‘Listen to me, Lisbon.’ Hook couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice. What on earth could he have done? ‘I’ll personally make up the difference with any money you lose on rescheduling your flight.’
‘I told you, I’m not delaying this trip.’ Jack wanted to scream at the fool. Somehow, he controlled his temper, spoke at a conversational level. ‘Sarah will have my guts for garters. She’s already nominated me for worst father in the history of the world, fills Skye’s head with bullshit about me. If I don’t show, the kid’ll hate me for the rest of my life.’
‘If you can get this sorted for me in, say, five days, I’ll upgrade your flight to business class.’
‘First class. Whether I get it “sorted”, as you put it, or not.’ One of Jack’s favourite mottos was: You don’t ask, you don’t get. The chances of “getting” were especially high when dealing with desperate policemen in the top brass. They had more to lose.
‘All right, then. First class, fuck you, Lisbon.’
‘Steady on, sir. No need for profanity.’
‘I’m stressed.’
‘You’ll be even more stressed when I ask for something else.’
‘What?’
‘Tell Batista to grant me another week off because you need my help so badly. That’ll round my holiday off to a month. Also, I want a signed letter I can show Sarah saying you held me back from travelling and that I had no choice in the matter. Speaking of which, you haven’t mentioned what’s going on, sunshine.’
The huffing and puffing on the other end of the line grew more ragged. The fat toad’s going to have a coronary. Jack thought he heard the sound of a long, frantic inhalation on an asthma puffer. Gradually Hook brought his breathing under control. ‘I want you as my man on the ground, so to speak. Here’s what I need you to do…’
Chapter 3
‘What the…?’ The coffee cup stopped halfway to Taylor’s mouth. ‘You’re still here in Yorkville? I thought you’d be 30,000 feet in the air by now. What the hell happened?’
‘Don’t ask.’ Jack tossed his jacket over the back of his chair. ‘Last-minute stuff up with the booking.’ He hated lying to Taylor. Once the case was concluded, he’d tell her the truth.
‘Isn’t there anything you can do?’
‘It was a double booking. Happens a lot, they tell me. The airlines anticipate a percentage of people are going to cancel and they don’t wanna be left with empty seats flying all the way to Europe. So they sell tickets for more seats than there are on the plane.’
‘Ridiculous. Imagine if restaurants did that. Is it even legal?’
Jack nodded. ‘Apparently it is. It’s got me stymied how they get away with it. Anyway, there were no effing cancellations for my flight. I’m not the only one who got bumped, either. Another ten people have to make different arrangements.’ The mini head shakes from Taylor as he relayed his tale of woe proved the invented extra details were painting a credible picture.
‘Didn’t you tell them at the call centre you were a famous crime-fighting hero?’
‘Very droll. Apparently they’ve never heard of me in India. Go figure.’
‘You getting your money back?’
Jack flashed her a broad grin. ‘I’m not just a heavy hitter in the ring, Claudia. I made them give me an upgrade. First class, if you please.’
‘Now I’m confused. I thought you said you weren’t going?’
‘I never said that. I am. But not for another five days. There’s no openings in the toffee-nose section until next week.’
‘Won’t your ex-wife Sarah be–’
‘Don’t mention her name, please. I’m only going back to see Skye.’
‘My apologies.’ Taylor switched her gaze to her computer monitor.
Jack glanced at his watch. The call would come soon. In the meantime, he chatted to Wilson on options for organising his old case files. The constable suddenly asked a reasonable question. ‘I’m wondering, if you’re stuck here for another week and things are quiet, why can’t you do this yourself?’
As the cogs whirred in Jack’s mind, he was saved by the bell. Literally. The landline phone delivered its old-fashioned ring.
‘Excuse me while I get this, Wilson.’ Jack removed the handset from its cradle. ‘Good morning sir.’ A long pause. ‘What?’ Feigned surprise. ‘Are you sure? Right, we’re on our way.’ Jacket on, snatch car keys, stash Nicorettes in pocket. He’d need them later to mask the bitter flavour of duplicity he’d be tasting in the back of this throat.
