Who Killed Jimbo Jameson? by Kerrie McNamara Page A

big-end-of-town big boys were driving them mad because they wanted to distance themselves from their former best mate and they wanted the case closed with a minimum of fuss. And investigation.
    But every punter who ever read a tabloid newspaper thought he knew who dunnit and the conspiracy theories and lists of suspects and motives were increasing exponentially by the hour. For a man who was supposedly loved by everyone who knew him he certainly had a lot of people who either wanted to kill him, had tried to kill him, had at least one good reason to kill him or should have killed him.
    I was now amazed that there were only three bullets.
    We’d moved the war room from Surry Hills into the city so at least we had room to spread out but now I was just part of a team that was part of a Task Force. And there were a lot of bloody teams. Bastards. And every cop involved was jockeying to be the MAN who caught the great Jimbo’s murderer. Double bastards.
    The case was becoming the legal industry’s growth market because no-one wanted to talk to us without a lawyer present. I sat in on a friendly chat that required two lawyers – the interviewee was a retired judge, so he wasn’t taking any chances. Every day we started with an update from our mighty leader, and I was given the pleasant task of interviewing Lynnette Jameson or whatever her name was now. But there was no-one at her home and her agent wasn’t answering my calls, so I went to the top, to the best celebrity stalker in the game. Mysister. She’ll talk forever if you feed her. And my hangover needed Chinese food.
    Boo started out as a manicurist but things have gone well for her and she now has a small chain of manicure bars in the big regional shopping centres around Sydney and Newcastle. She’s actually made a pretty good living out of fingernails and says she’s thinking about branching out into eyebrows. It never fails to amaze me that she has the ability to juggle about fifty employees and multiple leases in the toughest retail precincts, yet still exhibits no discernible signs of intelligence.
    I wobbled into my favourite Chinatown yum cha palace, where Boo had already chosen far too many dishes. Thankfully, she had also opened a bottle of white wine.
    â€œYou’re late, Mad, so I started without you,” she said, pouring me a glass. “Oh, and before we start, I just realised that I can’t make it to Mum’s birthday dinner, so you will have her all to yourself.”
    Bugger. “But I’ll go halves in anything you want to buy her for a present. Just tell me how much and I’ll give you the dosh next time I see you.” She just oozed sincerity.
    Yeah. Right. I’ll have to schlep all over town and you’ll “forget” to repay me. Nice one, Boo.
    â€œShit, Boo. I’m flat out and she wasn’t expecting me anyway because I’m not supposed to be here. And it’s your turn this year. It’s your turn for the dinner and for the present. We agreed.”
    â€œMad, I’m really busy and you’re so much better at making decisions and buying her stuff,” she pouted. “Anyway, how come you’re not in Broome? What happened? What’s taking up all your time?”
    â€œI had to cancel, damn it. My key witness in the mafia money-laundering case was shot on Thursday and then on Friday there were two more murders and my leave was cancelled and I’m really pissed off. You’ve probably read about it and I actually wanted to…” and that was as far as I got.
    â€œOh my god, Maddie. Are you working on Jimbo’s death? Come on, you can tell me, what happened? Was he really tied up? I heard that his dick was almost chewed off? Oh yum, can I have some of those?” A plate of something that looked suspiciously like chicken feet appeared on the table, and I took a closer look. They were chicken feet. My stomach did flip flops.
    â€œCan you