Kill Shot

by Blair Denholm

  Sharpe – Oh my God, not again!

  Harlow – Danny, calm the fuck down!

  Sharpe was breathing like he’s run a marathon, chest heaving. After about fifteen seconds he nods. – I’m okay, I think.

  Masiker (stares at Sharpe) – What did you mean “not again”? Jesus Christ, have you pair of idiots…

  Harlow – He doesn’t mean anything!

  Masiker – We have to call the police. I’ll say it was an accident.

  Harlow – Like hell you will.

  Masiker sat motionless on the weight bench, colour drained from his face, while the others inspected the body, checking for signs of life. Harlow and Sharpe exchanged a look, shaking their heads. Harlow removed his polo shirt and wrapped it around Kennedy’s head.

  Harlow – Carl, don’t just sit there like a stunned mullet. Go and get something to put over his head. Something plastic. There’s a deep gash, he’s bleeding like a stuck pig.

  Masiker – Are you sure he’s dead? Maybe we should call an ambulance?

  Harlow – Of course he’s fucking dead. I can’t detect any breathing or a pulse. Now, do as I say or Mrs Masiker’s gonna end up like this interfering prick, you got me?

  Masiker disappeared, returning within 30 seconds with a blue garbage bag. He handed the bag to Harlow who secured it around Kennedy’s head and pulled the drawstring tight.

  Harlow – You mention any of this to anyone, and you’re fucken dead, understand?

  Harlow and Sharpe carried Kennedy’s body out of shot. Masiker slumped, head between his knees, his sobs echoing in the empty gym to the accompaniment of the muffled workout tape. He stood, picked up the bag Harlow left behind, and moved out of shot, his entire body speaking defeat.

  Jack stopped the video. ‘And here comes the exclamation point to this whole clusterfuck.’

  The action switched to the car park behind the gym, a spot out of reach of the “official” CCTV. Sharpe and Harlow took shuffling steps as they carried Kennedy’s body to a lone vehicle parked under a light. Harlow eased the body’s feet to the ground, popped the boot.

  Jack stopped the video, zoomed in. ‘Look here.’ He pointed with the remote. ‘There’s another body already in there.’

  ‘Holy shit!’ cried Constable Wilson. ‘It’s Terry Bartlett’s car.’

  ‘It sure is,’ said Taylor. ‘With the owner’s dead body inside.’

  Jack switched off the video. ‘That’s the end of the show, folks. Now, let’s hunt down this pair of motherfuckers before they do any more damage.’

  Chapter 25

  ‘Where to now?’ Batista opened a new box of paperclips. ‘It’s a big country. This could be needle in a haystack stuff.’

  ‘They’ve only got a small jump on us,’ Jack said. ‘They ain’t getting away.’

  ‘Come on, Lisbon. They could be anywhere by now.’ The Inspector twisted a paperclip until it snapped clean in half. The rate at which he destroyed paperclips made Jack think it might be smart to invest in the company that made them. ‘You can put a lot of miles behind you in, what is it now, five hours since Harlow clobbered Masiker.’

  ‘No, we’ll get ‘em.’ Constable Wilson announced in a loud voice then coughed into his fist.

  Taylor jumped in her seat, swung her head around. ‘Ben, you’re supposed to cough before you speak if that was meant to be a warning.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Wilson smiled an apology. ‘A quick heads up. Every police station in Australia has been alerted and supplied with copies of the videos, all airports, ferry terminals, major train stations. The media department has sent updates to all the press outlets, social media’s buzzing with the news of our two fugitives. Harlow’s and Sharpe’s faces are everywhere. I’d give them no hope of getting away.’

  ‘I’m not putting my faith in anyone but us finding them, especially since the Brisbane officers haven’t arrived yet.’ Jack was on his feet, jacket slinking over his shoulders. ‘Harlow’s a loose cannon and Sharpe, well, his name doesn’t correspond with his judgement. Come on, Claudia. Let’s go pay Carl Masiker a visit.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I think there’s more he could be telling us.’

  Dr Walter Chesson, head of the Emergency Department, was one of those doctors Jack hated at first sight: a boorish white-coated dilettante who relished his authority a little too much.

  ‘What are your names again?’ asked the doctor. ‘Are you relatives?’

