‘How was your date?’ Jack asked, looking through half-closed blinds at a flock of cockatoos commandeering a gum tree in the car park.
‘Hmm?’ said Taylor, eyes inches from her computer screen.
‘Your date. With the non-married guy.’
‘Better than yours, by the sound of it,’ she said cryptically.
What could that mean? Did she sleep with him? Dammit, he couldn’t bear the thought, even though he’d leapt into bed with Marietta at the first opportunity. He was about to ask for more details, when she offered the sweet words herself. ‘In other words, we said good-night at my door in an amicable fashion.’
‘A third date on the horizon?’
She shook her head. ‘I doubt it, the guy’s very nice but, just between you and me, he’s boring as bat shit.’
Jack smiled. ‘That’s a shame.’
Taylor moved her mouse around the pad and double clicked. ‘Wanna know what isn’t a shame?’
‘Wot?’
‘This email I just received from Margaret Proctor. Grab your jacket, the condom DNA results are in.’
Proctor beamed at the two detectives from behind her desk. ‘This Rapid DNA technology is superb, don’t you agree detectives?’
‘It’s bleedin’ fantastic,’ said Jack, mashing a wad of Extra gum. ‘Best thing since sliced bread.’ The rows of numbers and alien terms like sperm chromatin deprotamination, methylation and TUNEL assay made as much sense to the detectives as Mandarin. ‘Can you please explain the results. I don’t know why you just didn’t summarise the findings in the email, would have saved valuable time.’
‘I did.’
‘What?’ said Taylor.
‘In an attachment.’
Jack exchanged a puzzled look with Taylor. The DC pulled out her mobile, logged onto her work email account. ‘No, Margaret. Nothing there.’
‘Show me!’ Proctor took Taylor’s phone and scrolled to the end of the message. ‘There it is, five lines from the bottom.’ She frowned. ‘OK, I can see where the confusion arose. It’s a link to an external attachment sitting on a secure server. For some reason the link’s not the usual blue, but black like the text. I can see how you missed it.’
‘Thank God for that,’ said Taylor, absently tugging her scrunchie. ‘I thought I was going mad.’
‘Come on Margaret.’ Jack didn’t feel the urge to be as forgiving as Taylor. A phone call from the forensics chief would have made more sense. She could have rattled off the salient details without he and Taylor having to traipse all the way over to the pathology lab.
‘Come on what?’
‘It’s not like you to make a rookie error like that with a simple email message.’ He wouldn’t have been surprised if Proctor had camouflaged the link so she could regale the officers with her superior knowledge.
‘Excuse me?’ The hackles were up. ‘Yes, I’m a genius when it comes to forensic science, but configuring IT settings and preferences for the entire QPS is beyond my remit.’
‘It’s OK, Margaret. He didn’t mean it,’ said Taylor.
‘What she said.’ Jack was glad Claudia was around to play good cop, because he never could. ‘Enough chit-chat, ladies. Let’s be hearing the results.’
‘Sure. After running the polymerase chain reaction-based methods I described on your last visit, I was able to isolate the–’
‘Stop!’ Jack gripped the edge of the desk. ‘Just tell us, whose penis was in the rubber, and whose vagina was it in?’
Proctor recoiled, quickly regathered her wits. ‘The semen belongs to Snyder. No surprises there. And the analyses revealed it was indeed a female on the receiving end, so to speak. The long black hair we found in the bedsheets has the same DNA profile as the cells on the outside surface of the condom.’
‘Who dammit?’ Jack was standing now.
‘Misty Roach.’
If a mule had kicked Jack in the testicles the shock would have been less intense. He would have bet money on it being Renee van der Klopp. He dropped back into the plastic chair. ‘Say again.’
‘Misty Roach, real name Michelle Roach. She’s a sex worker.’
‘I know who she is,’ said Jack. ‘I’ve cautioned her for soliciting on the Esplanade at least twice this year.’
‘I heard she’d gone back to Mt Isa,’ said Taylor. ‘To relieve the copper miners of their hard-earned cash.’ said Taylor.
‘Apparently not.’ Jack was already at the door gripping the handle. ‘I know where her mum and sister live. Let’s go.’
