Catchee Monkey: A Rex & Eddie Mystery (Rex & Eddie Mysteries Book 1) (8 page)

“The young boy snatched the VHS tape and ran out the shop,” Eddie read. “A shoplifter? Not quite murder level revenge. It’s maybe enough to warrant a strongly worded letter.”

“Fine.” Rex chucked the story into what he’d dubbed "The Nope Pile.”

Eddie sprayed air freshener around the office. The papers had been in the wheelie bin long enough to ferment in the juices and filth of everything else thrown in there. Unable to open the window, they took hourly breaks from the smell to spray half a bottle of Lavender Meadow.

Eddie picked up a scruff of a letter.
Dear Derek Lawrence
,
thank you for your most recent writing submission, The Chukka Boot Killer. We would be interested in representing you and your novel.

“This is promising. Rex, we’re searching for anything with the words Chukka Boot Killer. The story got him an agent nine months ago. If he was close to publishing a real case, then that could have earned him an enemy.”

Four more hours and a Chinese takeout later, the pair found pages to Lawrence’s Chukka Boot Killer manuscript.
 

Eddie read an excerpt aloud, “The Chukka Boot Killer wrapped his leather glove around the brass door handle. After a slow twist, he shoved the door wide open. In a second, he fired his bullet and the accountant died at his desk. Not a second to see his killer, not a moment for his life to flash by
”

“What’s a chukka boot?” Rex said. He typed it into the search engine and pressed enter. “The chukka boot is a desert boot usually made of suede.”

Eddie stood over Rex’s shoulder. “Search Chukka Boot Killer.”

“It says here there is a gangster named Terry Palmer who made a name for himself in the late seventies. He was known for wearing his chukka boots.”

“Did he ever visit Cloisterham?”

“He’s from Cloisterham.” Rex read aloud, “He’s a brutally violent man who hammers nails into his victims because bullets killed them too quickly. Ah crap. That’s not how Derek Lawrence was killed.”

“No, but if he wanted to get away with it he’d kill in a different way.”

“Oh yeah. This is excellent.”

“I’ll stick with crap. This isn’t someone we want to get on the wrong side of.”

“Chill out, Eddie. This is the best news we’ve had all day.”

Eddie took over the mouse and scrolled through the information. “He has an autobiography, but I doubt he wrote a confession in it.”

The door knocked, putting Rex and Eddie on edge. Harold poked his head in.

“Come to empty your bins.”

He surveyed the wet and stained papers covering the floor. The only spot free of soggy paper was the empty waste paper basket.

Eddie lowered his head in shame. “We’re good thanks.” Harold flared his nostrils as he closed the door.
 

Rex hurried to the doorway. “Harold? Do you know anything about Terry Palmer?”

***

Harold leaned back into their office chair. Rex and Eddie sat on the floor with their legs crossed.
 

“Bootsy, they call him. He’s a horrible bastard. You’ll never see him without those boots. I was told he even wore them at his wedding. Top hat, coat tails and chukka boots. The only time Palmer was caught without his boots was when he was caught with not much else.”

Rex’s eyebrows lifted. “He was naked?”

“The police found him walking down East Cloisterham High Street in nothing but his boxer briefs. They wanted a word with him because his brother Danny was murdered that night. Shot in the back of the head while working through his accounts.”

“He was his accountant?” Rex asked.

“Business partner. Terry did the crimes, and Danny funnelled the dirty money into legitimate businesses. So the rumours go.”

“Sorry,” Eddie said. “Why was he in just his underwear?”

“It was such a mess the killer would have been covered in Danny Palmer’s blood. They had footprints in the blood too. Just needed to find the boots."

“Like Cinderella?” Rex said.

“Bootsy walked away from it all. Since they found him without clothes or boots they had nothing on him.”

Rex nudged Eddie. “Literally.”

“Why would he kill his brother? He’d lose his ability to move his money?”

“They went legit. Danny invested in an African diamond mine for them, and they were set. With Danny gone, Terry became the sole owner.”

“What a bastard,” Rex said.

“I told you, didn’t I?”

“Not one witness saw Palmer covered in blood?” Eddie said.