  Jack stiffened at the medico’s attitude. ‘Detective Sergeant Jack Lisbon and Detective Constable Claudia Taylor. We’re investigating two homicides. It’s imperative we talk to Carl Masiker.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s out of the question.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He slipped into a coma an hour ago. I’m unable to say if he’ll recover. The blow to the skull he sustained was almost fatal.’

  ‘What do you mean he’s in a coma? I was talking to him at 7:00am.’

  ‘Were you now?’

  ‘Yeah. He was perfectly lucid, spoke like a Shakespearean actor.’

  The doctor licked his finger, flicked pages attached to a clipboard, read the notes over the top of his glasses. ‘There was a delay in getting him to the hospital which proved to be critical. In fact…let me see…one of our orderlies mentioned that it was you, Detective Lisbon, who interfered with him carrying out his duties.’

  The paramedic had been right. Jack prayed Masiker would recover, otherwise there’d be an inquiry, his job on the line. Again. He forced himself to be calm. ‘With respect, I did not interfere. I needed to get crucial information out of him. We’re hunting a pair of killers.’

  ‘That’s no concern of mine, Detective. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if the patient dies.’

  ‘Dies? What the hell…’

  ‘C’mon, Jack.’ Taylor grabbed Jack by the wrist. ‘He’s just winding you up.’

  ‘How dare you!’ Chesson roared, spittle spraying. ‘Do you think I’d make light of a patient in a coma?’

  The question hung in the air like smoke from an explosion as Jack and Taylor darted for the exit. Patients and hospital staff gawked in their wake.

  Back in the Stinger, Jack’s hands shook as they lightly gripped the steering wheel. ‘What if he does die, Claudia? I’m gonna be royally screwed.’

  ‘That won’t happen. I’d say it’s a shock-induced coma. He’ll come out of it sooner rather than later.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  She shrugged. ‘A guess?’

  ‘Cheers. That makes me feel much better.’

  ‘Stop acting sorry for yourself, Jack. How about we swing by Masiker’s house, maybe his wife’s at home. She might be able to shed some light on those properties Harlow mentioned in the video. He and Sharpe could be holed up in one of them.’

  ‘Masiker said there were no vacancies.’

  ‘He could’ve been lying.’

  ‘If Harlow suspected Masiker wasn’t telling the truth, what’s to say he didn’t pay the wife a visit? He was specific with his threat to her on the video.’

  ‘Quite possible,’ Jack agreed. ‘We need to have a word with her. I don’t think she’s gonna be home, though. The paramedics would’ve called her en route to the hospital.’

  ‘You’re right. She’s probably sitting by his bed in the ER ward as we speak.’

  ‘Should we go back? I don’t think that doctor’s going to be keen to let us in after his little tantrum.’

  ‘Let’s ring her.’ Jack snatched the receiver, radioed the station to see if Mrs Masiker’s mobile number was on file. They were in luck. Gail Maree Masiker was on the frequent caller list. Two weeks ago she complained about a loud party in her street. The duty sergeant revealed she often called in about barking dogs, noisy neighbours, hooligans burning rubber, pretty much anything that ticked her off.

  Taylor called the number, turned on loudspeaker. Mrs Masiker was indeed sitting by Carl’s side in the emergency ward. A quick intro by Taylor and sympat
hies extended for her husband’s plight.

  ‘Thank you.’ The woman spoke in a nasally voice indicative of recent crying. ‘Oh dear, this whole thing is a tragedy. Who would’ve thought Andy Harlow could do such a thing?’ Mrs Masiker choked off a sob. ‘Kill two men and…nearly Carl, too!’

  ‘Has Harlow or Sharpe approached you, threatened you or your family in any way?’

  ‘No, thank God. The kids are at school and I’m here. I don’t feel in any danger.’

  Jack paused for a second. ‘We understand you own a number of rental properties. Are they all tenanted?’

  ‘What a strange question? But yes, as it happens, they are. Same tenants for years. Why do you need to know that?’

  ‘Just routine.’ Hope was fading faster than the curtains in Jack’s loungeroom. ‘Have you any idea at all where Harlow and Sharpe might have gone?’

  Bleeps from medical equipment echoed down the line.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you know where they could be hiding out?’

