completely honest.’
Jack nodded, jotted down notes. ‘What did you expect to do if you caught him?’
‘Citizen’s arrest.’ Zach puffed out his chest.
‘Think you could have managed it on your own?’ Jack ran his eyes up and down the lad. He doubted the plan would have matched the reality.
‘Sure…maybe.’
‘Anything else you’d like to add?’
‘Nah, that’s about it. Except for one thing. The dude was freakin’ fast. Like that sprinter, Usain Bolt.’
Jack sighed, then smiled as Detective Constable Taylor finally appeared. He shook Zach’s hand. ‘You’re free to go, son. If you remember anything else, give us a call. If we make an arrest and the matter goes to court, you’ll be called to testify.’ He handed Zach a card which disappeared into the bottom of a long pocket. As the lad scooted off down the street, Jack extended a hand to Taylor. ‘About time you got here. I’ve been run off my feet, interviewing witnesses and talking to the paramedics. What did you manage to find out back at the office?’
‘Apparently there are no functioning CCTV cameras in the vicinity. So that’s the first bit of bad news out of the way.’ Jack cursed the lack of CCTV in Yorkville; back in London the streets were covered by an extensive network of cameras. The public called it invasive, the cops called it a godsend.
‘The first bit?’
She nodded. ‘Yeah, we’re going to have to do some work to get this one solved.’
‘Agreed. The witnesses won’t contribute much to the cause. None of them took photos or videos of the crash happening or the driver escaping. No doubt there’ll be stuff on social media, poor-taste videos of a dying man taken by onlookers. It might be helpful, probably not.’
‘I’ll get Wilson and Smith to check it out. If people were dumb enough to post that shit online, we’ll find them.’
‘What’s the other bad news?’
She cleared her throat. ‘I made some notes back at the station.’ She fished a well-worn jotter from her handbag and read aloud. ‘Registration number of the vehicle that struck the deceased doesn’t match the VIN.’
‘Damn. Do we know who the Camry belongs to?’
‘We do. A woman in Rockhampton.’
‘I hope she’s got comprehensive insurance.’
‘Me too. She reported her pride and joy missing a week ago, but you know the chances of recovering nicked cars as well as I do.’
‘And the number plates?’
‘Like I said, a mismatch. In fact, while you’ve been talking to the good citizens of Yorkville, I had a look for myself. You only gave me the number plate from the rear of the car.’
‘So?’
‘The one on the front is different.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Not even a close match.’
‘That’s a new one on me.’ Jack shook his head slowly.
‘The front plate’s from a local theft, the back from a car pinched in Cairns. Both vehicles were reported stolen three days ago.’
‘Well.’ Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘We can ring the owners with the good news. We’ve found some of your property. One bloody license plate each. Now I’ve heard everything.’
Taylor tucked her notebook back in her bag. ‘Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to…to what? To run a man over and kill him?’
‘It’s looking like a murder, innit? A coordinated hit.’ Jack quickly retold Zach’s version of events.
‘Want to know what I think?’ said Taylor. She was already walking towards the nearby shade of a sprawling Jacaranda tree.
‘What?’ They sat on a patch of wide-bladed grass, observing the meticulous work of the forensics team. Jack felt deep sympathy for the officers in blue boiler suits as they searched for clues in the baking sun. He prayed they’d find something to identify the perp inside the stolen Camry, but the painstaking efforts the perps had put into the setup gave him no grounds for optimism.
‘The mystery man, walking behind.’ Taylor smoothed her skirt as she tucked her knees. ‘Perhaps he sent a text to say “Go!” or something, so the driver knew the exact moment to floor the Camry and hit the target. The possible last-second shove in the back your witness mentioned would tally with that scenario.’
‘I agree. Oi!’ Constable Trevarthen pulled up with a start. ‘Where are you off to?’
‘Geez, you scared the crap out of me, sir.’ He held up a plastic bag from a supermarket chain. ‘I’m handing out cold water to whoever wants one.’
‘Good lad.’ He and Taylor accepted bottles covered in droplets of condensation. ‘After you’ve done that. Grab the other uniforms and head up Strudwick Avenue towards the Botanical Gardens.’
‘Why?’
‘The driver ran in that direction, chased by a kid on a Razor scooter.’
‘Seriously?’
Jack nodded. ‘Yep. Out of all the people who saw the accident, only one was brave enough to have a go.’
‘Or stupid,’ Taylor drank deeply. She smacked her lips and Jack’s eyes were drawn to her mouth. Faint droplets of sweat coated the tiniest of blonde hairs above the top lip. As he often did, he eyed the faint scar that ran down her left cheek. One day he’d ask her about it. Her features, taken individually, were all flawed in some way. Nose a bit hooked, teeth uneven and crooked, more than her share of moles, and wrinkles around the eyes you wouldn’t expect on a woman as young as Claudia. Jack thought she was beautiful.
‘Youthful exuberance, DC Taylor.’ Jack screwed the lid back on his bottle, trying not to think inappropriate thoughts about his partner. He had a date lined up with a cute lawyer he’d met on the city’s last big case. She was a firecracker – funny, great conversation and sexually u
ninhibited – but Jack found it hard to imagine a long-term relationship with her. Focus on the case, Lisbon. ‘Thanks to that lad, we at least know where the offender headed. Trevarthen?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Why are you still standing there with your mouth open? Catching flies?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then get an effing move on. The villains are probably at the airport checking in their bags by now. Get the other officers and go! Keep your eyes peeled for anything the driver might’ve dropped.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like a glass slipper. I don’t bloody know, do I? Were you the bottom of your class at the police academy, Constable?’
‘No, sir. I was in the mid–’
‘Just go. Don’t you know what a bloody rhetorical question is?’
‘A what?’
Jack leapt to his feet, stood an inch from Trevarthen’s quivering face. ‘Just. Go. Now.’
As Trevarthen’s generously proportioned backside trotted over towards two other constables, Jack chuckled.
‘What’s so funny?’ said Taylor, standing up and brushing grass clippings from the back of her skirt.
‘Nothing. C’mon, let’s have a chat with Proctor.’
‘Preliminary results? Are you serious, DS Lisbon? Can you see the debris strewn all over the place, the blood and other human parts?’ The head of the forensics team, Dr Margaret Proctor tapped a pen hard against a clipboard.
‘Other human parts?’ said Taylor, swallowing hard and adjusting her scrunchie.
‘The poor man left us tiny gifts of hair, skin and bone, adhered to the asphalt like burned cheese on the bottom of a frypan.’
‘Quite the analogy,’ said Taylor, frowning. ‘But, with respect, is collecting the victim’s bits and pieces all that necessary? We know how and when the man was killed. Shouldn’t you be concentrating on the insides of the vehicles?’
‘One vehicle,’ Jack interrupted. ‘The Hyundai belongs to an acquaintance of mine. He’s got nothing to do with the accident.’
‘How can you be sure of that?’ said Proctor. ‘And the fact he’s known to you has no bearing on the work we’re doing. As it happens, I can tell you we’ve had a good look at the Camry and noted one curious thing. Something I’ve not encountered before. The driver has cut a big square out of the deployed airbag. Which tells me we’re dealing with someone who can think fast in a crisis.’
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