Shot Clock

by Blair Denholm

  ‘Look, the league would have cancelled out of respect or whatever if Gomez insisted. But the players want to do it for Dale. He strived to get the club to the playoffs, and this match-up is crucial. The team’s ready to play now. Not after brooding over the tragedy for a week.’

  ‘I don’t think they’re up for it. Most of them looked lacklustre on the court just now.’

  ‘How long’ve y’all been sitting there?’

  ‘Fifteen minutes.’

  Gould shook his head and laughed mockingly. ‘You caught them at the end of an intensive three-hour session. The boys are exhausted.’

  Fair call. ‘Surely the widow Filomena would have had a say in whether the game goes ahead or not.’

  ‘She had her say. She said yes.’ He gave Jack a steely-eyed glare. ‘Now, if you want to address the squad, do it now. We’ve got a strategy meeting in a half hour.’

  Without waiting for an answer, Austin Gould blew sharply on his whistle. ‘Listen up everybody. We have an important guest here today. Detective Sergeant Lisbon from the Yorkville Police.’ All talk and movement ceased, a dozen giants turned their heads. Among them, one “average-sized” man. The ginger nut. Jack couldn’t believe there was a player on the team only a couple of inches taller than him.

  ‘OK, gentlemen’, said Jack. ‘I’ll try not to keep you from the showers for too long.’ Jack quickly described the suspicious circumstances surrounding the fatal accident. It was news to all of them, judging by the oohs, ahs and the catching of breath.

  ‘Unfortunately, we have very few clues to go on. Two faceless men, one disguised beyond recognition, no forensics evidence to speak of, a handful of sketchy eyewitness accounts. The only common denominator among them: the driver and the man accompanying Dale Collins were tall. Very tall.’ Jack paced left and right, he sensed all eyes upon him. ‘Which leads us, naturally, to the basketball community in general. This team in particular.’

  ‘Hey,’ called a man in the middle of the pack. ‘It could be coincidence they were big guys.’

  Jack nodded. ‘Sure. Someone could have hired a random tall man to drive the car into your coach. But two witnesses claim he was in the company of someone he seemed to be acquainted with.’

  A few gasps, foot shuffling.

  ‘Were any of you in the vicinity of the murder scene around 10:15am on Wednesday morning?’

  Silence punctuated by breathing, sniffs and coughs.

  ‘I’d like to remind you that if we suspect anyone, we can tell where you’ve been by analysing your smart phone records. Even if you were in that area and you’re totally innocent, you’d best let us know. If we find out later and you’ve kept it to yourself, that ain’t gonna look too good for you.’

  More silence.

  ‘I appeal to you all,’ Jack spoke like a political candidate on the hustings. ‘If you know something, anything at all that could help us in our enquiries, come forward.’ He waited a moment, but no one spoke. ‘I believe one or more of you knows something. I understand your reluctance to speak out here and now. My door’s always open.’ Jack placed a pile of business cards on a table stacked with paper cups, tapped his finger on the table top. ‘Thanks for your time.’

  Jack shook Gould’s hand and headed for the exit, eyes burning a hole in his back.

  * * *

  Scorpions HQ failed to match the glitz and glamour of the basketball matches Jack had seen on TV. ‘Is this it? A tin shed? Not very salubrious, innit?’

  ‘What did you expect?’ said Taylor, tying her hair back with a pink scrunchie. ‘A five-star hotel?’

  ‘I dunno. Something a little less industrial.’

  Park car. Enter shed. Walk down corridor. Knock on office door.

  ‘Come in,’ a voice rumbled behind the glass pane.

  Fernando Gomez stood as they entered, smiled, but it seemed forced, like he was hiding a deep hurt. The man was a caricature of a Columbian drug lord. Around five seven, tiny compared to his stable of cattle. A gold chain around his broad chest drew your eyes to a thatch of curly black hair. The flat ‘do on his head resembled a doormat dipped in tar. Gaudy Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts. The only thing missing was a Cuban cigar. The owner of the Scorpions extended a hairy-knuckled hand, gem-encrusted gold rings on almost every finger. Jack shook it, noted the strength of the man’s grip.

