Unfinished Sentence (The Charlie Davies Mysteries Book 2)

by Clare Kauter

  Maybe that meant something.

  I dialled Joe Winton again.

  “What?” he asked exasperatedly.

  “Do you know much about Bainbridge?”

  “Nothing I’m going to tell you.”

  “What did you find on his body?”

  “What part of ‘not going to tell you’ do you not –”

  “I know you’ve kidnapped my friends to interrogate them about this. You’re working on it anyway. If you help me with this, I swear I’ll call you in as soon as I know something. You can bring in whoever you want to rescue them.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “Yes.” Maybe.

  He sighed. “We didn’t find anything on the body. I don’t know much about the guy. I think the info we got about him was tampered with.”

  “By the government?”

  Yes, I sounded like I was massively into conspiracy theories, but it was a genuine question.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m pretty sure he did work for some of the guys in Canberra, if you catch my drift.”

  So I was right! Huzzah!

  “Wait, go back a bit. You didn’t find anything on the body?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  That was odd. Very odd, considering I distinctly remembered seeing a phone in his pocket before I ran off after Coconut Head. Which meant…

  “Thanks Joe!”

  I hung up. Bainbridge’s phone was missing. There was only one person who could have taken it.

  Adam.

  Last night, in between the body being taken away and the time I’d visited his room, he’d gone home to change his clothes and shower. He’d said he didn’t want to leave his bloody suit in his hotel room, which had made sense. But I suspected he might have come home for another reason – to hide some evidence from the police.

  Time to search this apartment properly. Before, when I’d been looking for the laptop, I hadn’t bothered checking everywhere because it was too big to hide in the tiny places. The phone, though? It could be anywhere.

  Letting the other two go about their business – they were doing important work – I began tearing the place apart. Literally tearing some things apart – I was pissed. How dare Adam steal a dead guy’s phone and not even tell me about it? I thought we had something, sharing a bed and whatnot.

  (Mostly sharing a bed, not so much the whatnot. We really weren’t that close. And then there was the whole McKenzie issue. Yeesh. Whatnot was totally off the table. Or off the bed, whatever. None of the whatnot for me.)

  The kitchen cupboards (including all of his perfectly aligned Tupperware storage containers) yielded nothing, along with the fridge, freezer (would that break a phone?) and dishwasher. I moved onto the bathrooms next, checking the cistern of the toilet. Nothing in the toilet, nothing in the cabinet, nothing in the vents, nothing in his dirty clothes basket (literally nothing – this guy believed in washing clothes frequently).

  I had just about given up hope when I noticed a loose light fitting in Adam’s bedroom. He was not the kind of guy who would stand for that without good reason. I climbed on his bed, balancing on the header board for extra height, and shifted the light fitting. Out fell a glad bag, containing – you guessed it – a (slightly bloody and gross) mobile phone. The bag landed on the mattress. When I fell, however, I did not.

  Rather, I bounced off the mattress and flipped backwards onto the floor, whacking my hand on the bedside table on my way down and landing with a loud thud.

  “You OK?” the other two called from the next room.

  If it were anyone else making that noise, they would have come running, but I hurt myself so often that as long as I responded my friends knew not to bother getting up.

  “Yep,” I croaked back, dragging myself to my feet. I sat on the bed and grabbed the phone, leaving it in the bag so I didn’t destroy any evidence (or contract a blood-borne disease). I started with his texts, but there was nothing in the inbox, drafts or sent. Someone didn’t want any incriminating evidence left on his phone.

  Dude didn’t have a whole lot of apps, so there wasn’t that much to go through. He had a voice recording app that I opened first. There were four clips. Two were Lionel/Volkov talking to someone. In Russian. Yeah, not so handy for me.

  One of the earlier clips began with a man’s voice that sounded quite close to the phone – I presumed it was Bainbridge. He must have had it in his pocket or something. There was a lot of background noise, both music and voices. Wait, that voice was familiar – a little slurred, maybe, but I definitely knew it…

  Oh my god. It was my voice. This recording was from that night at Rift – the night I was drugged.