Jack bit a fingernail on his left hand as he set the cruise control button to 101 kms per hour with his right. The drive to Hook’s office in Cairns would take a little over an hour. The last of the rampaging cyclones and torrential summer rain was behind them, clear autumn weather ahead for the next few months. Bliss. Pity he’d miss a good chunk of it in cold, rainy England.
‘What’s all this about then, sir?’ said Wilson from the back seat. Batista insisted they take the constable along. For the experience. Jack would have preferred otherwise, but the lad might prove useful.
‘We’ve been summoned to kneel before the Assistant Commissioner while he briefs us on an urgent matter.’
‘Quite the honour. Cairns is a fair way off our patch, though.’
‘Yeah, so enjoy the ride. I double-checked with Batista to make sure Hook’s on the level. The Inspector has to assume he is. You two are coming along to help me…ah…keep the chap honest.’
‘What did Hook say it was about?’ said Taylor.
‘Nothing. Just that it was important and he wanted me to oversee something.’ Jack was finding it easy to deceive Taylor. Too easy. ‘He didn’t want to say anything to me over the phone and Batista doesn’t know anything, or at least he claims not to. This is one of those directives light on the details. As they say in the classics, all will be revealed.’
‘For God’s sake, Jack. I’m starting to think you’re bullshitting me. We don’t get our cases assigned by the top brass, there’s a chain of command to be observed. Everything gets passed on through Batista. In all my career I’ve never heard of anything like this.’
‘No? Happened a lot back in the UK. I had one case that was two officials removed from Number 10 Downing Street.’ Utter bollocks, but she couldn’t refute it.
To stifle more questioning, he turned on the Ford Territory’s radio. FM modern alternative. The female vocalist’s voice sounded like a tone deaf cat being strangled with piano wire. Time to exercise his new love of classical music. A quick station change. He had no idea what it was emanating from the 750 watt speakers in the back, but the heavenly strains of a violin section worked wonders. Taylor and Wilson seemed content to stare out the window and watch fields dense with sugar cane whiz past.
The trio travelled without conversation until they reached the outskirts of a flyspeck town halfway to Cairns. Jack slowed to the mandated 60 kph, cruised by a lonely petrol station guarded by a chained-up blue heeler dog, dozing with one eye open. Then a handful of classic Queenslander timber homes on stumps with wide verandas, the deep green foliage of shrubs highlighted by the cheery pink, white and orange blooms of hibiscus and frangipani. The richness of the landscape’s palette in northern Australia never ceased to gladden Jack’s cold English heart. Must be his Portuguese genes appreciating the warm tones.
‘DS Lisbon.’ Wilson couldn’t resist breaking the conversational silence. Either that or the music had stopped casting its spell.
‘What?’
‘Do you have any theories what this might be about?’
‘None.’
‘I have one. Want to hear it?’
Jack sighed. ‘Keep it brief and to the point. I’m starting to get a migraine.’
‘I think it might be something to do with the that pool hall owner who’s been accused of suspect property deals.’ Wilson spoke with confidence, as if he dealt with this subject on a daily basis.
‘Let’s just wait and see what the Big Kahuna has to say abo
ut it.’ Jack gritted his teeth as they stopped at a T-junction to let a road train rumble past.
‘Who?’
‘Hook, you daft git.’
The landscape once again changed, this time to farmland. Another ten minutes of beef cattle grazing in pastures until they abruptly entered a lush, thick-trunked rainforest. The interior of the vehicle darkened as it traversed a section of ancient tall trees, their canopies touching like extended hands about 20 metres above the midpoint of the road. As the car neared the exit of the arboreal tunnel, Taylor looked up from her glowing iPhone. ‘Don’t be so quick to dismiss Ben’s theory. He might be onto something.’
‘That’d be a nice change.’
Taylor ignored the sarcasm. ‘I found an article on the Cairns Clarion website. It’s about a guy who’s been trying to buy up expensive real estate near the waterfront.’ She scrolled for a few seconds. ‘He recently purchased the old Pilkington fish processing plant. He’s got plans to turn it into a massive games centre.’ Taylor looked up from her phone. ‘The word “alleged” appears a lot in this article by the way, the paper covering its arse legally I reckon.’ She looked back to the screen. ‘Anyway, some disappointed developers are asserting there’re dodgy dealings afoot. The fish plant is part of a deceased estate and should have gone through probate, but this bloke somehow bought it before it hit the market. Allegedly.’
