Catchee Monkey: A Rex & Eddie Mystery (Rex & Eddie Mysteries Book 1) (7 page)

At the top of the fence, Eddie was overcome with dizziness and exhaustion. He promised to join a gym once they got the reward. Since a membership felt too expensive, he haggled himself down to a new pair of trainers, but he persuaded himself to wait until the old ones wore out. At his current rate of exercise, that would be sometime next year. All this self-justification gave Eddie enough time to catch his breath.

The dizziness returned when Eddie realised the jump was six-foot, four-foot with his legs hanging. He’d never jumped from that height before and thought he had the right to be a little worried.
People break legs tripping at ground level,
he thought.

A car driving down the street spooked Eddie, and he jumped. The landing was ninety percent successful. When he got up and walked, his ankle had a click. It didn’t hurt, but the clicking was creepy. Eddie snuck around to the back in total darkness.
 

“Rex?” he shout-whispered. He heard steps on the pebbled path, then nothing. “Come on, stop messing about.”
 

A pit bull stepped into the moonlight.

“Nice boy?”
 

The dog barked. Eddie ran back to the side and climbed the fence door. At the top, he leaned forward and his weight pushed the unlocked door open. His head smacked into the brick wall.

Eddie hadn't thought to check the door; he'd assumed it was locked. He hated convenient moments in movies, especially when someone steals a car and finds the keys in the visor. As the door swung him head first into the brick wall, Eddie learnt he hated inconvenient moments more.
 

The dog stood outside between him and the car. It barked and scratched at the bottom of the fence door. Eddie took off a shoe and waved it at the dog. The hound’s head bobbed with the movement. Eddie threw the shoe into the back garden.

“Fetch.”

Eddie jumped as the dog chased after the shoe. He landed on the same dodgy ankle in a way that fixed the clicking.
 

Finally
,
something convenient
, he thought.

The dog raced back with the shoe. Eddie slammed the door shut and took a deep breath. The whole fence pushed back as the dog jumped at the door. Eddie scurried back to the car, his shoeless foot hobbling along the pebbled driveway. Eddie approached the car and his exposed foot splashed into a muddy puddle.

“Oh, come off it.”

With the car door open, Eddie shook his bare foot dry, or dryish, and twisted the brown water out of his sock. He slumped back into the driver’s seat, and the rear-view mirror caught Eddie’s eye. In the reflection, he saw a pub by the village square. That’s where Rex would be.

EIGHT

Eddie entered the pub and searched for Rex. A low Tudor ceiling, black wooden beams, and mismatched furniture created a labyrinth lit by a warm fireplace. Old farts sat at separate tables and enjoyed a lone pint. From the bar, Eddie heard Rex’s laughter, the only real sign of life. He marched towards the noise until he turned a corner and saw Rex drinking with John Laing.

Eddie walked to the bar, ordered himself an orange juice, and waited. The clock above said it was ten forty-three p.m. Eddie had slept for over two hours.
 

God knows what damage Rex could have caused in that time,
he thought.
 

Eddie nervously sipped his orange juice until Rex finished his drinks and approached the landlord.

“Same again, please.”

“What do you think you’re playing at?”

Rex smiled. “And whatever my friend is having,” he slurred.

“Drinking with the suspect, you are unbelievable.”

“Genius, right?”

“Are you mad? He’s a potential killer, and you’ve revealed yourself.”

“It’s OK, I’m undercover.”

“Rex,” Laing called out.

“With your own name?”

“Rex is a common name.”

“Rex Milton, get over here,” Laing shouted.

“I’m coming, mate.”

“I can’t believe you did this.”

“It’s one drink, plus I’m getting leads out of him.”

“Like what?”

Rex wobbled forward. “Getting, not got. It’s a process.”

“You’re drunk.”

“It’s all part of the process.”

“How’s that?”

Rex pointed to Laing. “He’s drunk too.”

Eddie’s eyes flashed. “Wait, this could work. He’s at a disadvantage, he might let something slip.”

After introductions, where Rex christened Eddie with the undercover name Eddie, the three drank and talked.

“So, Rex says you wrote for TV.”

“He does. How does he know that?”

“You told me, a minute ago,” Rex said.

“I did.” Laing held the drink up to his face. “How much have I had to drink?” He shrugged and took another sip. Rex tipped Laing’s glass higher to pour more down the man’s throat.

