‘What were they like?’ I asked Jimbo ten minutes later. I thought I’d given him enough time to get over the initial disappointment of being dismissed. We were in the Members stand watching the game.
‘Tight. It was really quiet and tense out there. It was like they were stalking us. Gave me the creeps.’
‘Wow. They sure look like they know what they’re doing from here,’ I said. ‘Ok.’ I pulled the phone out from my pocket. ‘Here’s the plan.’
Jimbo listened carefully, nodding occasionally but never interrupting. ‘Is that it?’ he said when I was done.
‘What do you think?’ I said. I’d already keyed Alistair’s number into my phone. I got it on screen and passed the phone across to Jimbo. He put his drink bottle onto the ground, wiped his mouth with his hand and sighed.
‘I’m not very good at this sort of stuff, you know,’ he said, suddenly looking anxious.
‘C’mon, Jimbo. You’ll be right. It’s not like I’m asking you to—’
‘Drive off the edge of a cliff?’ he said, smiling wryly.
‘Exactly.’ I hit the call button and handed Jimbo the phone.
‘Hello?’ he said after a moment. ‘Is that Alistair?’ He gave me a slight nod. ‘No,’ he went on, suddenly agitated, ‘don’t hang up. Listen to me.’ There was another pause. I leaned in closer but couldn’t make out what Alistair was saying. ‘Where’s Toby?’ Jimbo said firmly. ‘We’ve got a text message here that says he’s in a truck and he mentions your name. I just thought you might know where he is. You see, he hasn’t arrived back and his parents are about to call the police.’
Another pause. Jimbo looked at me and nodded. It was going well.
‘Yes. Your name’s on the message. Something about you driving the truck down to the Waterside Tip?’
This time I could hear the agitation in Alistair’s voice. Jimbo held the phone away from his ear.
‘I had nothing to do with it!’ Alistair wailed.
‘Bring me the scorecard and I’ll believe you,’ Jimbo said. ‘I’ll even let you read and delete the text message.’ There was a pause. I held my breath.
‘We give the scorecard back to Jim and it’s all forgotten,’ Jimbo went on. ‘After all, it’s Jim who’s the rightful owner.’
‘I promise you nothing will happen if you give Jim the scorecard,’ Jimbo said, then grimaced. ‘Yes, you can even have the phone. I’m sitting in the Members area just next to the players’ viewing rooms in front of the Hugh Trumble Café.’
I grinned, giving Jimbo the thumbs-up. Jimbo nodded once more, then pressed end.
There was a shout from the middle. The English team had just taken another wicket.
‘Well?’ I asked.
‘He’ll be here in fifteen minutes. Are you sure you want him to see you?’
‘Only after he’s given you the scorecard.’
‘But how will I know it’s the right scorecard?’
‘I’ll go upstairs and grab a Wisden. Place the scorecard in the Wisden—the players’ names and scores should appear on the scorecard. But do it quickly. You look at it long enough, you’ll end up travelling.’
‘Really?’
‘Jimbo.’
‘I know, I know.’
I was back in five minutes. After handing Jimbo the Wisden, I chose a seat behind him; close enough to see but not so close that I’d be spotted by Alistair. I pulled the jacket I’d brought over my shoulders and hunched down low in the seat.
Two more wickets fell before Alistair, true to his word, arrived. I saw him pass Jimbo a small box. He looked around furtively, holding his hand out, probably for the phone. I watched Jimbo open the box carefully and pull out a plastic card holder. Carefully he eased the scorecard out, opened the Wisden and placed the scorecard inside.
‘Not too long,’ I hissed quietly.
Jimbo appeared to jerk back slightly before slamming the book closed. He looked at Alistair and grinned.
‘Alistair,’ I called, standing up just as Jimbo was holding the phone out to him. Alistair spun around. The phone clattered to the ground. I was the last person he expected to see.
‘We told you everything would be OK if you brought us the scorecard,’ I called, walking down to him. Jimbo handed me the Wisden. The scorecard poking out just looked like a tatty old bookmark. I clutched the Wisden to my chest and looked at Alistair.
He was pale. ‘But…but…you’re…’
‘I got out. Was it you who left a Wisden in the back of the truck?’ I could tell straightaway by the blank look on his face that it wasn’t.
