Losing Your Head (The Charlie Davies Mysteries Book 1)

by Clare Kauter

  “James,” said Larry. “This is Imaso. I’m only introducing you as a formality, even though I’m sure she doesn’t want to know you.” And for once, he’d hit the nail right on the head.

  “Larry vos just telling me ’ow ’e vanted to kill you,” I informed James. “I zink it would probably be best to use poison.” Larry nodded in agreement.

  James raised his eyebrows. “Are you likely to act on this?” he asked Larry.

  “It can be arranged.”

  There was a long moment of silence.

  Well, I was certainly feeling pretty sure of who my number one suspect for Frank’s murder was.

  “Would you like a drink, James?” Larry asked. I wasn’t sure if that was a change of topic or not.

  “I’d sooner chew off my arm than have a drink in this place.”

  “And you, Imaso?”

  “I’m fine, zankyou.”

  Larry stood and wobbled down to the other end of the bar. When he was safely out of earshot, James spoke.

  “I’m afraid you might have just given him an idea, Charlie. I think he just asked Bob to slip cyanide into my drink. That’s probably how a publican makes most of his income in a place like this.”

  “All the people in here are giving you really foul looks. It’s embarrassing.” Like I cared about being embarrassed.

  “I’ve arrested most of them before.”

  “That explains it then. What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked. He’d only just gotten over his last hangover, and he was in another bar already. Alcoholic.

  He looked like he was choosing his words carefully. Finally, he said: “Business deal.”

  “Don’t sell,” I told him.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “You don’t like me either,” he countered.

  “I dislike him more.”

  “Your reputation’s gonna be in tatters if that gets out.”

  “It won’t get out.”

  “As a rule, Charlie, how do you feel about men?”

  “I don’t have a problem with men.” Just don’t get me started on the patriarchy.

  “How come you never date anyone, then?”

  “I’ve had plenty of boyfriends.”

  “I only remember one. That dude who really liked space ships. I used to call him Rocket Man.” He stopped to think. “He really hated me.”

  “Fancy that.”

  “Who else have you dated?”

  “Not telling.”

  “Why?”

  “After how you treated Rocket Ma – I mean Gerald?”

  He laughed. “Were they all that bad?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Big sci-fi fans?” he guessed.

  “Not funny.”

  “Chess squad?”

  “And what about your girlfriends?”

  “What about them?” Like he didn’t know.

  “There was a serious lack of personality amongst them.”

  “One of them used to be your best friend.”

  OK, so I misled you a little. I kind of lied before when I said it was just Jo and me that became best friends on the second day of kindergarten. What actually happened was Jo already had a best friend from the first day of school. Since they were nice they let me sit with them and swap lunches. The other girl was Celia Stanton.

  The three of us stayed best friends until we were 15. The reason we (Jo, me and all our other friends) stopped being pals with Celia and started being enemies was because of James McKenzie. Celia had never hated him like I had, but she’d never had a crush on him like the other girls, either. When she and James got together it caused a massive fight in our group. There were various reasons:

  Other girls – “But you’re not in love with him like us! Why did you agree to go out with him when you don’t even like him? You’re such a bitch! (etc, etc).”

  Me – “What the hell are you thinking?”

  While this may seem like a pretty shallow kind of argument, we never made up with her. Even after she broke up with him and things should have gone back to normal, they didn’t. She stayed friends with McKenzie. This was another thing I kind of held against him. He stole my most normal friend. Why couldn’t he have taken one of the weird ones?

  “Well, we’re not friends anymore, are we?”

  “Would you have disowned any of your other friends if I dated them?”

  “No.” He looked confused. “It’s complicated,” I explained.

  “Yeah, it sounds complicated,” he agreed. “Although I’m sure your nerdy boyfriends would have understood.”

  “No doubt.” I figured if I stopped biting, he might stop baiting.

  “Maybe you should be more particular about who you go out with,” he suggested.