‘You said something about a pool hall?’ said Jack, craning his neck towards Wilson.
‘Correct.’ Taylor blurted before Wilson could reply. ‘The pool hall in Cairns is called Chalkies. The owner in question is…hang on…Cameron…’
‘Snyder,’ chimed in Wilson. ‘Nickname “Cueball.” On account of his bald head.’
The Ford slowed to a stop at a set of lights. Two more blocks and they’d be at Hook’s office. ‘And what makes you think us being summonsed to Far North Queensland HQ has anything to do with this Cueball character?’ said Jack.
Through the rear vision mirror the DS saw Wilson shrug and smile. ‘Because of a connection with Yorkville, maybe?’
Jack quirked an eyebrow. ‘And what’s that?’ His colleagues had nearly hit the bull’s eye. Hook told Jack he wanted the DS on board to ensure attention was deflected away from Snyder’s affairs. The task somehow involved liaising with the media, but the details were still sketchy. Jack had no idea why Hook was so concerned about the fate of this particular man, and he didn’t want to know. He could almost feel the first-class ticket in his hand.
‘A relative of mine plays competition pool at a joint called Trick Shot Billiards and Snooker,’ said Wilson. ‘Oliphant Avenue, downtown Yorkville. The name’s misleading, they play everything there, including pool.’
‘I don’t care if they play bloody croquet on horseback, what’s your point?’ Pulling the wool over his colleagues’ eyes in a charade orchestrated by Hook didn’t sit comfortably with Jack. A seat near the pointy end of the plane, however, now that was comfortable. Just play dumb for now. Your colleagues will forgive you later.
‘Snyder owns it as well. My cousin Russell says he’s a regular visitor and that Snyder’s a right cunt…oh, sorry DC Taylor.’ In the rear view mirror Jack watched the constable’s face turn crimson.
Peals of laughter in the front seats drowned out the crashing canons of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture pouring through the back speakers. Taylor turned at the waist to face Wilson. ‘How many times do you think I hear that word every day in the line of duty?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Plenty. But in this case, you’re quoting your cousin, so I won’t take offence. Not that I would anyway.’
‘Thanks, DC Taylor.’
Jack smirked as he parked the car in a diagonal bay next to the blue-and-white police sign. Cairns District Police Headquarters in Sheridan Street was a three-story boxy construction lacking architectural merit. Functional if not pretty. An important facility painted exactly the same colour sat beside it. Cairns Courthouse.
‘You worked in Cairns for a bit last year, didn’t you Jack?’ said Taylor. ‘Know any good places for lunch?’
Taylor’s memory was spot on. Jack had appeared before the magistrate ten months ago, testifying as an arresting officer in a joint task-force drugs bust with Cairns CIB. The trial lasted five days and in that time he’d managed to sniff out some reasonable eateries. ‘Sure do. It’s a bit early to be thinking about that, though, innit? Maybe Hook’s gonna treat us to a slap-up feed at a five-star restaurant as a token of his appreciation.’
‘You think?’ Wilson’s eyes sparkled in the rear-vision mirror.
‘You never know. Be polite to him, say “yes sir” and “no sir” at the right times and we could be in luck.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Was that a practice run?’
‘No, sir.’
Taylor burst out laughing as they slammed the car doors shut and proceeded to Hook’s office on the second floor.
The role of Assistant Commissioner for Far North Queensland was a relatively new one, established just two years ago in the rapidly growing region. Hook had been rewarded with a posting to his home city of Cairns after working through the junior executive ranks around the state. His last position was a three-year stint in Brisbane, a special role, something to do with community liaison. In other words, a nice, cushy job. Looking at the man now, Jack could only think of Jabba the Hut in a uniform three sizes too small. How a senior police officer could let himself grow so obese, and secure a top executive role in the force, was a real head-scratcher. Old boys’ network was the first thing that sprang to mind. Or maybe he was simply a good administrator. Yeah, right.
