Catchee Monkey: A Rex & Eddie Mystery (Rex & Eddie Mysteries Book 1) (3 page)

Jim Jams smiled. “It’s true. Thanks to a ridiculous combination of booze and narcotics mixed with strategised yoga, green smoothies, supplements, power naps, and the occasional chocolate bar, I’m an optimally functioning human being; which includes not having a hangover for five years.”

“Because you haven’t been sober in five years, that’s why.”

“You want to see this place or what?”

The stairs were so narrow, the three of them went up in single file. Halfway down the corridor Rex and Eddie found their new address: Number 4, 369 High Street, Cloisterham, Kent.
 

Inside, featured a small reception followed by an office space with tall windows and brand new carpet. An old desk sat awkwardly in the centre and a few dented filing cabinets leaned against a wall. In the corner, a mini fridge, a microwave, and an electric hob with kettle were stacked on top of each other.

Jim Jams waved his finger around the office. “The previous tenant left the furnishings, and that’s a brand new carpet.”

Eddie ran his hand along the filing cabinets. A thick layer of dust clung to his fingers.

Rex span around in admiration. “It’s perfect.”

“Why’s it so cheap?” Eddie asked.

“It’s been empty for six months,” Jim Jams said. “They want it occupied.”

“Come on, there has to be something dodgy, or you wouldn’t be involved.”

“I’m not involved. They just had me install the carpet is all. I told them I knew someone who needed an office.”

Rex pointed out the window “Look at that river view. It’s lovely.”

“You mean that sliver of blue between the train tracks and the factory silos?”

Rex smiled. “I told you it was great.”

“How much is it?”

“It’s two-hundred-and-fifty a month,” Jim Jams said. “Plus one month as deposit, and the first six months in advance.”

“Is that normal?” Eddie said.

“You got no credit history so they’re going by my word.”

“Are they though? If they take six months rent, are they taking your word or just my money?”

“Well, my words not worth much.”

Eddie did the maths in his head. “So that’s one thousand, seven hundred, and fifty pounds.’

“Don’t forget the first week’s free, and you can keep the furnishings. It’s a pucker deal.”

“What a steal. Aye, Eddie?”

“So what’s the catch?”

Jim Jams put his arms around Rex and Eddie. “Can’t you be entitled to a lucky day once in a while?”

***

“A detective needs a car,” Rex said.

“I still think we need to wait for our first case. Eight hundred is a lot of money.”

The bus came to a stop and let a trio of teenagers on. Their mobile phones played hip hop to the whole bus.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “At least if we had a car we wouldn’t have to put up with the likes of DJ Tinny over there.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“But I’m not gonna spend more than eight hundred.”

“Fine.”

“I mean it. After paying for the office rent, I’ve got two thousand, eight hundred and seventy-two pounds in the bank. You’ve got three-hundred and thirty-nine from
—
”

“From under my bed.”

“And you’re sure that’s all your savings?”

“I told my nan we started a business and she gave us ten pounds too.”

“All the same, our total budget is four-thousand nine-hundred and seventy-one pounds. We have to keep things tight.”

“This is our stop.”

The pair exited the bus and walked a few doors down. There on the driveway stood the 1971 Morris Minor 1000 Traveller. Rex found the car on Craigslist for eight hundred pounds and immediately fell in love with it.
 

Described as an economy car in the same way as a cramped house is called modest, the Morris Minor was a lime-green estate with the passenger section made out of a wooden-frame. The minimal dashboard meant lots of room in the glove compartment for their surveillance gear. It was by no means an antique, but the car was old enough to be considered historic, so Rex and Eddie didn’t have to pay road tax.

“What’s road tax now?” Rex said. “One hundred and fifty a year? In six years it will have paid for itself.”

“If it doesn’t fall apart by then,” Eddie said.
 

Scratches, a smashed-in rear light, and leather seats held together with electrical tape showed how much of a mess the car was in. The paint job had faded so much it had a ghostly quality, like it haunted the driveway. Although the advert said it only had two previous owners, it failed to mention the current owner was a seventeen-year-old chav. The youthful mouth-breather, decked out in imitation designer sports clothes, swaggered down the driveway with a sneer. Gold bling jangled on his thin frame as he walked.

