‘Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.’
‘Maybe. Hang on, the lawyer’s free now. I’ll call you back.’
Half an hour later, Jack was armed with the names, phone numbers and last known addresses of four witnesses to the bar-room assault. Plus the victim. The latter would never be interviewed. According to Brinkworth, Jarred Fox, an apprentice plumber and promising cricketer, never fully recovered from his injuries. After the attack, he suffered blackouts, chronic headaches and permanent ringing in the ears. He committed suicide last July by taking a long swim into the Pacific Ocean with all his clothes on and a belly full of alcohol. Any sympathy Jack may have had for Cameron Snyder evaporated like mist. He was an arsehole with a short fuse who got his comeuppance. No matter his distaste for the victim, the crime still needed solving, especially if Jack was to get on the 777 to Heathrow this weekend.
The construction area was crawling with men in hardhats toting tools and materials. Somewhere amongst the hive of activity was witness number one, Gabe Snowden, a plumber like Jarred Fox. They’d attended the same trade school. Jack had rung the mobile number provided by Brinkworth on the drive over. Snowden confirmed he was at work, installing hot water systems in the new apartment block going up, ironically, a stone’s throw away from the now infamous Pilkington fish factory.
A quick word from the DS to the site manager in his demountable office and an underling in an orange vest was despatched to fetch Gabe Snowden. Jack retreated to the relative quiet of the dirt car park and leaned against the patrol car’s driver door. He closed his eyes and let the gentle rays of the sun warm his face, a moment just to let go. Crunching footsteps approaching made him open his eyes. A young man with blonde dreadlocks was making his way over to Jack, shoulders slumped and a vacant expression on his face.
‘I’m the cop you spoke to on the phone,’ said Jack, holding out his credentials. ‘I haven’t got all day so I’ll cut to the chase. What can you tell me about Cameron Snyder?’
‘Nuthin.’ A large Adam’s apple rose and fell in Snowden’s throat.
‘You don’t watch the news?’
‘Nope.’ Getting Snowden to open up was going to be a challenge.
‘What about Jarred Fox?’
The man’s face fell, his mouth drooped at the corners like he was about to burst into tears. ‘He was…my…mate.’
Jack noticed a stylised animal tattooed just below the man’s left ear. A dog? No, it was a fox. And then, the penny dropped. Vengeance for a fallen comrade. Meek and mild on the surface, Gabe Snowden had a ton of motive to slay Snyder. Advertised on the boy’s damn neck. Maybe all four lads were complicit in Snyder’s murder. It wouldn’t have surprised Jack, young men with a strong bond, together organising the execution of the man who destroyed the life of a close friend. ‘Tell me what happened to Jarred?’
‘He died.’
‘Listen,’ Jack said through gritted teeth. He fought the instinct to scream at Snowden. This was not the time or place. Kid gloves now, sledgehammer later. ‘Here’s the deal. I know you know who Snyder is. He’s the bloke who caused so much damage to your mate that he ended his own life. And even an out-of-touch tradesman like you must have heard on the grapevine Snyder’s been murdered. You’re probably thinking to yourself, Finally, justice for Jarred. I’ve got my closure and I don’t have to say any more.’
Snowden scratched an arm. ‘Say any more about what? I dunno what you want from me.’
‘I want you to tell me why you withdrew your statement about what happened at the Red Lion pub.’
‘I never.’
‘Yes you did!’ Jack thundered. He kicked the dirt, creating a mini dust cloud. Rein it in Jack. ‘I just visited the law firm who was supposed to represent Jarred until…well, you know what happened.’ It was tempting to put Hook’s name into the kid’s mouth, but he had to let it come out naturally. ‘I know you and your pals were all lined up to testify but retracted.’
‘Re what?’
‘Retracted. You took back your statements and agreed not to testify.’
‘Only after Jarred said he never wanted to take it any further.’
‘Was he scared of Snyder?’
‘Nah. I can’t tell you.’
‘Why not? Did someone threaten you?’
Snowden turned his head, gazed at a forest of scaffolding embracing the apartments. ‘Like you said, Jarred’s dead and nothing will bring him back. I’ve gotta get back to work. The boss’ll be fuming.’
‘No he won’t. Look, what if I told you the mongrel who leaned on you, Jarred and the other fellas, has one foot in the grave?’