  After brief introductions, Gomez gestured to two chairs. The owner sat regally behind his expansive desk, uncluttered apart from a computer monitor and keyboard, a notepad and a fountain pen that looked as expensive as the computer. ‘Please take a seat, officers. Can I get you a drink?’

  The detectives agreed to coffee, brought in by an acne-faced teenage boy. The resemblance to Gomez was so uncanny no questions about lineage were necessary.

  ‘I won’t waste your time,’ said Jack. ‘We’re looking for a killer. Maybe an accomplice.’

  No histrionics, not even the hint of surprise. ‘I see.’ Despite his appearance, Gomez spoke in a neutral mid-western American accent. Was the narco-baron look a contrivance? ‘What makes you think that?’

  Taylor briefly described the suspicious circumstances surrounding the coach’s demise. ‘We’re convinced this was no accident.’

  ‘What you’ve just told me is indeed suspicious. I wish I could help.’

  ‘Think hard, Mr Gomez,’ said Jack. ‘Who would stand to gain by Dale Collins’ death?’

  ‘I don’t know. He was loved by everyone at the club. And the fans, too. We’re about to make the playoffs for only the third time in our forty-year history.’

  Jack coughed into his fist. ‘It’s come to our attention you and Collins were refusing to release one of your star recruits to an NBA club. I’m not sure Leroy Costa would share that love.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but matters of that nature are commercial in confidence.’ The statement brooked no argument. ‘They have nothing to do with any investigation of yours.’

  ‘Listen, sunshine,’ Jack edged forward in his seat, clenched his jaw. Gomez might look like Pablo Escobar, but he couldn’t frighten a seasoned South London brawler. ‘We’re talking about a possible murder, here, not spraying graffiti on a wall. You hiding behind confidentiality rings alarm bells with me. Now, you can tell me here or we can continue the conversation down at the station. Why didn’t you release the player from his contract?’

  Beefy biceps snaked across the furry chest into a defiant arm fold. ‘I don’t take too kindly to being intimidated. You’re failing at that by the way Detective…what was it again…Lemon?’

  ‘Lisbon.’

  ‘I apologise.’

  ‘And my partner apologises, too, Mr Gomez,’ said Taylor. ‘DS Lisbon’s been under a lot of stress lately.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Jack protested. ‘I just want to know the truth. I can understand you sticking to the letter of a contract to get the result you want. What I wanna know is, how did Leroy react to your greedy, despicable decision to put a brake on his blossoming career?’

  In his peripherals, Jack noticed Taylor place a palm over her reddening face.

  Gomez stood, shook a fat fist at Jack. ‘Do you think insulting me is going to get me to co-operate? Get the fuck out of my office.’

  ‘I’ll be back with a warrant to collect your paperwork. You’re covering something up, and we’re going to find out what it is. You’ll be surrendering your electronic devices, mobile phones, the works. Your staff, too. If you’re hiding something, we’ll find it. C’mon, Claudia. Let’s leave this greasy spiv alone to think about things for a while.’

  ‘Jack,’ she hiss-whispered. ‘Have you lost your fucking mind?’

  ‘Yes, have you?’ said Gomez.

  Jack touched the door handle, about to turn it. Occasionally, something inside his head snapped, he lost control. He didn’t know how to stop it, only how to patch over the damage. ‘OK, OK. I may have been a little out of line.’ He slumped back in the chair, ran a hand across his brow, clammy to the touch. ‘I’m a bit rattled
by this whole thing. A good friend of mine was nearly a second victim in the car crash.’ That was gilding the lily, but might help recover the situation.

  Gomez frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A guy I spar with at the gym. He happened to be driving the vehicle the bloke in the Camry struck after mowing down your coach.’

  ‘Is he OK?’

  ‘Some whiplash, bruising, nothing life threatening. But the psychological trauma could last a lifetime.’

  They sat in silence. Perhaps he’d let Claudia handle the man for a while. They’d get back to the contractual issue later. ‘DC Taylor. Didn’t you have a question or two about Collins’ wife, Fil?’

  ‘That’s right, Jack, I do. Mr Gomez, Can you tell me if there were any rumours about Ms Collins being in a…romantic…relationship with any of the players? Costa in particular? She seemed to get flustered when we mentioned his name.’