‘Please, take a seat.’ Despite the cool ambient temperature of his plush office, silver blobs of sweat beaded on Hook’s bloodhound brow. He had a swarthy complexion tempered by the ruddy tones of a seasoned boozer. Nose broad and fleshy, an assortment of moles dotted a protruding chin that resembled an overripe plum.
The furnishings in the 25 square metre room wouldn’t have been out of place in a Ritz hotel penthouse. A richly patterned carpet thicker than an unmowed lawn was the first thing that impressed as you entered the office. Then your eyes were drawn to the polished Tasmanian oak conference table that stretched out like a runway. Upon the table sat a pewter coffee set that sparkled under numerous downlights. Soft black leather swivel chairs caressed the body like a Thai masseuse looking for tips. A tall bookshelf loaded with copies of legal books and other weighty tomes rested against a far wall.
Jack shivered as he took it all in. The room was probably this cold to keep the occupant’s core temperature at a safe level. Jack was tempted to take the jacket he’d draped over the spine of the chair he was sitting in, put it back on and do up all the buttons. Wilson sat with his arms wrapped around his body, Taylor kept her cotton blazer on.
‘Excuse me for a second.’ Jack gave in to the temptation, redonned his jacket. ‘Seems to be a bit chillier here than Yorkville. Which is odd, considering it’s closer to the equator ‘n all.’
‘Very humorous, Detective Sergeant Lisbon. If you want the aircon turned down, just ask.’
‘Can I–’
‘No!’ Hook leered like a Bond villain. ‘Just kidding, DS Lisbon.’ He pushed a button and a fresh-faced constable appeared at the door, face flushed and eyes bulging.
‘Yes, sir?’ Her timorous voice was barely audible.
‘Would you mind adjusting the air conditioning a tad? One of our guests is feeling cold.’
The woman grabbed a remote and with trembling hands pressed a button or two. ‘Oh, sorry, I forgot to ask what temperature you’d like.’
‘Maybe two or three degrees warmer.’ Jack wished he’d kept his mouth closed and spared the poor woman the indignity of Jabba’s bullying.
She offered a feeble smile, turned to leave, but she wasn’t getting away that easily. ‘Would you please pour us all a coffee before you go?’ said Hook.
‘I’m good,’ said Jack. He could have
murdered a nun for a strong Brazilian brew right now, but fuck Hook. Jack glared at his companions.
‘Me too,’ said Taylor and Wilson together. Subliminal message received.
Doing this prick a favour was starting to seem like a bad idea to Jack. Never again.
‘OK, thank you Constable Tinsdale,’ said Hook with condescending alacrity. ‘Back to your desk now.’
The urge to belt Jabba a series of hefty blows was a hard one to resist. If not for his superior rank, Hook’s blood would be spilling over the desk and onto the fancy carpet.
Hook tugged gently on his flappy bottom lip. ‘I’m pleased you brought the other officers along, Lisbon. It’ll make the job easier. Now,’ he made a throat-clearing cough in his ham-sized fist, white and soft from a career of deskwork and, Jack surmised, little physical toil. ‘Let me briefly explain what’s going on. I’m not sure if you’re aware of certain allegations against a Mr Cameron Snyder being made in the press.’
‘Yes,’ said Taylor. ‘I’ve seen one story in the Clarion.’
‘Good, good.’ Hook rubbed his hands together. ‘That’ll save me explaining some of the background.’
‘Not entirely,’ said Wilson. ‘I mean, you’ve got a bigger police presence in Cairns than we have in Yorkville. Plus this is away from our turf. With all due respect, what’s it got to do with us?’ He injected a tone of professional curiosity into his question before sinking his teeth into the black cap of a well-chewed ballpoint pen.
‘Fair question, Constable’ said Hook, nodding understandingly. ‘There are two reasons. Indeed, as you rightly point out, resources in Cairns outstrip what you have in Yorkville. However, there’s a big event coming up in two weeks’ time, the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting, or CHOGM as it’s better known. Leaders from around the world will be descending on our city and we have to make sure everything runs smoothly. We don’t want any nasty…ah…assassinations or other scandals spoiling things for everyone. Most of our available manpower is tied up with that, so…’
Trick Shot: an absolutely gripping mystery and suspense thriller (The Fighting Detective Book 3) Page 2