‘What does that mean? Is he working at the cemetery now?’
Were young people these days that thick they only understood things literally? ‘It means he’s probably going to die soon. He’s had a massive heart attack and the doctors don’t fancy his chances of survival beyond a few weeks.’
‘I’m not surprised. Jarred said he was a fat fuck.’ A half smile crept across Snowden’s freckled face.
‘Tell me his name please, Gabe.’
Snowden studied his boots and whispered. ‘Hook. Ray Hook.’
‘OK.’ Jack took a deep breath. ‘Would you agree to make a formal statement to that effect?’
‘Fuck no.’
‘What if I guarantee nothing will happen to you?’
‘You can’t.’
‘Oh, believe me, I can.’ Jack’s phone, set to silent in his jacket pocket, vibrated insistently against his ribs. Then it stopped, two sharp buzzes. Someone’s left a voice mail. Ignore for now. ‘Even if by some miracle Hook survives, I’ve got enough dirt to put him away until he croaks in a prison cell. That’s if the crims don’t finish him off first.’ Jack added he would make the same guarantee of protection to the other lads who saw Snyder’s vicious attack. With all four on board, Jabba would be at Jack’s mercy from now on.
‘Liam’s working here with me. Wanna talk to him now?’
‘Is the effing Pope catholic?’
The two trudged through a chicane of wheelbarrows and pallets of bricks, got Jack a hard hat and located Liam Renner, a tiler, on the first floor. In a tribal conversation of gestures and grunts, Gabe convinced Liam to also provide a statement about Hook’s threats. Jack kept an eye out for “tells” as they spoke, signs of guilt. He saw none.
‘OK,’ said Jack, rubbing his hands together. ‘Are the other two boys also working here?’
‘Nah,’ said Liam. ‘Robbo’s pissed off to Melbourne to become a pastry chef and Jeb’s gone back to New Zealand to live. Dunno what he’s doing now. Those guys couldn’t stand being in the same state as Hook or Snyder, let alone the same region.’
Jack had a thought. Perhaps he could add bribery to the Assistant Commissioner’s list of misdeeds. ‘Did Ray Hook pay you fellas any money to keep quiet?’
Two heads shook in unison. ‘He didn’t have to,’ said Liam. ‘He shouted down the phone like a madman. It was obvious he wasn’t bluffing. Even if he was, we were too scared to take the chance.’
‘OK, one more thing. I’ll need you to pop down the station to make this official. You prepared to do that?’
Liam gave his friend a wink of reassurance. This pair would be solid as a rock. Hook, on the other hand, would be properly fucked.
Jack shook the boys’ hands, thanked them for their cooperation, agreed on a time tomorrow when they could pop into the cop shop for a chat. In Interview Room 1, he’d holler at them, bang the table with his fists, throw accusations around like hand grenades. They were well-mannered, respectful young men, not hardened career criminals. If the lads were guilty of killing Snyder, there’s a good chance an Academy Award winning performance by Jack would see them crumble and confess.
He strode back to the car, listening to the voice mail message as he went. Batista. Get your arse back to the station. I’ve called a snap press conference.
Chapter 24
Holly Maguire, Channel 11’s
hotshot news anchor and chief crime reporter, stood and spoke into a big black microphone emblazoned with her news outlet’s logo. ‘Inspector Batista. Is there any truth to the rumours the murder of Cameron Snyder is linked to the upcoming CHOGM meeting?’
‘None.’ The single syllable flew out of Batista’s mouth.
‘No links whatsoever? Why should anyone take your denial on trust?’
‘Let me state from the outset, this get together wasn’t my idea. I would never call one so early in an investigation unless we were totally stumped, which we aren’t.’ He took a sip of water, made the crowd wait a moment before continuing. ‘The Police Commissioner herself tasked me to brief the media today. She’s worried by the frenzy of Internet chatter about terrorism coming to our shores. I can assure you, nothing is further from the truth.’ The chief was resplendent as always for press conferences, uniform starched and ironed to perfection, necktie in a fancy double Windsor knot Jack could never master. The embodiment of law and order. ‘The Commissioner asked Yorkville Police to allay those baseless fears. Because that’s all this is, hysteria stirred up by people with nothing better to do than post garbage on social media.’