  ‘Nothing about that’s reached my ears. From what I knew, she and Dale had been happily married for ages. Adored each other. Besides, the players’ personal business is exactly that. As long as they perform on the court and keep their noses clean with the law, I really don’t care what they get up to in their spare time.’

  ‘What about Fil?’

  ‘She’s a diligent worker, they say. If she was getting cosy with a player, I’m ignorant of the fact.’

  ‘What was your opinion of Dale Collins as a man?’ Jack re-joined the interview. ‘Were you friends?’

  Gomez stared at the back of his hirsute hands. ‘I rated him highly. Some wanted to get rid of him, we hadn’t made the playoffs for a decade. Three years ago the Scorpions came stone motherless last. But I saw something in him. He was starting to get some good wins at the back end of last year. I raided the piggy bank and acquired Costa from a US college just before the start of this season, and a new point guard from Sydney. I thought we’d stand a good chance of making the playoffs if we kept Collins in the position. He just needed more firepower on the court.’

  ‘How much did you end up paying for Costa, if you don’t mind me asking?’ Jack said casually. Let’s not stir Gomez up again.

  ‘Three times what I pay the next best player.’ A cryptic answer.

  ‘Exactly how much is that?’ Taylor enquired, pen poised over her jotter.

  The owner sighed. ‘OK. I guess it’ll come out eventually. $450,000 a year.’

  Scribbling away, Taylor whistled and said, ‘That’s a lot of money alright. But there’s something I don’t get.’

  ‘What’s that?’ said Gomez.

  ‘I did a little online research on the drive over here,’ Taylor continued. ‘A rookie player in the NBA, a man born and raised in Australia, by the way, just signed a deal for 150 million dollars over five years. You might have heard of him. Simon Benjamin.’

  Gomez nodded.

  ‘So here’s the thing. I don’t understand how the Los Angeles Lakers, one of America’s wealthiest franchises, wouldn’t offer you a shitload of money to release Leroy on the spot.’

  ‘They did. And I’m prepared to, in theory. Problem is, the Lakers don’t want to wait. My dream is to take the Scorpions to the title. Without Leroy, we’ve got no chance. I told Leroy, if we win the title this year, I’ll release him. If not, he has to play out his contract or he can exit it as soon as we get that elusive championship.’

  ‘Your dream,’ said Jack. ‘What about his dream?’

  ‘Listen, Detective. I’m 67 years old. Leroy’s 22. Which one of us has time on his side, huh? Not me.’

  ‘And how long is that contract?’ said Taylor.

  ‘Three years. In this game, that’s considered a long-term deal. So I get why Leroy’s a tad agitated. But he has to man up and honour the paper he signed.’

  An interesting admission, Jack thought. Agitated. But to what degree? Enough to orchestrate the elaborate murder of his coach for revenge?

  ‘Was he mad at you for blocking him?’

  ‘From what I hear, that seemed to be the case. Only natural. I’d feel the same.’

  ‘And how did that anger manifest itself?’

  ‘That’s a question best directed to my Operations Manager, Roderick Parata.’

  ‘Really? You can’t expect me to believe you know so little about how your number-one star player felt about being stiffed.’

  ‘Believe what you will.’ Gomez’s expression was unflinching. ‘I need to stay objective, treat the club like a business. If I get too attached to individual players, it’s gonna cloud my vision about what’s best for the franchise overall. I’ve studied the subject. Owners get too pally with the players, disaster follows.’

  Jack had to agree, Gomez made sense. ‘Did Collins agree with your position on Costa?’

  ‘Agree with it? It was him who convinced me to put my foot down.’

  ‘What?’ This was unexpected.

  Gomez nodded. ‘I’m not the only one with a dream. Dale was yet to add “NBL title winning coach” to his CV. He knew he needed Leroy Costa to achieve that goal. I just hope the interim coach can get them over the line tomorrow night.’ He paused, reached in a drawer and pulled out a long, thick cigar. Jack smiled inwardly.

  ‘Do either of you mind?’ The flame of his lighter was already licking the tip of the cigar. He inhaled and a cloud of smoke curled to the ceiling. Picture complete.