  “You need to get away from him. I know what you’re doing and you’re not safe.”

  “Who even are you, Mr Moustache?” I slurred.

  “You need to leave. Right now,” Bainbridge was saying.

  “OK, but first I moustache you a question.” I heard myself cackle at the hilariousness of my own joke. Present-day me cringed. That was not one of my best puns.

  Bainbridge lowered his voice. “Lionel knows what you and the Baxter kid are doing.”

  “What?” Even in my drugged stupor there was panic in my voice.

  “He asked the barman to slip something in your drink.”

  “I do feel kind of funny,” I said.

  “He’s going to take you and question you. Maybe he won’t let you go after that. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Drugged Charlie was silent, but I guess she nodded because Bainbridge kept talking. “Good. Now, I need you to tell me everything you’ve found out, OK?”

  I felt my mouth drop open. This guy was going to take advantage of my drugged state to try and glean information from me. I guessed that was why this conversation had been recorded. What a prick. Now, I’m not saying he deserved to be murdered, but I wasn’t so annoyed that the murderer had gotten away now. (Well, except for the fact that he later kidnapped and tried to kill Celia.)

  “I might be drugged, but I’m not stupid,” I heard myself say, and sighed in relief. Thank god. I’d known he was an arsehole even when I was barely conscious.

  “It was worth a try,” said Bainbridge. “You got someone here you trust to take you home?”

  “Yeah. The sexy dude over there trying to fight off Shartya.”

  “I don’t know what that means, but you should leave with him now. Tell him your drink has been spiked.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Working.”

  That was the end of the recording.

  The final clip was more sinister. It started midway through a conversation

  “And I guess you left him at that construction site on the river for a reason?”

  “We had a deal with the owner. Man forgot to pay his security money. Guess someone broke in and trashed the place while we weren’t there to protect it.”

  I recognised the voice. Coconut Head.

  “I’m sure that’s exactly what happened,” Bainbridge answered drily.

  OK, so that’s why Sheila’s site had been trashed – the ‘security’ her husband had organised was actually ‘protection money’, and then he hadn’t even paid it.

  “There’s no point questioning me now,” said Coconut Head. “It’s too late. You’ve lost.”

  There was a weird noise – a kind of squishy thud. For a moment I didn’t know what was happening. Then I heard Bainbridge yell. I’d heard that yell before. There was the sound of approaching footsteps, running towards Bainbridge, then a rustling noise and a voice.

  “Charlie, don’t you –”

  I’d just heard the sound of Bainbridge being murdered.

  I heard myself run away, chasing Coconut Head. Adam sighed.

  “I’m going to try and stem the flow,” he said.

  “Lucky a doctor happened to be here,” Bainbridge responded, sounding like he really had to force out each word.

  “Focus on breathing. Don’t talk.”

  “Y
ou aren’t going to ask how I know –”

  “You talked to Charlie at the club. You’re looking into the same thing we are.”

  “He’s not going to handle the double-cross well. You’re supposed to be working for him.”

  “Concentrate on breathing.”

  “We both know I’m dead already. Tonight, tomorrow, it doesn’t matter. I’m gone.”

  More footsteps.

  This time it was James McKenzie’s voice. “What –”

  “Charlie chased the guy around to the other pools.”

  James took off at a run.

  “Take my phone. It’s got everything on it. Don’t let the police get it. He’s got guys…”

  Bainbridge’s breathing was ever more laboured.

  There was a rustling, presumably as Adam took the phone. “Police? Who?”

  “The guy…”

  “What guy?”

  “He…”

  “Give me a name. You can’t fucking die now. Finish your sentence. Who?”

  Wow, Adam showing his sensitive side. What a bedside manner. Best doctor ever.

  “Heee…”

  “He what?”