Chapter 26
Michelle “Misty” Roach was a prostitute of Aboriginal descent who had been relieving North Queensland men of their money for almost fifteen years. Thirty-seven years of age, tall and rangy and serene, Misty was much in demand by clients looking for experience, as well as a kind soul they could share their problems with. In many cases, problems their wives and girlfriends didn’t want to know about. Since he’d been stationed at Yorkville station, Jack had dealt with Misty several times, all in his professional capacity as a cop. Never as a punter, despite the almost irresistible temptation. Once she provided Jack with confidential information that led to the arrest of a gang of bikers wanted for extortion. Apart from being a useful asset in the community, she was basically a good person. Jack liked her instinctively.
Detectives Lisbon and Taylor stood shoulder to shoulder on the porch of Betty-Lou Roach’s house in the down-at-heel suburb of Thurston. Jack rapped hard three times on the door before Mrs Roach, frizzy haired and barefoot in a bright red-green-and-yellow sarong, opened up with a welcoming smile. Two small terriers scurried about underfoot, Jack nearly stepped on one. ‘Get out of here, you two mongrels!’ she growled at the scruffy creatures who yapped twice and obediently ran in the opposite direction. She looked up at the cops. ‘I was talking to the dogs, in case you were wondering.’
‘Betty-Lou,’ said Jack. He and Taylor displayed their credentials like it was a synchronised move. ‘Nice to see you again.’
‘And you, Jack.’ The smile, if anything, grew bigger and cheekier. In his peripherals he saw Taylor’s eyes widen. God knew what she was thinking.
‘We’re looking for Misty. Is she here?’
‘She’s having a nap. She had rather a late night, watching movies into the wee hours. Don’t stand there looking like a desperate pair of Jehovah’s Witnesses. Come in.’
A ceiling fan in the wood-panelled interior rotated hypnotically overhead among a jumble of beams, dispersing the sweet, creamy fragrance of sandalwood incense.
‘Wake her up please,’ said Jack. ‘We need to ask her some important questions.’
‘She’s not in any trouble is she?’
‘No,’ said Taylor. ‘But she may know vital information that could help us crack the Cameron Snyder murder.’
Betty-Lou’s smile vanished, her hand shot to her mouth. She took it away, shifted her gaze to Jack and said, ‘I saw the Inspector and you on TV talking about this on the midday news. My, what a handsome man.’
‘Him?’ said Taylor, jerking a thumb at Jack.
‘I meant Joe Batista. But yes, him too.’ The smile was like a camera flash. ‘Wait here while I fix us a pot of tea and some treats. I’ll see if I can rouse Michelle.’
‘Michelle, not Misty,’ Taylor remarked as the swaying sarong disappeared down the corridor and made a left turn, dogs jumping at her heels. ‘Perhaps we should call her that when we’re talking to her?’
‘Y’know, that’s not a bad idea, sunshine.’ Jack touched Taylor on the elbow. ‘I reckon I will.’
Behind the wall a kettle whistled, a fridge door opened and closed, cups and saucers rattled. A yawning and stretching figure emerged from the dark of the hallway entrance into the living room. Like her mother, she wore a wraparound dress, white with a red hibiscus motif. Amber beads on a necklace, silver bracelets and anklets galore. Even with messy bed hair, Misty Roach was a mighty handsome woman. Jack understood why men paid top dollar for her company.
‘Detective Lisbon.’ She floated onto a vintage sofa like a leaf falling softly to the ground. She tucked her dress under her legs, reached for a packet of Winfield Blues. ‘Haven’t seen you for a while. How can I help?’ She extracted and lit a cigarette, made her lips an o-shape and sent a jet of smoke to the ceiling. She pointed at a glass ashtray on the table beside Taylor. ‘Could you pass that over, please, my dear?’
Taylor did as requested. ‘I’m Detective Constable Claudia Taylor, by the way.’ An extended hand was grasped limply. ‘Keeping young Jack here in line.’
‘G’day, love. Now, can you tell me what this is all about?’
Jack cleared his throat. ‘It’s a rather delicate matter, Mist…I mean Michelle.’
‘Delicate and you don’t go together, mate.’ She burst out laughing and Jack felt his face flush.
