On Sunday morning I descended the stairs, dressed in my usual uniform of Clothes That Make People Look Twice But Not In A Good Way, today taking the form of a flannelette shirt, my seen-better-days tracksuit pants and rubber clogs. (Yeah, I went there.)
If nothing else, I was comfortable.
I was at the dining table drinking green tea and staring at all the sheets of paper relating to the case when it occurred to me that in my attempts to open Frank’s organiser, I hadn’t tried the most obvious password known to man. The most common password in the world. The one everyone was guilty of using at one time or another, despite constant warnings that if you do THE INTERNET WILL EXPLODE.
Password.
It unlocked immediately. As I was not living in the early noughties, I wasn’t entirely sure how to work it at first, but finally I managed to make my way to the calendar. I flicked through, looking for anything unusual. When I got to the day he died, I stopped and stared at the screen. I don’t know how long I sat there, just staring.
There was a single appointment on Monday evening.
Dinner with James.
The police reports didn’t have a great timeline for McKenzie’s death. As far as the cops knew – and as far as I’d known up until a few moments earlier – no one had seen Frank after he’d left his office at seven. James hadn’t mentioned a dinner date.
This didn’t look good. He claimed he hadn’t even been at home that night – he said he’d been at Sarah’s. But Sarah wasn’t around to confirm that. She was due back some time today, but I hadn’t heard anything from Tim so I was guessing no one had tracked her down yet. When we found her, she’d be able to tell us the truth.
If Nora, whoever he was, didn’t get to her first.
Lea walked into the kitchen at around nine. My irritation at not having solved the case must have been showing on my face because the second she saw me she screamed. Or I suppose it could have been my outfit.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, realising it was me. “Um, would you like me to pick out something for you to wear today?”
Yep. She’d been screaming at the outfit. Or maybe it was the hair. I hadn’t bothered to touch it this morning.
“They’re my thinking clothes.”
My mother entered at this point, tilting her head as she took in my appearance. “Breakdown chic?”
“It’s very fashionable.”
“If you say so.”
“Everyone comments on how I look.”
“Is this a disguise or something?” Lea asked. “Are we going undercover as meth cooks with some kind of foot infection?”
Pretty sure she was actually serious. Why was it that people always thought that foot fungus was the only reason I’d be wearing these shoes?
“No, I’m just trying out a new look.”
She blinked, like maybe she was hoping she just had something in her eye and I wasn’t really dressed like this. “Oh.”
“I understand if you don’t want to be seen in public with me. Mum makes me walk at least ten metres behind her when I’m in one of my special outfits.”
“You dressed yourself better when you were three. And that was when you wore undies as hats.”
I nodded. “A classic look.”
“So, what’s the plan for this morning?” Lea asked, clearly not wanting to talk about my clothes any more. Maybe she was hoping if she ignored them they’d disappear. Wait, not like that.
I knew I should tell her about the organiser. About all the not-so-subtle hints I was getting that James could be guilty. The thing was, if I told her then she’d know that there was a chance we wouldn’t get paid. And then she might not help me.
I know it was wrong, but I didn’t feel like I had a choice. You see, I wasn’t convinced it was James. But even if he had done it and I wasn’t going to get anything for solving the case, I still wanted to catch him. Before he did something to Sarah.
And to find out if he was responsible for my brother’s disappearance.
“That’s the million dollar question,” I said.
Lea and I sat in the kitchen and contemplated what to do next. Currently, we had no suspects (apart from James), no leads (apart from James) and, generally speaking, no idea. (Apart from James.) We had to be missing something.
I started sorting through the information yet again. The list of names I’d collected from newspaper articles sat on top of a pile of loose sheets. Sarah Hollis would be the best person to speak to, but I didn’t have a clue how to contact her. There were also the two kids who had found the body, but again, I had no way of finding out where they…
Yes I did!
“Come on!” I seized my bag and grabbed Lea’s hand, pulling her to the door while she struggled to keep up. (Finally, someone who couldn’t keep up with me!)
We jumped into the Mustang and sat exactly at the speed limit because road safety is paramount no matter whether you’re solving a murder or not. I pulled into the Baxter & Co. car park and rushed inside, leaving Lea to wait in the car in case someone crash-tackled her for trespassing. When I reached my desk, I booted up my computer and after what seemed like an age I was able to begin my search.
I’d decided to interview the kids who found the body. I knew they probably weren’t going to be able to tell me more than the forensics report, but there was a chance. Maybe there was something they hadn’t told the police. Maybe they would give us the missing clue. I looked up Sarah Hollis’s address and phone number as well, just for good measure – you know, in case Tim decided not to call me when he’d tracked her down.
