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