  “Maybe you should mind your own business.”

  “What would my chances be?” he asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “I got you a drink anyway, James,” Jones said, saving me from James’s question. “You have to learn not to be so fussy. A drink’s a drink as far as I’m concerned.” He plonked a glass (or, rather, a plastic) containing a brown, cloudy concoction on the bar in front of us.

  Oh. James had been serious about the poisoning.

  McKenzie didn’t make any move to pick up the drink.

  “C’mon rich boy,” growled Larry. “We don’t got all day. Hurry up.”

  “I thought I’d wait until the cyanide’s dissolved properly before drinking it,” James replied coolly. “Anyway, we’re here for business. So, no.”

  “What?”

  “My answer is no. I’m not selling or doing any deals with you, and if you continue to harass me, expect to get a letter from my solicitor.” Well, that was a hell of a way to do business.

  It was then that I heard a familiar voice behind me.

  “Hey James. ’Sup?” Tim asked.

  I looked at my watch and gave an over-exaggerated start. “Oh no! I just remembered I’m supposed to be working tonight. I ’ave to go. It was so nice meeting you Larry. I could ’ave done without meeting you, James, but it was an experience anyway. Goodbye!” And I bolted out the door.

  When I reached Tim’s car, I realised I’d left my handbag inside. Screw it, I thought. There was nothing in it I couldn’t replace. It was staying there. Wild horses couldn’t drag me back into the same room as Larry. He was creepy and definitely a dodgy businessman, plus my exit hadn’t exactly been smooth. He must have realised I was there to distract him. Also, there was the matter of the awkward conversation with –

  “Don’t kill me,” said a voice behind me. “I’ve come with a peace offering.”

  I was leaning on the roof of Tim’s (conveniently low) sports car, with my elbows resting on it and my head in my hands. I turned and looked at James. He was carrying my handbag.

  “You better take it before I get too attached to it, Charlie.”

  I smiled. I couldn’t help it. And that embarrassed me. And he knew that I was embarrassed. And that just embarrassed me more.

  He grinned as he handed me the bag. “It’s not every day you smile at me, sweetie. Maybe my chances aren’t as bad as they used to be.”

  “In your dreams.”

  “Every night.”

  That was when Tim interrupted. “I hate to butt in when you two are getting so chummy, ’cause I know it’s a rare occasion and all, but I have some very bad news, so if you’d kindly get your asses into the car, we can decide how we’re going to move next, because none of us wants James in jail.”

  Yeah, I know it’s ‘arses’ and ‘gaol’. It’s the American thing again.

  James and I both sat in the back of the car, partly because we were likely to have a fight if one of us got to sit in the front and the other didn’t (immature, yes, but we both knew it would happen), and partly because neither of us wanted to get any closer to Tim in his current pissed-off, revved-up state.

  Tim pulled out of his park and began talking.

  �
��OK, I’ll put it this way – if the police decide to search Larry’s office, you’re screwed. There is a lot of incriminating evidence on his computer relating to several murders. Including the contract for your uncle’s murder.”

  “I thought ‘contract killing’ was just a turn of phrase. Surely writing up an actual contract is just asking to get caught?” How stupid was this guy?

  “Not actual contracts, Charlie. But there’s a paper trail. There are emails on his computer with coded messages, plus corresponding large payments on his bank records to an offshore account. He’s tried to wipe the evidence but if I can find it, the police won’t have any trouble. You’re already a suspect. If the police find these, you’re doomed. Jones has done a really good job of screwing both of you over.”

  “OK,” I said. “Let me get this straight. What this means is that Larry hired someone to kill not only Frank, but other people too?”

  James looked a bit sick. “Why will I be screwed if they search the office?”

  “These emails? They were sent from an old Hotmail account set up about five years ago.”

  “And?”

  “Well… The address started with your initials.”

  James just looked back blankly. “That’s hardly going to secure my conviction. It must be a set-up.”