Rex looked over his glasses. “You were talking about that Derek Lawrence man.”

“On no, I am drunk. I don’t like to talk about him. Whole thing left a nasty taste in my mouth.”

Rex nodded. “Made you mad, did it? Vengeful perhaps?”

Eddie kicked Rex in the shin.

“What do you do now?” Eddie said.

“I own a software company. I just collect the cheques, but the company makes accounting software.”

“That reminds me, Eddie, we’re gonna need to talk expenses later.” Rex pointed at the many empty glasses on the table.

“What accounting software?”

“Oh it’s too dull to talk about.”

“Dull, aye?” Rex said. “Where do you get your thrills from?”

Eddie kicked him again. “Sorry? He’s being weird. So, why’d you get out of TV?”

“Derek Lawrence,” Rex said. “Duh.”

“How’d you know that?” Laing said.

Eddie kicked a third time.

Laing winched. “Ouch.”

“Sorry.” Eddie tried again, this time he got Rex in the shin.

“Owww.”

Laing wagged a finger at Eddie. “What are you playing at?”

“Uh, I’ve got Tourette's of the foot. Every now and then my leg spasms out like that. I can’t control myself.”

Rex glanced under the table. “Is that how you lost a shoe?”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Laing said.

“Yes, well, that’s the way diseases are, aren’t they? You never really hear about one until a celebrity gets diagnosed.”

Rex nodded, satisfied with the answer. Laing raised an eyebrow with scepticism.

Eddie sipped his orange juice. “You were talking about Derek Lawrence.”

“Was I? That piece of work. He drove my show into the ground.”

“And that made you mad?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, I care about original stories. He was a rip-off merchant.”

“You were producing partners though?”

“I didn’t tell you that.”

“Uh, you mentioned it earlier.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“He did, didn’t he, Rex?” Rex’s eyes darted between Eddie and Laing. His conflict induced fear-freezing kicked in once again. “Rex?”

“This is between you guys.”

“What is this?” Laing said.

“What’s what?”

“I see what’s going on here.”

“Uh, you do?”

“You’re from that bloody message board, aren’t you? As I told the last fan, I don’t like to talk about Derek Lawrence. I’ve moved on. I don’t care about the show. And I don’t know what the characters would be up to today, but if you must know, half of them would probably be dead by now.”

Eddie nudged Rex and smiled. “That’s what I said.”

Rex snapped out of his frozen state. “Now that Lawrence is dead, do you regret the way things turned out?”

“I only regret one thing, saying yes to working with the git. That man knew nothing about character. He was a journo who got lucky when the rights to his book were picked up. He wasn’t a fiction writer. That’s why he never worked again. Because he couldn’t come up with an original story. He just read the newspaper and stole from it.”

“You still seem pretty mad about it,” Eddie said.

“What are you getting at?”

“Did you kill Derek Lawrence?” Rex said.

“Rex!”

“Where were you on the night of October twenty-eighth?”

“Stop talking, Rex,” Eddie begged.

Laing stared at the pair. His face emotionless. He took a slow sip of his drink. He grinned and let out a chuckle. Rex chuckled with him. Laing’s reaction turned into a belly laugh. Rex joined in. Their laughter escalated until they both cried. They laughed for so long, Eddie squirmed at the idea they were laughing at him.

Laing stood up. “You boys ask some weird questions. I’m gonna take a potty break.” He wobbled to the men’s room as his laugh calmed down.

Eddie leaned in. “What’s funny?”

“I don’t know,” Rex said in a panic. “I was laughing because he was laughing.”

“This is a dead end. Laing’s got no motive for killing Lawrence. He’s moved on. What a waste of time.”

Rex finished his beer and let out a burp.

“And a waste of money,” Eddie said.

The bar bell rang. “Time gentleman, please,” called the landlord.

“You paid yet?”

“No, they said we could pay at the end. I love country folk.”

“Let’s go.”

“Leave? But John
—
”

 
Eddie grabbed Rex’s shoulder. “Can afford it.”

As Laing left the men’s room he saw Rex and Eddie pass by.

“Leg it,” Eddie shouted.

“Bye John,” Rex said as Eddie pulled him through the door.

***

In the morning, Eddie picked up Rex, and they drove to the office.