As I was printing them off, disaster waltzed in wearing black jeans and a scowl.
“What are you doing?”
I glanced up, trying not to look like I’d just been sprung when I clocked Adam Baxter watching me.
“I left my bag here on Friday.”
“In the computer?”
Ah, so he had noticed what I was doing. I opened my mouth to explain, but he cut me off.
“Don’t bother. Save the lie for another time. You don’t have access to anything important enough for me to worry. You’re still investigating the McKenzie murder?”
I frowned. “You know about that?”
He nodded. “Thought you might have quit after last night, though. I heard you got shot at.”
“Unfortunately for you, they missed.”
I may have been imagining it, but I thought for a nanosecond he looked mildly amused. “Better luck next time.”
“You think there’ll be a next time? I wasn’t really planning on someone trying to shoot me again.”
“There’ll definitely be a next time. You’ve got that energy about you.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Is there some HR person I can complain to about you?”
This time I was sure. He’d nearly smiled. “Yeah. Me.”
“Cool. I need to tell you about this absolute dick I work with.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to come back in office hours for that. In the meantime, you should go solve your murder.” He nodded at the desk. “Your bag’s just finished printing.”
I snatched up the papers before he could read them, although he could probably check what I’d searched for on the computers anyway. Not that he seemed concerned enough about my behaviour to bother.
He pushed away from the wall he was leaning on. “I have stuff to do. Don’t get shot.”
“Do you actually care?”
“Of course. I’m looking forward to hearing what you say in your meeting with HR.”
“You should start emotionally prepping yourself now or I might hurt your feeling.” Yes, ‘feeling’ singular.
“Please. I have at least two. Anyway, I doubt you could affect either of them.”
“You underestimate me.”
“Or you overestimate yourself.”
“Constantly. I’m a shining ray of optimistic light in an otherwise dreary world.”
“You mean a shining ray of optimistic lies?”
“That’s the one.”
OK, that time it was almost an actual smile. Turning and walking away, he called over his shoulder, “Do your best not to die.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m indestructible.”
We stopped at the addresses I’d printed out at the office and spoke to the mothers of the kids who’d found the bodies, who were alarmingly unconcerned that we were trying to track down their children. They didn’t even ask what we wanted with them. They’d just pointed us in the direction of the butcher’s shop where the two small humans – and the rest of their pack – were currently living their best lives spray-painting a dong on the picture of the cow on the window.
“Oi, Derek! Peter!”
The kids stopped what they were doing.
“What?” asked one.
“You talkin’ to us?” asked the other.
“Yeah,” Lea answered. “We want to speak to you.”
One stuck his finger up at us. “Speak to this!” Then he high-fived his buddy as though it was a good call. Sure, mate. Comedy gold.
“We’d like to know about the body you found,” I said, figuring maybe they’d want to talk about that. At their age I would have bragged about it to everyone who listened.
It seemed my hunch was correct. They walked towards us while the kids in the background resumed adding hair to the cow’s balls. Either Derek or Peter (I didn’t know which was which) looked us up and down and licked his lips. Urgh.
“Well, babe,” he said to me. “Waddayawanna know?”
(Waddayawanna is Australian for what do you want to. Just in case you aren’t familiar with the term. Like javany is do you have any. And this is why no one overseas can ever do a good Australian accent. Far too nuanced. Plus for some reason they think we say ‘crikey’ all the time. I use it, like, once a day max.)
“What did you do when you found the body?”
“Looked at it for a while. Got bored.”
“Then we called some lady over and she got real creeped out and made us stay until the police arrived.”
“See any cars around?” It was a long shot, sure. But maybe…
“Nah,” said one.
“Yeah, there was,” said the other. “Don’t know what kind it was. Old.”
“Like old-fashioned?”
“Nah, like rusted. Dents, you know. Old.”
Fuck. That vague description could fit Karen’s car. The one James could very easily have borrowed. Things were looking even worse for him.
“Javany other questions?”
I exhaled. “Nope.” And if I did, knowing my luck any answers would just point back to James.
Behind him the kids had finished adding the final drops of jizz to their masterpiece.
“Gotta go, babe,” one of the kids told me. “But maybe we should go out for a drink sometime.”
I grimaced. “I don’t think you’re the right age for that.”
“I’m thirty-four.”
“See?” I shrugged. “Far too old for me.”