  “Andrews will roll with it though. Five years is a long time to plan a set-up, James, and that’s how long ago these emails started being sent. And seeing as your alibi is missing –”

  “Hiking! She’s just out of range at the moment. She’ll be back soon.”

  “Hiking, right. It just doesn’t look good.”

  “I’m not stupid enough to set up an account with my initials in it to use as my special hit-man email account.”

  “Hitmail, you mean?” I said. No one laughed. OK, so maybe it wasn’t the most appropriate time for puns. “Does that mean James has to keep the police away from the evidence in Larry’s office? Even though Larry’s clearly guilty?” I asked, trying to break the awkward silence I’d created. I don’t know why – I didn’t think the pun was that bad.

  “Yes,” said Tim.

  “Why don’t we just destroy it?”

  “We can’t destroy evidence!” said James, ever the cop.

  “But it’s been faked to set you up, hasn’t it?” I said. “That doesn’t count as destroying evidence. Not really.”

  “It links Larry to the murders,” said Tim. “We can’t destroy it. We just need to find something that clears James before the police find it so they know it’s fake.”

  “So for now, we just have to keep the police away.”

  “Yes,” said Tim.

  “How do you propose we do that?” asked James. “Hypnosis? Subliminal messages?”

  “I think you’re gonna have to have another chat with Joe,” Tim said.

  “No,” said James. “I can’t drag him into this again. He’s doing way too much for me already.”

  “So Joe’s your guy on the inside,” I realised. Yeah, I said ‘guy on the inside’. This was starting to feel like a 70s cop drama.

  “Yes,” said Tim.

  “I’m not asking him to stay away from Jones’s office,” James told us.

  “Then what was the point of me searching it?” asked Tim. “If the police go in there, that’s it. You’re done for. You can’t just refuse to ask for help.”

  “You mean I just sat in the pub with that evil bastard for no reason?” I demanded.

  “Well,” said James, “I wouldn’t say it was pointless. I bet it was a step up from dating a guy in the debating squad.”

  “I never should have told you about my boyfriends,” I groaned.

  “You didn’t,” James reminded me. “I guessed.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I formed a hypothesis, and upon testing it in the field I discovered that – ”

  “Shut up!” I snapped.

  “Sorry. I just thought that if I talked like that guy you met at that science forum –”

  “You know about him?”

  “Not until just then. I was guessing,” he said, trying (unsuccessfully) to hide a smirk. “But I bet he was pretty hot. Probably nearly as sexy as that dude who started the lunchtime book club in the school library.”

  “He wasn’t that bad looking.”

  “You dated him too?”

  “No,” I said quickly.

  “You did so,” he said grinning. “You’re a nerd groupie.”

  That was when Tim spoke. “Hey, you called me a dork last night Charlie. Does that mean that you think I’m an eligible bachelor?”

  This was beyond a joke.

  “Um, don’t you two have more important things to do than rip off my ex-boyfriends? Like finding out who murdered your uncle, James? I don’t think that Jones seems smart enough to pull off a caper like that, framing you and all,” I said, desperate to get off the subject of my past (and future) boyfriends.

  “Don’t try and change the topic,” said James. “Although I do agree with you that he’s not quite intelligent enough to set me up on his own. I don’t think he has the technical know-how to fake emails, either.”

  “Assuming the email address is fake,” said Tim. James scowled at him. Tim caught sight of James in the mirror and added quickly: “And not just a coincidence.” Nice, Tim. Smooth.

  James rolled his eyes and turned to me. “So did you ever date anyone in my grade?”

  I thought for a moment. “So there’s someone else that hates James who’s killing these people for Larry, and they’ve thought of all this stuff. So they’ve masterminded an operation where even if Larry gets discovered, they’ll still be safe because James will take the rap for it and Larry will be too scared to turn them in.”

  “I love how you talk about me as though I’m not here. And you didn’t answer my question, Charlie.” How did anyone find this guy charming?