  There was no answer. The recording stopped.

  I walked back into the lounge room to join the other two, lost in my own thoughts. Why had Adam even bothered staying another night at the hotel? If I’d heard that, I would have cleared out that night. Was there not enough evidence on this phone? Maybe he’d been looking for something more concrete – DNA, video evidence, something that meant Lionel and his sidekicks could be arrested on the spot so they’d no longer be a threat.

  Oswald’s voice pierced the silence, causing me to jump.

  “The numbers just don’t add up,” Os declared, throwing his hands into the air.

  “Is there a chance that’s because the accountant was skimming?”

  Os looked scandalised. “You don’t think someone would actually do that, do you?”

  I sighed. Poor, sweet little Os. “I’d say it’s a definite possibility.”

  He shook his head. “I… I can’t…”

  Os was very sensitive about people using their accounting powers for evil.

  “C, you got anything?”

  She stood and walked over to join us at the table. We each pulled out a chair and sat as if we were conducting a business meeting.

  Celia glanced at her notepad. “There was only one thing I could think of, and I’m not really sure that it’s all that useful. He probably just took me because I’m friends with James.”

  To her credit, she barely even wiggled her brows at me as she spoke his name.

  “Probably,” I agreed, “But can you tell me what the thing is anyway?”

  “Sure, but firstly talk me through that blood-covered Glad bag of iPhone you’ve got there.”

  She and Os looked at the bag (which I’d plonked on the table in front of me) in disgust. It did look pretty gross, admittedly.

  “I found it in the light fitting in Adam’s bedroom.”

  “Wow. Sounds like the guy has some interesting hobbies.”

  “He got given it by the guy who got stabbed last night.”

  “When? I thought you didn’t know who the guy was until Joe told you.”

  “I didn’t. Adam didn’t know him either. The guy passed Adam his phone because it has evidence on it.”

  Celia looked excited. “Do you know where they might be holding James?”

  “No,” I said. Her face fell. “What was it that you remembered?”

  “Oh, I remembered walking outside and springing Lionel and the guys who took me talking by the pool during the conference. I didn’t hear much of what they said – something about a delivery mix up – but they looked pissed. Guess I interrupted something.”

  I nodded. “They probably thought you overheard something important.”

  “Probably. But, you know, if I did I wouldn’t have just walked out and shown my face to them. I’m not that stupid.”

  She had a point.

  “Yeah. Maybe Lionel – uh, Volkov – just likes to be cautious.” Or likes sentencing people to death.

  I wondered why he was racking up such a body count. Everything could be so easily connected to him. It was like he wasn’t worried about being caught, which concerned me. Remembering the recording, it occurred to me that maybe Volkov’s connection in the police force was someone high up – someone who was able to cover for him and ensure his freedom.

  Bainbridge’s last words reverberated in my head.

  Don’t let the police get it.

  Someone was covering for Volkov. Someone in a position of power. Perhaps someone with a history of slightly dodgy policing.

  He… Heeee…

  Was Bainbridge really saying ‘he’, or was he trying to form a name?

  Like Harcourt?

  Not that I would tell anyone else – people always thought I blamed Harcourt wrongly for my brother’s disappearance – but I had no doubts. It was him.

  We needed solid, incontrovertible evidence about Lionel’s true identity so that Harcourt couldn’t just brush it under the rug. He would do anything to keep his pay offs coming in, if the situation with Topher was anything to go by.

  “What now?” Celia asked, breaking me out of my daydream. Well, day-nightmare.

  I shrugged. That was the real question. Sure, we had a lot of facts, but nothing that really helped. “I don’t know.”

  I didn’t tell the others about Harcourt. They’d think I was just being paranoid. I could have called Harry to tell him about the phone, but I couldn’t think of any practical application of that information for him. He already knew Lionel and Coconut Head were the bad guys. He didn’t need confirmation from audio recordings.