‘A Wisden?’
‘Never mind.’ Maybe he’d simply never collected that last box that held the Wisden and other old cricket memorabilia.
‘Phillip said he was taking you straight to the police station, but then you’d somehow escaped and there’d been an accident,’ Alistair said. ‘That something had happened.’
‘It was no accident, it was intentional. Listen, Alistair, you should think very seriously about hanging around with Phillip Smale. He tried to kill me. He locked me in the back of that truck and left me for dead. It rolled over the top of the cliff down at the Waterside Tip. I got out only because there was a Wisden in the back there.’
‘Yeah, I carted a few of them for Phillip today.’
‘Well, luckily you didn’t collect that last box. Once Smale realises the scorecard is missing, he’ll be onto you.’ I watched him closely, wondering whether I was telling him stuff he knew already, but he looked genuinely shocked.
‘So what are you going to do?’ he asked nervously.
‘Where’s Smale?’ I said, suddenly on edge.
‘He’s gone up to Sydney for a few days. Something about a collection he’s looking at.’
‘So why are you looking so worried?’ Jimbo asked.
‘Because the plane isn’t leaving till mid-afternoon. I reckon he’s the last person we want around at the moment, don’t you?’
The old Alistair was returning.
‘So how did you manage to get the scorecard?’ I asked.
‘Oh, that was easy. I set up his security system as well as the codes to the safe.’
‘And he trusted you?’ said Jimbo, surprised.
‘He was pretty confident that with the money he was offering me I wouldn’t do anything stupid. Plus, he needed me because of the Master Blaster. Anyway,’ —for the first time this morning Alistair smiled—‘I never showed any interest in his scorecard or the Wisdens.’
Jimbo groaned as another shout from the middle filled the stadium.
‘Crikey, we’ll be bowling before lunch the way we’re going,’ he muttered. ‘I’m off, guys.’
‘And speaking of bowling, I’m going to let off a bit of steam in the nets,’ I said. ‘Thanks, Alistair. Good luck with Smale.’
‘Hey, I’m really sorry,’ Alistair said. He sounded genuine.
‘So what are you going to do?’ I asked him.
‘Get my Master Blaster and leave town for a while. Guess I’ll have to wait a bit longer for that first million.’ He smiled.
‘I had to ask the question. You going to say anything to Smale?’ I thought I should ask.
‘Not now the scorecard’s gone,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Hey.’ A thought had just occurred to me. ‘I know someone honest and totally reliable who’d be very interested in the Master Blaster.’ Mr Pasquali’s Chucky was a dinosaur compared to the Blaster. ‘I’ll give you a call.’
Ten minutes later I was back in the nets, concentrating on building up a steady rhythm and trying to generate good pace off the wicket. Both Tom Gilbert and the chief nets coach, Glenn Mason, were there to offer advice.
It took a couple of overs, but I soon got into the zone, concentrating solely on my bowling and the coaches’ suggestions. For an hour I was able to put aside Jim, Smale, the scorecard and Hugo Malchev. The session was rewarding and exhausting and I was quietly relieved when Tom clapped his hands and said it was time to finish up—almost.
‘Here are six balls, Toby. Make yourself six bucks by hitting the coin here six times in a row.’
Tom placed the coin down on a good length just outside off-stump. I pranced about like an idiot when I hit it on my fourth delivery.
‘Your turn, Tom,’ I said, throwing him the ball.
‘Hang on. Double or nothing.’ Glenn put a dollar coin on top of the one already down there.
‘You want to raise the stakes, Toby?’ Tom said, swinging his arms to warm up.
I grabbed a coin from my pocket and added it to the stack.
‘Anyway, doesn’t that make it easier to hit?’ I asked.
‘Well, I’m only having one shot at it. You had six,’ Tom grinned.
He ran in smoothly and delivered the ball over the wicket. The coins went flying.
Tom shrieked, his arms in the air. ‘Did someone get that on tape?’
Glenn and I groaned.
‘You’re shouting the juice at lunch, Tom,’ said Glenn. ‘C’mon, everybody. It’s time!’
As he said ‘time’ a wave of panic swept over me suddenly. It was time for me to meet Hugo Malchev. Again.