Although the first owner was a sweet old lady who took good care of the car, the current owner, Tim, managed to clock up an extra sixty thousand miles in little more than nine months.

Eddie bobbed his head side-to-side. “Eight-hundred is a lot of money.”

Rex sat in the driver’s seat and played with the steering wheel. “It probably cost that much when it was new. That’s zero depreciation. It’s an investment.”

Eddie opened the glove compartment and checked the legal stuff. He was pleased to see the car had just passed the MOT. Now he knew it was road-worthy, or as worthy as a car partly made of wood could be, he was interested.

“OK, I’ll get it as long as we can haggle him down to seven-fifty at most.”

“Thanks, Eddie.”

They approached Tim who waxed his new car, a bright red 1999 BMW 3 Series, while the car radio blasted out drum and bass. Tim got the Morris Minor because his parents wanted him to prove he could be trusted with a cheap first car before they bought him something better. When Tim won five thousand pounds on a scratch card and spent it on the new wheels, his life lesson was cut short. He even had enough change to tint the windows and install a DVD player. This was of no interest to Eddie, but he learnt it all the same because Rex kept asking questions.

“What a beauty, and the DVD is well sweet.” Rex forced in chav lingo in the hope of being accepted, or at least not beaten up. “We should get one of these next, Eddie.”

“We need to be a bit more inconspicuous than that.”

“You sayin’ I’ve got a gay car?” Tim asked, chest puffed out.

“No, I’m not,” Eddie said.
How had this escalated so fast?
he wondered.

“What you sayin’ then?” Tim stepped forward, his pointy face leaned into Eddie’s personal space. This would be why Rex talked chav, so he didn’t cause offence and accidentally start a fight.

“I mean we don’t want to get noticed, that’s all.” Eddie realised how ridiculous this sounded when he remembered he was buying a lime-green car with wooden framing. “The BMW is great, it’s masculine, it’s bold, it’s, uh, it’s
—
”

“He’s saying you have a wicked ride,” Rex chimed in. “Everyone is gonna notice how cool it is.”

Tim relaxed. “Thanks, mate.”

“Will you take seven-hundred for it?” Eddie asked.

Tim licked his teeth. “Go on then.”

Rex raised a finger for attention. “What about seven-fifty?”

“Sold.”

“Rex, what are you doing?”

“Haggling?”

“Up?”

“Oh, right, sorry about that.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I’ll get the seven-hundred.”

“Sorry, mate. But this fella’s giving me seven hundred and fifty.”

“What? No he’s not,” Eddie said. “Tell him you’re not.”

“I’m not.”

Tim thumped Rex in the shoulder. “You gotta stand up for yourself mate, don’t back down like that. He’s trying to steal the car from right under yah.”

Misinterpreting the playful push as physical violence, Rex didn’t know what to do. “Yeah, OK. Seven-fifty it is.”

“That’s more like it.”

“Fine,” Eddie snapped, knowing he was on the losing end of an idiotic argument. “Seven-fifty.” He counted the money and passed it to Tim.

“Nah mate, you can’t offer the same as the competition’s bid, he still gets it.”

“We are not separate buyers. Rex and I are together.”

“Together aye?” Tim turned to Rex “This true? Are you and him, together?”

Rex’s body froze, only his eyes shifted. Violence always sent him inward. In a panic he’d forgotten about the car and thought this was a mugging.

“Oi? Don’t ignore me. It’s disrespectful. Are you two together?”

Rex turned to Eddie and back at Tim.
 

“No.”

Eddie raised his hands. “What are you saying?” Rex thought he was being asked if they were a couple. Tim’s push followed by his irritated tone made Rex think he was about to become the victim of a misidentified hate-crime.

“Look mate, if you want it, you’re gonna have to offer more than my man here.”

Eddie sneered. “Fine, seven hundred and fifty-one.”

“It’s in increments of fifty.”

“Oh right, so you don’t know what inconspicuous means but you know the word increment?”
 

Tim’s beady eyes stared Eddie down.
 

“Fine, eight hundred.” Eddie pulled out the extra fifty and made the exchange.

Rex and Eddie got in the car. Eddie was the driver since Rex had never taken driving lessons. Tim knocked on the driver’s window. Eddie turned the hand crank to lower the glass.