Jack sat to the Inspector’s right, scanning the assembled sharks as they sniffed the air for traces of blood. They might be predators, but old Joe Batista was an expert in defending the integrity of the force from hostile outsiders.
‘There’ve been stories in foreign newspapers.’ Maguire again. ‘The press in India and Canada have picked up on the murder of Cameron Snyder, and the fact it happened virtually on the eve of CHOGM. There’s fear abroad government representatives are potentially in danger. Are you saying they’re worried about imaginary threats?’
Batista nodded, coughed loudly into his fist. He then cleared his throat like he was going to hack up a snot-ball the size of a scoop of ice-cream. Jack watched the twisted faces of the crowd of journos and smiled. Off to a flyer, sir. ‘Thanks for the follow-up question, Ms Maguire. I know the public, both here and abroad, are concerned. But let me assure you, all security arrangements for the Heads of Government meeting in Cairns are being taken care of by the Federal Police and ASIO and there are no, I repeat, no threats.’
A newspaper hack from Brisbane, shirt half hanging out of his pants and hair protruding in all directions, raised a hand and Batista acknowledged him. ‘With all due respect, Inspector, the venue for the meeting in Cairns is only an hour’s drive away, close enough for Yorkville’s citizens to be anxious. Are authorities prepared for terrorist attacks here?’
Well done, dickhead. Whipping up panic when the chief’s appealing for calm. Jack wanted to scream at him to shut the fuck up, drummed his fingers instead.
‘Listen, my friend,’ said Batista in the patronising tone he reserved for the media. ‘What you are suggesting is so unlikely as to be laughable.’
Jack nodded and grinned. Good one, sir.
‘Can you give a guarantee that–’
‘As I already said, these matters are being handled by the appropriate agencies. The safety of the citizens of Yorkville is my number one priority. If that were being compromised, do you think I wouldn’t say something about it?’
The man’s mouth moved like a goldfish but no sounds came out.
‘We are treating this terrible homicide as we would any other and are investigating in our usual professional manner, calling on other departments within the Queensland Police Service to assist us as and when required.’
‘So there’s no connection to domestic loonies, far-right movements? I heard rumours Snyder had ties with various patriotic groups. The Wild Colonial Boys, for example.’ Macho reporter Johnno Peroni, ex-rugby professional now a gopher style reporter for Channel 3, scowled like a negative answer could elicit violence.
‘There were such no links,’ said Jack. ‘You know, sometimes I wonder whether you people even listen to the responses you’re given.’
Peroni’s face flushed red. He was about to say something else when Jack pointed a finger at a seasoned journalist from the Yorkville Times. ‘Yes, Fiona, you were next.’
Fiona Wagstaff, caught off guard, flicked through a notebook. ‘Oh, yes. Detective Sergeant Lisbon, could you please tell us if you have any leads?’
Bless you Fiona. A nice, normal question people want answered. Not doomsday nonsense about non-existent terror groups. ‘Yes, we do. A number of them, in fact.’ Jack consulted a printed sheet, prepared an hour ago by Taylor. ‘As we already revealed via a press release on Tuesday evening, Mr Cameron Snyder died from a single, deep stab wound to the neck after suffering non-fatal blunt force trauma to the crown of the head. So far no weapons have been recovered but the search continues. Persons of interest have been interviewed at length, some of them providing us with information that is helping progress our enquiries further.’ Jack looked up and blinked a couple of times. Christ, Taylor, how do you come up with this? ‘More key individuals are expected to be questioned over the next 48 hours. Our forensics experts are still analysing a large quantity of samples, some taken from the crime scene, others supplied voluntarily by persons we are seeking to eliminate as suspects. We are hopeful our scientific experts will find conclusive evidence leading to an arrest.’ Jack dropped the piece of paper back on the table, tucked back in his pocket the pen he’d been running down the side of the page as he read aloud. ‘That’s about all we have for you today, folks.’
‘Persons of interest are one thing, but do you have any actual suspects?’ Maguire wasn’t ready to wind things up.
Jack rested his elbows on the table, steepled his fingers. ‘Sure we have suspects.’
‘Can you elaborate?’
‘Not at this stage. To do so would compromise our enquiries.’