  ‘There’s only one place I can think of. Last August, Carl and I separated for a while. He went to stay at his uncle’s property, a mango farm out at Kilroy. Set up an outdoor gym and a boxing ring. He created a kind of retreat for some of the fighters to go to for some down-time. I know Bartlett and his crew went there. Carl reckons they loved it and he wishes he’d kept running it as a separate business. Now…sob…’

  ‘Where’s Kilroy?’ Jack whispered to Taylor.

  ‘Three hours’ drive inland,’ Taylor whispered back.

  Hope was returning. ‘Can you give us the exact address?’ Jack’s question was more a demand.

  ‘Oh dear,’ …sob… ‘I can’t remember. I’m sure you’ll find it on the Internet. His uncle’s name’s Steven. The farm’s called Masiker’s Mangoes.’

  ‘Thanks so much for your time, you’ve been most helpful. Best wishes to your husband and family.’ Taylor ended the call.

  The business’s phone number was on the homepage of its website; Jack dialled while Taylor jotted down the address. Optus advises that the number you have dialled has been disconnected.

  ‘Holy shit, Claudia. Maybe someone’s yanked the phone out of the socket.’

  ‘Not a good sign. Is there a mobile number?’

  There was. Straight to voicemail. Jack left a message for Steven Masiker to call back urgently.

  ‘Harlow’s there, I can feel it.’ Jack felt his pulse quicken.

  ‘It’s a long, bumpy drive out to Kilroy.’

  ‘Shit.’

  Jack radioed Batista. ‘Inspector. I think I know where they are? We need a helicopter.’

  ‘You’ve got evidence, I take it?’

  ‘It’s a logical conclusion.’

  ‘That sounds like a euphemism for a hunch. I’m going to need more than that to request a helicopter, Jack.’

  ‘I think Jack’s right, sir.’ Taylor relayed that Carl Masiker was in a coma, the exchange with Gail Masiker, the fact the phone numbers didn’t connect. ‘It’s all pointing to Kilroy. Harlow and Sharpe could have taken the uncle prisoner. Or worse.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do, but don’t hold your breath. I can’t recall a police helicopter ever being sent up to Yorkville.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Jack. ‘We–’

  ‘Get your arses back to the station. I want a full report on your conversation with Mrs Masiker. In the meantime I’ll call the local cop shop out at Kilroy, ask the Sergeant to pop over to the farm and check it out.’

  ‘Tell him to be careful,’ said Jack. ‘Harlow’s off his rocker and Sharpe’s no better.’

  Two blocks from the station Batista called on the radio.

  ‘As I predicted, no dice on the helicopter. All available aircraft are busy looking for a lost bushwalker on the Gold Coast.’

  ‘Are you kidding me? This is a possible siege situation.’

  ‘Wouldn’t matter, mate. You know how long it takes a chopper to fly up here from the Gold Coast?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Too fucking long. You and Taylor are going to have to drive out to Kilroy. I’ll put Wilson, Trevarthen and Semmens on stand-by. All spare officers are attending a bad traffic accident, so you’ll have to manage on your own for now. I suggest you swap the Stinger for a Hilux. The roads out that way are shit.’

  Chapter 26

  The telephone reception was almost as bad out bush as the roads. The two cops stopped at a roadside café with half-decent Wi-Fi. They connected to Skype and called the local cop who answered on the second ring. Jack had found a picture of him online while Taylor bought soft drinks. Sergeant Robert Gupta had a neat, clipped beard, tended to overweight. A brief bio revealed he’d infiltrated a criminal gang five years ago. Risked his life to foil a multi-million dollar cattle stealing operation and got a commendation for his efforts. Indian extraction judging by the surname and complexion.

  ‘Bob Gupta speaking.’ The accent was Australian as the outback; warm and slack with drowsy vowels.

  ‘DS Lisbon. What’s happening there, Sergeant?’ said Jack.

  ‘I’m just pulling into the drive. It’s a long, winding one; I won’t see the house for another couple of minutes.’

  ‘Do you know the property?’

  ‘Sure do. Been there plenty of times.’

  ‘To sort out trouble?’

  Gupta laughed. ‘No, not at all. Steve’s a great bloke, a legend in Kilroy. The population’s only 301, so I guess that’s not hard.’

  ‘Why is he a legend?’