“His wife was his alibi. Said they’d got in an argument in bed, and he was kicked out before he could put his trousers on. Police asked him where he was going, and he told them he was off to the pub.”

“What did you know about Derek Lawrence?”

“Quiet man. He was divorced, I think. He was here every day seven a.m. to seven p.m. Twenty years.”

“Every day?” Eddie said.

“Every day.”

“Even Christmas?” Rex said.

“Every bleedin’ day. I’d empty his bin on Christmas Eve, and it would be full of paper Boxing Day morning.”

“Did his daughter ever come by?”

“I never met her. This was his Shangri-La.”

Eddie gave the damp stained walls a once-over. “Some Shangri-La.”

“You boys detectives then?”

“Kind of.”

“Yes,” Rex cut Eddie off. “We are.”

“You’re not police though?”

Rex grinned. “We’re private detectives.”

“You going to solve the Danny Palmer murder are you?”

“I guess so,” Rex said.

“No, we’re just collecting some information on Derek Lawrence’s death.”

“Come on Eddie, it'll be good for business. Two murders are better than one.”

“You reckon Terry Palmer offed Lawrence, do yah?” Harold let out a raspy laugh. “They didn’t exactly hang out in the same circles.”

“Lawrence must have had something on him. We found one page of a manuscript about a killer with boots.”

“You boys’d be better off dumping these papers and getting another case. A lost bicycle, something like that seems more like your cup of tea.”

“We’ve got one more question,” Rex said.

Eddie knew Rex’s question and shook his head. “No, we don’t.”

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

 
Harold shook his head and walked himself out. “What a bleedin’ sorry pair you are.”

Eddie stood up. “We need to gather every page on Palmer. Lawrence knew something that spooked him. We just need to find it. You start going through the papers for anything supporting our theory. I’ll order a pizza.”

“Pizza and Chinese food? On the same day?” Rex smiled wide enough to flash his teeth.

“Yeah, let’s treat ourselves. At this rate, we’ll have our five grand tomorrow.”

***

Eddie awoke rejuvenated. He gave the Morris Minor a full tank of petrol and headed to The Octagon’s shoe shop. He peered through the shop glass to check Melinda was there and strutted inside.

Melinda gave a forced smile. “Eddie. How are you?”

“I’m looking for new shoes.”

“Please, you can’t check up on me like this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m here for shoes.”

“It’s just, I heard you got fired and I don’t want you to blow your money on buying shoes to see me.”

“This is strictly professional Melinda. If you can’t keep your feelings for me separate, I guess I’ll get my footwear from somewhere else.”

“Fine, what kind of shoes are you looking for?”

“Well, I’m a successful business owner now. I need shoes that say I’ve made something of myself, that I’m going places. Do you sell those kind of shoes?”

Melinda looked Eddie up and down. He looked pretty slick in his suit, but the socks and sandals combination let him down.

“What happened to your other shoes?”

Eddie lowered his voice to a mumble. “I lost them.”

“Pardon?”

Eddie pointed at a pair on display. “Those shoes are sharp. Is that three hundred each?”

“For the pair.”

“What a bargain.”

Melinda smiled. “What’s got into you?”

“Nothing much, just solved a case that’s all.”

“Like a detective?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you? Me and Rex have a detective agency. We solved a big case, and today we pick up five thousand pounds.”

“Wow. That’s exciting.”

“Not bad for a couple of days work.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“Is it?” Eddie smiled.

Melinda stepped closer and her voice softened. “You seem different, Eddie.”

“Just going out there, taking risks, and, uh, getting. Like a go-getter.”

She grinned. “It’s good on you.”

“I want those shoes, the three hundred pound ones. Those are the shoes a man should pick up five grand in.”

“You know what you want. I like it.”

“I was wondering, Melinda, if you’d like to go get dinner, maybe this evening?”

“Where?”

Eddie smiled. “It’s a surprise.”

“Exciting, yeah. OK.”

***

Eddie picked up Rex and they headed to Snodling to visit Stacey Lawrence. They had left her a message early in the morning to say they had the evidence. She called back and arranged for them to come over right away.
 

“Come in,” Stacey said, wide-eyed and a little nervous. Rex and Eddie shuffled in ready to share their wisdom. They followed her down the corridor to the living room. The pair’s cocksure strut was disrupted when Rex tripped on a backpack which spilled out a pair of ballet shoes. He tiptoed so as not to tread on the shoes but bumped into a framed painting instead.