“I just want to say, I know you gay boys get a hard time, but I wish you a lifetime of happiness.”

Eddie forced a smile. “Thanks, but we’re business partners.” Tim cocked his head in confusion. “Tell him Rex.”

Rex sat in his seat, hands on his thighs, head hung low. He still hadn’t gotten over his fright.

“All right mate, I get yah.” Tim gave a wink and patted the car as he left.

***

Eddie insisted they repaint the office’s grubby walls. The clean new carpet highlighted the wall's marks, stains and general nastiness. They laid newspaper down close to the walls and applied primer.

“Rex, will you open the window?” Eddie asked. “The paint fumes have gone to my head.”

Rex worked his way over to the window and gave it a yank. It didn’t budge. He felt cheated and pulled harder.

“Push it up.”

“I did push it up. It’s jammed.”

Eddie joined him and they both tugged at the same time. The window would not move.

“It’s useless,” Rex said.

“Try harder.”

Rex gave the handle a massive pull, and it snapped off. He stumbled backwards and tripped as he knocked over the paint can, which dumped the paint onto the carpet.

“No, no, no,” Eddie yelled as he jumped over Rex and grabbed the can. It was already half empty. The thick white primer consumed the carpet as it stretched out. Eddie tried to push it back in the can.

“I’m fine thanks,” Rex grumbled as he pulled himself back up.

“Do you know what this means?”

“We’ve lost our deposit?”

“My deposit. And they can kick us out. Which means they’d keep all six months of the rent.”

“It’s not too bad. We just need a bit of paint thinner.”

“And have a four-foot wide stain?”

“OK, so if we paint the whole floor then use the paint thinner, it will all match.”

“We have to take up the carpet and deny we ever had any. That’ll work. Right?”

Rex raided the maintenance cupboard for a Stanley knife and ripped up the carpet piece-by-piece. Eddie snuck it out in a black bin bag and dumped it in the building’s wheelie bin.

Eddie returned to the office and found Rex sat on the desk.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing?”

“Is that a question?”

Rex crossed his arms and legs. “No?”

“You said that as a question as well.”

“Did I?”

“You need help moving the desk?”

“I like it here.”

“We need to get the carpet from underneath it.”

“What if, we cut around it and left some carpet under the desk? Like a rug. There’s hardly any paint on this part.”

“Just lift the other end of the table.”
 

Rex jumped off and grabbed the desk’s end. Eddie lifted his side but Rex struggled with his.

“Lift, Rex.”

“I am lifting,” he said with mock strain. He made a big dramatic sigh like he’d given up. “I think my end is broken.”

“Lift with your back.”

“I lift with my hands.”

“Yes, hold it with your hands, but support it with your back.”
 

Rex shook his head like he’d been asked to do the impossible. Something wasn’t right.
 

Eddie placed his hands on his hips. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

Eddie slid his table end onto the wood floor and lifted the carpet. Underneath, he found the remains of a faded chalk outline in the shape of a man slumped on the floor. A slight red cloud spread around the head.

FOUR

“Rex, did you know about this?”

“I just saw it while you took out the carpet.”

“Did you know someone died here?”

“I’m sure it cleans off easily.”

“Really? Because the red stains have been heavily brushed.”

“Wood is porous.”

“Bloody Jim Jams. You knew about this, didn’t you?”

“You said you wanted a cheap office.”

“Tell me they caught the killer?”

“I believe so. The Door Knock Killer did it.”

“Oh, please.”

“It’s true. He knocks three times before entering and kills everyone that heard.”

“If he killed everyone that heard, how does anyone know about it?”

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. The door made them both jump.

“Uh, get the door Rex.”

“You’re closer.”

Eddie took two deliberate steps away from the door. The handle rattled and turned. The door opened, and in stepped Harold the cleaner.

“Have you got a woodie?” he asked.

Eddie cocked his head. “I beg your pardon?”

“A woodie. Do either of you have a woodie?”

“No.”

Harold hurried off and slammed the door shut.

Eddie turned to Rex. “What was that about?”

Rex shrugged. “Man’s looking for a woodie.”

Outside the hallway Harold shouted: “Does anyone here have a woodie? Anyone?”

Rex and Eddie popped their heads out the door, as did those from the other offices in the corridor.