Betty-Lou shuffled in with a tray laden with a steaming teapot wearing a woollen cosy, floral china crockery, and a frosted cherry Madeira cake. Jack asked her to leave the goodies and give them some privacy. Her features fell as she looked at her daughter. ‘Sure you don’t want me to sit with you, honey?’
A shake of the head and a flick of the black locks that said, Off you go, mum I’ll be fine.
‘Do you watch the news, Michelle?’ said Taylor, slowly and deliberately.
‘Yeah, sometimes.’
‘Have you watched it in the last week? Like, since Monday night?’ said Jack, pouring amber tea into a dainty cup. He was only just able to fit a finger and thumb in the handle.
Michelle’s eyes darted about the room, her cool exterior heating up. ‘Um, no as it happens.’
‘Social media?’
‘Only my Instagram. Bugger all news on that. I’ve been out of the loop for a few days. I felt I needed a rest, you know?’
Jack nodded. ‘We could all do with a rest ’n all, right Claudia?’
‘A-ha’, Taylor confirmed.
‘When was your last punter?’ said Jack.
‘Actually, Monday night. And why should I have watched the bloody news? I know there’s some kind of big meeting going to be happening in Cairns. Is it something to do with that?’
‘No, Michelle,’ said Taylor. ‘It was your last client, Cameron Snyder. He was murdered on the same night you had sex with him.’
‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.’ Michelle made a rapid two-handed flutter gesture before her face, as if that would cool her down. ‘No way, no way, no way!’
‘Did you know the victim well?’ Taylor again.
‘What? Ah, yes. I mean no.’
‘Be more precise, please,’ said Jack.
‘I mean we hooked up, let me think, four times since the start of the year. He was one of my new punters.’
‘How did he become your customer?’ said Taylor.
‘Easily. I run a regular ad in the local newspaper. He rang the number, we met.’
‘Why would he have picked you in particular? There are dozens of ads for escorts.’
‘Yes, there are. Lots of the girls specify they’re Thai, Chinese, Ukrainian or whatever. I decided, hey, why shouldn’t I do the same? So my ad now mentions I’m Indigenous. And guess what?’
‘What?’ said Taylor.
‘Business is through the roof. Just after New Year this Cameron guy contacted me, said I sounded just like what he was looking for. I always went to his house at night, which doesn’t really suit me, I like to work during the day if I can. Anyway, I agreed because he offered me double the going rate.’
‘Was he not open to the idea of meeting you during the day?’
‘You know I got the impression he was terrified people might see me arrive during daylight hours. Didn’t want people to see him with a hooker.’
‘How would they know you’re a sex worker?’ said Jack.
‘I like to dress the part. Crazy high heels, skimpy outfits, crimson lippy and a ton of eye makeup. Anyone would be able to figure it out.’
‘If he was worried about being seen, why not simply meet at a hotel?’
‘Maybe because you need ID to book a hotel room,’ Misty shrugged.
Jack swallowed a piece of the cake, washed it down with tea. Not bad. He might have to find an excuse to visit the Roach household again. ‘We have reason to believe the victim was abusive towards his ex-wife. How was he with you?’
‘More physical than the average client, but he never actually hurt me. A lot of the time I just sat there in his kitchen, drinking gin and tonics and smoking cigarettes while he rambled on about his business, how he was going to build a huge empire.’
‘Did he speak about his ex-wife?’
‘He’s got an ex-wife?’
‘I’ll take that as a no.’
‘Did he ever rough you up?’ said Taylor. ‘Suggest doing anything you weren’t comfortable with?’
‘He liked to grab me around the neck, but it wasn’t choking. I think he got off on the visual aspect. With Cameron it was all over pretty quickly, he wasn’t a stayer.’
‘It seems you were the last person to see Snyder alive.’ Taylor locked eyes with her. ‘Could he have overstepped the mark with his little strangling game? Got you mad enough to kill him?’ The DC turned her palms upwards, inviting Misty to comment on the suggestion.
She raised a cup of tea with shaking hands, spilling some on the way to her mouth. It was too hard, she put the cup back down again. ‘Look, I had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. I didn’t even know about it until five minutes ago!’
‘Would you like to accompany us to the station?’ said Taylor. ‘Perhaps you’d like to discuss this in a more formal manner.’
‘Oh, Jesus, do I need a lawyer?’ Teardrops formed at the corner of her big brown eyes.