  “We can’t just sit here,” said Celia. “James is in the hands of a murderous psychopath, not to mention your boss. Plus the creep’s dating one of our best friends.”

  My stomach churned at the thought, which would have been uncomfortable but it had been churning for a few hours now what with all the stress, so really it was just becoming the new normal by this stage.

  “Look,” said Oswald. Celia and I looked at him. “This might be a weird idea, but have either of you considered calling Stacey?”

  We were silent for a moment.

  “That’s brilliant,” I said finally.

  She was bound to know something that could help us. And, like, it was about time that one of us broke it to her that her boyfriend was a homicidal maniac.

  “Wow,” said Celia. “It should not have taken us so long to come up with that.”

  I nodded in agreement. We were really shit private investigators.

  I picked up my phone and called Stacey.

  “Hey Charlie!” she said. “What’s up?”

  “Not much,” I lied, suddenly wishing I’d planned this conversation before just dialling and deciding to wing it. “Um, what are you up to?”

  “I’m just heading to the nightclub. Lonny just called me and said that he has something he wanted to talk to me about.”

  The nightclub?

  “Uh, Stace,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Does the nightclub have, like, a basement or something?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It’s creepy as, too. I hate it. It’s like the dungeon under Fangtasia in True Blood.”

  “So it looks like the kind of place where, like, someone might keep people they’ve kidnapped and torture them and stuff?”

  “Totally. It’s gross.”

  Bingo. Now to break the news to her.

  “Um, Stace, is there any chance we could meet up before you go to the club? I’ve got something really important to tell you.”

  “I’m just walking into the club now. Let’s meet up later, OK? I’ll call you.”

  “No, wait – ”

  “Bye!”

  She hung up, totally oblivious.

  “OK, I think they’re being held at Rift. Stacey is going there right now,” I said, my
voice sounding a little high pitched. I scrolled through my phone and dialled Harry.

  His phone was off.

  When I got to his ‘leave a message’ bit, I was a little irate.

  “Now is not the time to turn your fucking phone off, Harry! They’re holding Adam and James at Rift, and I’m heading there now. Meet me there when you get this.”

  I hung up and stood. “Let’s go, guys.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  We got ready as fast as possible. Celia borrowed my Keds and I went barefoot (I was getting used to it now), but I brought my heels along in case I needed to use them as a weapon again.

  We raided Adam’s kitchen cupboards and drawers for further armament. Celia settled on a massive chef’s knife and Os went for a cast iron frying pan. I tucked the heels into my waistband and grabbed a metal skewer as well, just in case I needed to pop a lock at some point along the way. (Alternatively, I could use it to blind Coconut Head more permanently, but I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.)

  Adam’s apartment wasn’t that far from Rift, so we jogged/walked there. Admittedly, we did get a couple of odd looks from other pedestrians given our outfits and weaponry, but no one said anything. I couldn’t blame them. I would have been too terrified to say anything to us as well. We looked like three villains who’d escaped from a maximum-security prison. Celia was trying to hide the knife behind her back, but that kind of just made her look more sinister.

  Don’t mind us, just three young offenders out for a walk in the monsoon, ready to do some killing.

  “If we get stopped by police, tell them we’re on the way to a cooking class,” I said, as a car slowed while passing us so that the driver could gawk out the window.

  “Yeah, you’re dressed for it,” said Celia sarcastically. Of course, she was right. I was in Adam’s shirt and boxers, underwear free – something that was only highlighted by the fact that Oswald was dressed in slacks, a button up shirt and a tie.

  “We’re just edgy. Roll with it.”

  I was holding onto the slimmest of hopes that some people might mistake me for just being very hipster.

  We stopped around the corner from Rift and looked towards the front door. Luckily, there was no one guarding it yet. (Lionel had probably cancelled his contract with B-Co. given the current situation.) Phew. I didn’t really know what our next move would have been if there was someone there. Maybe knock them out with the frying pan.