‘Is that so? How do you respond to comments I obtained from one of Snyder’s neighbours? She claims several days ago she saw men wearing dark suits arrive at Snyder’s house in armoured vehicles. She says they entered the building, exited ten minutes later and drove off.’
‘With or without AK-47s?’ said Jack, cocking an eyebrow. Maguire offered a deep frown as the rest of the gallery laughed. Peroni the loudest of all.
‘She didn’t say.’
Jack shook his head. ‘I think I know which neighbour you’re talking about, and with all due respect, her statement hasn’t a shred of credibility.’
‘Have you checked it out, though?’ Maguire would not be deterred. Her skin must be thicker than a rhino’s arse.
‘Look, if she was that concerned she would have called the police, wouldn’t she?’
‘Perhaps she was too scared to. Why aren’t you following this up? It sounds like the potential link to terrorism you’re so keen to dismiss,’ said Peroni, supporting Maguire’s pointless onslaught.
‘No other neighbours have mentioned mysterious visits by groups of men,’ chimed in Batista. ‘I’m sure the person Ms Maguire spoke to was mistaken. There’s been a lot of file footage on TV lately from previous CHOGM meetings, secret service men running about and whatnot. I reckon the dotty old dear’s started to confuse what she’s seen on television with her own version of reality.’
The back row of reporters chuckled at Batista’s description of the neighbour. Jack prayed Pat O’Grady wasn’t watching the press conference. She’d be entitled to file a suit against Batista for defamation of character.
‘It could be a top secret operation the neighbour witnessed,’ said Fiona Wagstaff. ‘Can you be certain the spooks wouldn’t keep some things from the QPS?’
Batista rolled his eyes, signalling it was time to end this press conference before it turned into a complete circus. ‘As Detective Sergeant Lisbon told you already, Yorkville CIB is pursuing a number of leads and we have yet to interview all persons of interest. In conclusion, I’m going to repeat the key message. There are no grounds to believe our city and its citizens are in danger from terrorist attacks. End of story. Thanks all for attending.’ He turned to Jack and whispered. ‘C’mon, let�
�s get out of here.’
Chapter 25
‘Thanks for the script, Claudia.’ Jack flopped into the revolving office chair at his corner work station, spun a half rotation. ‘Helped me keep those jackals at bay.’
‘No worries,’ said Taylor from her neighbouring desk. ‘Anything for the cause. I’d hate for Holly Maguire to get one over on us. For what it’s worth, I thought you and the chief handled those numpties with aplomb.’ She shuffled papers before securing them with a paper clip. She leaned across and passed the bundle to Jack. ‘I’ve located Robert Gillon, the pastry chef who witnessed Snyder assaulting Jarred Fox. He’s working at a bistro in Melbourne’s Southbank. All his details and some background are in there.’
‘Impressive.’ Jack grinned. ‘What about the Kiwi?’
‘No joy.’
‘Seriously? The bloke’s name is Jebediah Heatherington-Smythe. Shouldn’t be too hard for a sleuth like you.’
‘I found a relative in Auckland, a cousin. She reckons Jeb’s a loner, has nothing to do with the rest of the family. I found a Facebook account with his name and sent a message for him to contact me. No response as yet.’
‘You call the New Zealand cops for assistance?’
‘Yes, Jack. All twelve districts. None of them have any information on the guy. There’s no record from Immigration that he’s returned to Australia.’
Jack rested his head in his hands. ‘Yeah. Sorry, Claudia. I’m worried we’ve got no one firming as a prime suspect and time’s running out with that stupid deadline Batista imposed.’
‘I sympathise with you, Jack I really do.’
‘As if that wasn’t bad enough, I completely ruined my date last night. I said something stupid and she left me sitting there like a stunned mullet.’
Taylor’s eyebrows arched as she frowned and nodded. ‘Again, I sympathise.’
Jack offered a lip curl of appreciation and flicked through the file on pastry chef Robert Gillon. He dialled the restaurant’s number but got voice mail. Must be too early for the bistro to be open. He left a message for Gillon to call back and hung up. What to do next? Jack’s mind was whirling, so many potential suspects, but there was nothing concrete to arrest any of them.
Trick Shot: an absolutely gripping mystery and suspense thriller (The Fighting Detective Book 3) Page 17