‘Not unless you killed him,’ said Jack. ‘Did you kill Cameron Snyder, Michelle?’
‘No! I didn’t kill him. Why would I? Holy shit, what time did you say he was murdered?’ As he watched her tears, Jack thought it a travesty Cam Snyder’s last pleasurable episode was with the lovely Misty. The fact his end came in such a violent way served as a modicum of justice.
Jack said, ‘According to our forensics experts, sometime between 10:00pm and midnight on Monday, 3rd of March.’
Misty’s face brightened. ‘I think I might have seen the killer.’
Jack burned rubber on the drive to Lydia’s house. Literally. At the corner of Atkins and Smethurst Streets he floored the gas pedal, sent the Kia into a wicked spin. Tyres screeched inside a tornado plume of stinking smoke. The type of behaviour the DS would arrest young hooligans for. The type of behaviour to earn a rebuke from DC Taylor.
A quick call to the station on the drive to Lydia’s house achieved mixed results. Yes, Trent Gillmeister had a car, and it matched Misty Roach’s basic description. But it was still registered in NSW. Had been for a number of years. Legally, he was required to flip the rego over to obtain a Queensland plate, but for some reason hadn’t done it. Which meant the address in the database from another state was totally useless. Moreover, Trent hadn’t bothered to get himself on the voter roll. The school might divulge the address, but Jack had a feeling that, in the absence of a warrant, he’d be met with nervy gatekeepers hung up on privacy issues.
It was imperative to get Trent’s address. And the only way to find out fast was to ask Lydia.
Two streets from their destination, Taylor launched a thought bubble. ‘Maybe the car Misty saw wasn’t even Trent’s, but a similar one? Perhaps he’d hired or borrowed another car the night of Snyder’s murder?’
‘You’re right.’ Jack exhaled loudly, bunched his cheek muscles. ‘But if Lydia confirms Gillmeister’s still driving the car registered down south, that’s enough for me to arrest him.’
Thought bubble number two was worse. ‘Or maybe it was just a man who resembled the victim’s brother-in-law and it wasn’t Trent at all?’
‘Dammit, Taylor. Stop sowing seeds of doubt. It’s him and we both know it.’
&nbs
p; She nodded. ‘Looks like it. Here’s the street, Jack. Make a hard left.’
Thump the door. Wait a minute. Bash again. Call her name. LYDIA! Shuffling footsteps, door opens. Lydia’s face looks like an unmade bed.
Inside the house, Lydia was barely coherent. There were more pills in her system than a pharmacy. ‘What do you want? You know what time it is?’
‘Ah, yeah,’ said Taylor incredulously. ‘It’s three in the afternoon.’
‘Really? I thought it was night time. Anyway, I gave the fucking swab like you asked, what else do you want? Go away and leave me alone, will ya.’ She waved her hand dismissively, turned on wobbly feet, presumably to trudge back to bed.
‘Not so fast.’ Taylor forestalled her with a grab of the forearm. ‘Can you please describe your brother’s car for us?’
‘His car? It’s red, s’all I know. Normal size, not an SUV or anything like that.’ Then a slight awakening, concern widening her eyes a fraction. ‘Hey, why’d you ask that? Was he in an accident?’
‘No. We just need to speak to him. But we have to make sure the car someone saw belongs to Trent.’
‘Hmm.’ She scratched her head. ‘Oh, yeah. It’s one of those European ones with a funny name.’
‘Peugeot, Renault?’ Jack hinted.
‘No, not a French one…um…oh, yeah. Sounds like a soft drink…soda…’
‘Skoda?’
‘Yeah, that’s it.’
‘Superb?’
‘It’s OK, I guess.’
‘That’s the name of the model,’ said Jack. His eye rolling attracted a death stare from Taylor.
‘If you say so,’ Lydia shrugged. ‘You’re lucky I even remembered Skoda.’
That was the clincher. A match with Misty Roach’s basic description of the vehicle, an average-sized red sedan. Occupied by an average to large-framed man. Misty said the driver had tried to slink down into the seat as she’d walked past on the way to her own car. He wasn’t quick enough. She’d had time to glimpse the blonde beard.
Trick Shot: an absolutely gripping mystery and suspense thriller (The Fighting Detective Book 3) Page 18