“Sorry.”

Eddie shook his head and followed Stacey into the living room. Rex and Eddie took a seat opposite Stacey.

“Your father was murdered,” Eddie said.

“Yes, I know that.”

“We learnt he wrote a novel about a gangster who killed an accountant. The gangster is a thinly disguised version of Terry Palmer, have you heard of him?”

“The boots guy, right?”

“Bootsy,” Rex said.

Eddie leaned forward. “He was a suspect in the murder of his brother in nineteen-seventy-nine. He wasn’t charged as the police had no evidence. On the night of the murder, Bootsy was found without his clothes.”

“What’s this got to do with Dad?”

Rex handed her the collected pages of Lawrence’s writing.

“Your father’s novel was about a journalist who witnesses a killer dump his blood-soaked clothes into the river. We believe your father wrote about his real life experiences. He witnessed Palmer hide the evidence that could have put him away for life.”

“So how’d this man find out about the book? Dad never published anything.”

“No, but he sent out the manuscript to many publishers. It seems he targeted anyone that had previously published a crime book.”

Rex handed over an acceptance letter they found.

“This letter shows he sent it to P&P Publishing, which stands for Palmer & Palmer. Terry Palmer set up his own publishing company with his then wife in nineteen-ninety-eight to release his vanity project, an autobiography.”

“That was a mistake,” Rex said.

“We believe Palmer heard about the query letter, recognised the plot, and asked for the manuscript. He read it and had your father killed.”

Stacey reviewed the papers, one by one, with her hand over her mouth.

Rex cleared his throat. “Did we do good?”

“Give her a minute.”

“No, this is good. Really. I can’t believe it. Did you go to the police?”

Rex shook his head. “No, we came straight here.”

“Do we go to the police?” Eddie asked.

Stacey straightened the papers. “I’ll take care of it.”

“In that case, you can check over the evidence. All we need is the reward money.”

“Of course, I can have it for you tomorrow morning.”

“Not now?”

“I need some time, you only called an hour ago. Come back tomorrow morning. It’s not like you don’t know where I live.”

The pair got into the Morris Minor. As Eddie put on his seat belt, he noticed Rex stare out the window.

“Well done, Rex. We solved the case.”

Rex struggled to find the words as he put on his seat belt. “It’s just, it’s not what I expected. I wanted a femme fatale, a couple of double crossings, a big reveal, you know, a car chase.”

“Sorry Rex, but real detective work is time-consuming and monotonous.” He started the car and drove down the country lane. “In real life, it’s hard work and due diligence that pays off. Now let’s get a beer.”

Rex perked up. “Uh, Eddie.”

“It’s OK. There's no need to thank me.”

“No, it’s just, well, a black SUV is following us.” Rex pointed at the rear-view mirror. Eddie saw the black SUV catch up to them. He didn’t know what was worse: the thought of being followed, or that Rex was excited about it.

NINE

As Eddie drove down the lane, his focus darted between the road ahead, and the black SUV in the rear-view mirror.

“It’s following us,” Rex said. “Five minutes and he’s still behind us. That’s following.”

“I’m sure we’re just sharing the only road back into town.”

“Speed up.”

“We are not having a car chase. Get over it.”

“Do some weird turns, and see if you lose him?”

“There aren’t any turnings. It’s a country lane.” Eddie snapped. His agitation increased as his breathing became shallow.

“There, turn into those houses.”

“Fine. But only to prove to you that he’s just another driver headed to Cloisterham.”

Eddie turned left. Both of them watched the rear-view mirror. The black SUV turned after them.

“Ah ha!” Rex said.

“Doesn’t prove anything.” Eddie turned right and left again. He then pulled into to an empty parking space and waited. No SUV.
 

Eddie gave a sigh of relief. “See?”

“Damn, he’s good.”

“Give it a rest.”

Eddie pulled the car out and joined the main road. Within a minute they were back in town with steady traffic. The black SUV appeared behind them, a little further back this time.

“He’s behind us again.”

“What?” Eddie checked his rear window. There it was.

“Told you he was good.”