  ‘He sponsors the football team, works hard for the community. He throws regular barbecues, invites everyone along. We all love him out here.’

  ‘Family?’

  ‘His wife died of cancer a while back and his three kids have left the nest. I guess he gets lonely once the farm labourers go home at the end of the day.’

  Jack rubbed his forehead. A popular resident of the town getting killed by a couple of desperadoes would be extra bad news. ‘Let’s hope he remains a local legend and doesn’t become a national celebrity for all the wrong reasons.’

  ‘You think he’s in danger?’

  ‘I’m sure of it.’ Jack opened the Hilux door, he and Taylor climbed inside. The engine started with a sweet hum and jets of cool air filled the stifling interior. ‘You’re on loud speaker by the way.’

  ‘No dramas.’

  ‘Do you remember when Steve’s nephew Carl stayed with him last year?’

  ‘Yeah, I met him. Nice bloke. Everyone was excited a rugby league superstar had come to town. It’s hard to comprehend the mess he might be caught up in.’

  ‘Carl played half a dozen games in the NRL, hardly a star.’

  ‘I beg to differ. Hang on…Holy shit!’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Jack’s heart skipped a beat. He and Taylor exchanged a look of alarm.

  ‘A huge ‘roo leapt in front of me, nearly wiped me out.’ Gupta gave a throaty chuckle. ‘They’re a menace in these parts.’

  ‘Please be careful,’ said Taylor. ‘We don’t need another casualty.’

  ‘Can you find a place where you can spy on Masiker’s property without being seen?’ said Jack.

  ‘I think so. There’s a ridge about 300 metres from the house, plenty of trees about. I can stop just below it, watch the front door through binoculars.’

  ‘I suggest you do that until we arrive. If you see or hear anything out of the ordinary, let me know sharpish.’

  ‘Roger that.’

  The isolated rocky formations grew more numerous the further west they drove. The landscape changed gradually, dense rainforest giving way to sparse grasslands and ghost gums, pinnacled limestone outcrops, rising high above the plains. The fat storm clouds they left behind in Yorkville became fluffier, less ominous. One constant didn’t change, though. It was still bloody hot, 37 degrees according to the car’s digital thermometer. Jack wasn’t keen to abandon the refreshing air conditioning pouring out of the vents in the Hilux. He chewed hard on
nicotine gum, stared out the window and tried to imagine how the rest of this crazy day was going to pan out.

  ‘Hey.’ Taylor tapped Jack on the shoulder. ‘Are your eyes painted on? You missed the sign.’

  ‘Shit.’ He pulled the SUV into a tight U-turn, sprayed a fan of gravel behind the vehicle. ‘Sorry.’

  A rusty tin sign swung in the light afternoon breeze. Masiker’s Mangoes.

  Within five minutes Jack and Taylor had traversed most of the deeply rutted driveway; like Gupta they had a close encounter with a big red denizen of the bush. Bounded over the bonnet of the Hilux, leaving the detectives open-mouthed and breathless. As they crested the penultimate rise, Taylor spotted the rear end of Gupta’s Land Cruiser, covered in more dust than the inside of a vacuum cleaner bag. ‘There he is.’

  After tucking the Hilux in behind Gupta’s vehicle, quick introductions and hand shakes, the local cop revealed he’d observed three men moving about hurriedly in the house through a bay window. Then they disappeared from view and he hadn’t seen them since.

  ‘Were they armed?’

  ‘Not that I could see. But I can tell you Steve’s got a gun closet with two kick-arse rifles in it. He culls ‘roos when they get out of control. The odd wild dog. Those weapons are kept under lock and key. Every random check I’ve done on him, he’s been in full compliance.’

  ‘A model citizen as well as a local legend,’ said Taylor

  ‘As for the other two blokes,’ continued Gupta. ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘But you didn’t see them waving pistols about?’ said Jack.

  ‘No. Doesn’t mean they don’t have ‘em stuffed down their pants, though, does it?’

  Jack nodded. ‘True. We should assume they are armed.’ He flashed Taylor a worried look. ‘Remember the HK pistol in Masiker’s safe?’

  ‘Uh huh. But it’s unregistered. We don’t know who it belongs to. Could be Carl Masiker’s just as easily as it could be Harlow’s.’