  “Why do you care?” I demanded. “What does it matter to you who I went out with?”

  James’s face lit up. “I know! There was that guy in my grade who wore glasses. I bet you dated him.”

  I gave him a foul look. “There is nothing wrong with wearing glasses.”

  “I agree. But I don’t mean a guy who wore reading glasses. I’m talking about that dude that wore the star-shaped sunglasses around all the time and said they helped him see people’s auras. Remember him?”

  That was when I lost it. “OK, I draw the line at that. Yes, I admit, I dated a lot of uncool people, but he was not one of them! I do have SOME standards!” I screamed at him.

  We sat in silence for a minute. Tim was the first to speak. “James,” he said. “Charlie told me you had this DVD that I thought sounded interesting.”

  “You two are so immature! James, you’re probably heading off to gaol soon and all you can talk about is my past relationships! And you, Tim, a second ago you were so pissed-off it was scary, and now you’re just stirring me up as well!”

  “Well,” James reasoned. “They do say laughter is the best medicine.”

  “Maybe we should talk through the case instead of wasting our energy with trivial information,” I countered.

  “Why?” Tim asked. “You already talked it all through. We’re done.” He paused. “Do you want me to drop you off at your house, James?”

  “Yes please.”

  James’s house was on Madison Hill, two streets down from Frank’s house.

  “Wow,” I whispered. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen it, but it still had the same effect on me. “James, that’s the house I want when I win the bet.”

  He smiled at me and I panicked. Get a grip. I didn’t even want to start contemplating how straight his teeth were. Or how nice his face was. OK, so it was well-proportioned. Whatever. Like that mattered. Think about something else. Something boring. Like his legs. His tanned, shapely legs. Damn it! His arms, then. There was nothing attractive about arms. Except, you know, hugs and stuff. And those hands. Holding hands while walking down the
beach at sunset, a string quartet playing softly in the background… Wait, what the fuck? I sounded like a tacky romance novel. Next thing I would be planning our spring wedding in his beautiful garden. And thinking that his rose-covered archway would be perfect for photos.

  As I said, I told myself to get a grip before I started thinking those things, so they never even entered my mind.

  Much.

  “Well,” he responded, “I’m moving into my uncle’s house so I guess that’s an option. Although, that would mean we were only living two blocks away from each other and I’m not sure that would be wise.”

  He had a point. “I promise I’d leave you alone.”

  He smiled again. Luckily I still had a grip from the first smile. “I’ll think about it.” And with that he got out of the car and waltzed to his front door. He had a nice, uh, door.

  When Tim pulled up in front of my house I invited him in for dinner. “Although I should warn you, I’m cooking so it’s probably best to decline.”

  He laughed. “Thanks anyway, but I have to baby-sit my niece tonight. I’ll see you in the morning, all ready for exercise.”

  I laughed. “See ya.”

  “Sleep tight, honey.”

  Lea and I joined forces to cook dinner that night. That was good, because then only the half I cooked was a disaster. She made some wonderful sauce with tomato and other stuff, so all I had to cook was the pasta. Ha.

  The small table in the kitchen was covered with Frank McKenzie murder memorabilia, so instead we sat at the big table in the dining room. Dad was at one end, Mum was at the other, and Lea and I were sitting halfway up the table, directly across from each other. I could hear everyone crunching away at the pasta.

  “The sauce is beautiful, Lea,” said Mum. She turned to me. “I’m assuming it was you who cooked, or, rather, didn’t cook, the pasta, Charlie?”

  “Maybe I should have left the pot on for longer,” I answered. “I was just a bit worried it was going to burn.”

  Mum gave me a look of disbelief. “Burn?” she repeated. “Didn’t you put water in?”

  Shit. I knew I’d forgotten something.

  * * *

  It was 8:30 and I was getting ready for bed (due to having an early start in the morning) when the phone rang. It was Jo Riley. Ah. I should have known I couldn’t avoid her for long.