“I’ve been thinking about what Laing said.”

“Eddie, I really think the message board doesn’t want to know about the characters being dead.”

“Not that. He said Lawrence based his stories on what he read in the newspaper. If we get our hands on what he was writing when he died, we could find out what he was involved in, and possibly a motive.”

“You think someone killed him for writing about them?”

“Maybe. The only problem is, I don’t know how to get our hands on what he wrote.”

Rex’s eyes lit up. “The filing cabinet in our office.”

“We had his writing and you didn’t say anything?”

“I said, what do you want me to do with all this paper, and you said chuck it.”

Eddie tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “You threw it out?”

“No.”

“Thank God.”

“I got Harold the cleaner to do it.”

Eddie put his foot down, which gave the car just enough oomph to speed up a few extra miles per hour. They rushed into the office and pulled the filing cabinet’s top draw open. A lone pencil rolled to the front. All four draws were empty.

Eddie stared at Rex. “Guess someone’s gonna have to go through the wheelie bin.”

***

The wheelie bin was full of used packages, papers, Styrofoam cups, and rotten food. Rex jumped right in without hesitation and searched for Lawrence’s papers. Each time he swirled the contents around, he’d release new smells.

Eddie held out a black bin bag as Rex pulled stacks of papers from the mess and chucked them into the bag. Harold wandered out the office building and lit a cigarette. He noticed Eddie standing with the open bin bag.

“What the bleedin’ hell are you doing?”

Eddie forced a smile. “Uh, nothing.”

Rex popped out of the wheelie bin and dropped another load of papers. The weight of the documents blew the bag’s smelly air into Eddie’s face.

“That took me ages,” Harold said.

“I’m sorry. We made a mistake,” Eddie said.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble climbing around in that wheelie bin.”

“Again, I’m sorry. How’d you carry all the papers down?” Eddie said.

“I loaded up my wheelbarrow and rolled it down the stairs.”

“I couldn’t borrow your wheelbarrow could I?

“Nope. I left it at home, but you can have me last bin liner.”

“Uh, this is your last bin liner.”

“Bleedin’ cheek.”

“Sorry.”

After Rex filled the bag, Eddie carried it up to the office and poured the paper on the floor. Eddie dumped the third round of papers as the sound of a reversing lorry grew louder. Out the window, Eddie saw the bin men had come to empty the wheelie bin. As their lorry beeped towards the bin Eddie worried about Rex’s habit of freezing in troublesome situations. In a panic, he pulled on the window to shout out, but it was still stuck. He raced down the stairs. As he exited the back of the building the lorry’s hoist clung to the sides of the wheelie bin.

“Stop!”
 

They couldn’t hear Eddie as the lorry rumbled and beeped. He ran to the nearest bin man, but the man didn’t hear anything with his ear protectors on. Eddie jumped and waved. The bin man had seen his fair share of nutters and waddled away unfazed. Eddie grabbed the bin man’s collar; at that point Eddie realised just how tall the bin man was. He hadn’t planned any further than grabbing the collar. Before he came up with a decent idea, the bin man shoved him back. Eddie flew four-foot before he hit the concrete.

On his arse, Eddie screamed as the lorry’s hoist lifted the wheelie bin. It rained bin bags, soiled cardboard and empty paper cups so fast he thought he saw Rex fall, but couldn’t be sure.

Eddie jumped up, shoved past the bin man, and rushed to the compactor button. With a clank and thunk the Lorry’s compactor crushed down. He was too late. Eddie got to the end of the truck and watched in horror while the lorry squashed its insides.

“Eddie,” a happy voice called out. “They let me push the button.” Eddie turned his head and a delighted Rex waved from the compactor button. The rest of the papers were tucked under his arm.

Eddie turned read. “I’m gonna kill you, you stupid bastard.” The bin men gathered around Rex with their arms folded like he was part of their posse. Eddie backed away with his arms in the air.

Rex smiled. “It’s OK. We’re best friends.”

The bin men calmed down and shook Eddie’s hand as a sign of peace. When Eddie got back in the office, he washed his hands three times before the smell disappeared, and twice more before he was satisfied.
 

***

“This is it,” Rex said. “This is the story we’ve been looking for.”

After shuffling papers all day, they’d only read a third of Derek Lawrence’s stories. Eddie took the paper and scanned it.