Murder in the Groove by Dave Warner

Author:Dave Warner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ligature Pty Limited
Published: 2021-11-09T02:08:58+00:00

10

The exhilaration the guitarist had felt at his mental gymnastics had been dampened by Hilary’s report. He’d been careful to tell no-one of Thistle’s whereabouts. It must have been the cops. He would have to give them a piece of his mind. Regrettable, but there you go. He tapped on Foster’s door and swung inside in the one motion, pulling up suddenly short. Bent over Foster’s desk was Kaplavich. He looked grey and rumpled as elephant skin.

‘Hi Kappa.’ Lizard had thought it permissible to go for the nickname but the blank stare he got back, hinted otherwise.

‘Hello Lizard.’ The response was so listless it could have been infected with Ross River virus.

‘What’sa matter? Where’s Foster?’

Kaplavich was stunned: ‘You don’t know?’

The musician got those warning flashes. His skin crawled. ‘No. What?’

‘He was on a stake-out last night.’

‘He told me.’

Kaplavich took a deep breath. ‘Something went wrong. Somebody from the Feds goofed, the gang opened up and Foster copped it.’

‘Shot?’

When Kaplavich was too shaken to answer immediately, Zirk leapt to the next dreadful conclusion.

‘Dead?’

‘Wounded badly. He might not walk again. They’re checking to see what damage the bullet did.’

Zirk couldn’t find a response. It felt unreal, too fantastic. ‘Has he got family?’ The singer knew he wasn’t married.

‘Mother, father, two sisters. Bedside vigil. He’s unconscious.’

‘Did you get them?’

‘Most. But we’ll get them all.’ There was a spiky certainty in the way he said it. Zirk could only mumble it was a tragedy.

‘All in the line of duty,’ observed Kaplavich sarcastically as he removed a drawer from Foster’s desk.

‘Where does all that go?’ Zirk was still in a daze.

‘Foster’s case loads have to be split up among the other detectives.’

Before Zirk could ask who had taken over the Sydney Melbourne case, a stomach-bulging man with rolled shirtsleeves, cropped hair and huge shoulders butted into the room.

‘Get that moving, Kaplavich, we haven’t got all day. Who are you?’ He had trained the full power of his threatening tough-guy face on Zirk, momentarily wobbling the gangly one.

‘Andrew Zirk.’

‘Ah.’ Said as if the nest of the Queen termite had just been uncovered.

Kaplavich made himself scarcer than good mangoes.

‘I’m Strang.’

Zirk put out a hand but Strang made no move to shake it.

‘I know Foster was letting you in on the Sydney Melbourne thing but as far as I’m concerned, it’s none of your business. This is police work. Got me?’

Strang went to move away but Zirk was not to be bullied, even though his insides trembled.

‘Detective Strang!’

The big man halted.

Zirk fed on that stop.

‘Detective Foster allowed me to help him for his benefit as well as mine. He felt I had a better chance than he did of finding out some important facts.’

Strang chewed a grubby thumbnail. ‘Foster had his way of doing things, I’ve got mine. And in my way, there’s no room for fruity pop singers. So I just have to take the risk of not having all your important facts.’

He leaned a bee’s dick from Zirk’s face. ‘Let’s get this clear, Zirk. I don’t like your kind at all and I don’t care whether you think I’m a fucking dumb fascist cop.

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