  Jack and Taylor shook their heads. Soon the room was enveloped in a haze of sweet tobacco smoke. Jack found it almost intoxicating, Taylor wrinkled her nose a couple of times but said nothing. It was Gomez’s turf after all, and although it was a technical breach of the health act, neither detective would be petty enough to argue the matter.

  ‘You didn’t answer my second question,’ Jack insisted. ‘Were you and Dale friends?’

  ‘Look.’ Gomez tapped a small collar of ash into a chunky glass ashtray. ‘I’ve only been the owner since the end of last season. I’ve known Dale for less than a year. Over that time we’ve grown close, I guess. He is…was…a likeable soul. Socially, that is. When he was in the zone, at training sessions or during a match, he was a focussed demon.’

  ‘Is the stand-in bloke as focussed as Dale was?’ said Jack.

  ‘No. But he’s been assisting for four seasons, so he knows the set plays backwards.’

  ‘He’s got a lot of pressure on him. You reckon he can motivate the team the same way Collins did?’

  Gomez spread his palms. ‘That remains to be seen. I’m praying he can.’

  Taylor placed her cup on a saucer with a clank. ‘I wonder, would Gould go as far as to bump off the coach so he himself could get the credit for winning a title. It’d be his name in the record books, not Collins.’

  Gomez narrowed his eyes. ‘Nope. Austin’s been a loyal deputy. I can’t see him doing something like that. No way.’

  ‘Who was the coach before Collins came on board?’

  Gomez screwed up his mouth, the top lip grazing the bottom of his fleshy nose. ‘Roy Sanderson.’

  ‘Was he sacked to make way for Collins?’ said Taylor.

  ‘I see where you’re heading.’ Gomez rested his cigar in the ashtray, a curl of smoke rose towards the ceiling as he cracked the knuckles of his left hand. ‘A possible revenge killing. But no. The club had to advertise for a new coach when Sanderson accepted a generous offer to coach in the Euroleague.’

  Jack exchanged a look with Taylor that said “interview over”. He stood, extended his hand. ‘That will do for now, Mr Gomez. We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.’

  ‘Of course. Although I’m not sure there’s anything more I can help you with.’

  Jack turned at the door. ‘I’m sorry for my outburst earlier. Stress of the job and all that.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ said Gomez, lips barely moving.

  ‘Just one more thing.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Where can I find your Operations Manager?’ Jack sensed the man would be closer to the action. Closer to the truth
.

  ‘He’s usually at his desk or out at the stadium.’

  ‘So, which is it?’

  ‘Neither, he’s arriving in a couple of hours from a meeting in Melbourne.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Late, but he’ll be at the game tonight. Have you got tickets?’

  Jack nodded.

  ‘Tear them up or give them to someone else.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You misunderstand. You and Detective Taylor will be my guests in the corporate section.’

  Jack turned to see Taylor’s eyes widening at the prospect of getting the VIP treatment. He looked back at Gomez. ‘The Inspector and his family are going, too.’

  A blank stare from Gomez. ‘So?’

  ‘I was thinking, perhaps, since you’re in such a generous mood…’

  ‘Don’t push it, Detective. I’m just getting over the way you insulted me.’

  ‘Right you are. Much obliged.’ Jack hustled Taylor out into the corridor before her soft chuckle turned into a belly laugh.

  Chapter 9

  Jack scanned the inside pages of a glossy fold-out program for tonight’s game. The basketball world was anticipating a hotly contested encounter between the third-placed Launceston Vikings and the fifth-placed Yorkville Scorpions. A win to the home team more would see them advance to fourth position, ensuring a place in the finals. With Leroy Costa firing, the chances of that happening were high. The loss of the coach was a devastating blow to the team, the club, the community as a whole, but the players would dig deep and win it to honour the memory of a great man. Jack folded the program and put it in his back pocket.

  He cast his eyes about the packed stadium. Gomez hadn’t been lying. Coach Collins was adored by the fans. About 80 percent of them seemed to be wearing black armbands. Granted, he was wearing one, too. They were being handed out at the door to every patron as they entered the stadium.

  The buzzer struggled to be heard over the up-tempo music pumping through the stadium. The warm-up period came to an end, hyped players, all wearing the obligatory black armbands, bounced off the court into the change rooms. The crowd erupted with whistling, cheering, clapping and foot stomping. Show time was just around the corner.