Words Can Kill (Ghostwriter Mystery 5)

by C. A. Larmer

  Chapter 17

  There’s something particularly depressing about wading through a loved one’s belongings when they’re not there, sort of like peeking through their diary or ogling the bathroom cabinet. It just felt wrong. Both women knew they had to do this, to wade and peek and ogle, yet it still felt invasive, as if they were trampling all over Max.

  It was now late on Tuesday night. Roxy had finally convinced a worried-looking Monty to head home to bed, thanking him profusely yet again, then arranged to meet Caroline on the main road, just near Ted’s Trattoria, convinced the younger woman would never find her way to Ola’s Villas in the dark. Many of the eateries were beginning to close and their fairy lights going out, but she did notice that the pizza bar was still open and managed to grab two slices before Caroline arrived.

  Ola, who seemed more concerned with settling the bill than locating the missing tourist, had happily handed over a room key in exchange for some cash, and promptly disappeared, and this suited Roxy to no end. She wanted to get in and start hunting through Max’s things. But first she needed to get Caroline up to speed and she did this as they ate their crispy basil and bocconcini pizza, perched on the edge of Max’s bed, staring glumly around the room.

  Caroline agreed this new player on the scene sounded a lot like Max’s old flatmate.

  “But why would Jake be here?” she said, winding a long strand of mozzarella around her fingers. “And how does he end up dead in Berlin two days later? And why?”

  “All good questions,” Roxy told her. “Makes no sense to me either, although it does explain why Jake said he’d just seen Max in that message he left you.”

  Caroline considered that message. “That’s right. He said he’d seen Max and Max had it under control. Whatever the hell ‘it’ is.”

  They both glanced around the room, not convinced Max had anything under control. He was missing. His stuff was still here. It felt like utter chaos to them.

  “Max has to be here still,” Caroline said. “His bag’s here. So he has to be here. In Riomaggiore, somewhere.”

  Roxy wished she were right. “But where?” Visions of the craggy coastline, of waves crashing hard against the rocks, flashed through her mind and she tried to push them away. She wondered if he was clinging onto a rock somewhere, but quickly dismissed this. Surely the coast guard or the helicopters would have spotted him by now.

  “Did you find his wallet? His phone? His camera?”

  “I haven’t looked properly yet. Maybe they’re in his bag, but I doubt it. Ola says she last saw Max heading off to breakfast, so at the very least he’d have his wallet on him.”

  “And his camera. He never went anywhere without his camera.”

  They looked around the room again. It felt so desolate, so lonely. What secrets did it hold? What had its walls been witness to?

  Eventually, Roxy placed the final bit of crust in her mouth, wiped her hands together and pulled the duffle bag from the floor, placing it carefully on the bed. “Shall we?”

  Caroline nodded and Roxy unzipped it slowly then peered tentatively inside, afraid of what it might contain.

  “Oh come on, let’s just do this.”

  Caroline pushed Roxy aside and dug her hands in. Within minutes she had the contents laid out on the bed but there was not much to see: a few shirts, a jumper, a pair of black jeans, several sets of underwear and socks, some Converse sneakers, and two books—a Lonely Planet Guide to Switzerland and a battered copy of The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. A side pocket produced a tangle of black earphones, several pairs of dirty underwear, causing Caroline to recoil, and a phone charger, which she now held high.

  “So much for that theory,” Roxy said.

  Nowhere in the room could they find Max’s wallet, mobile phone, camera or any devices for that matter, nor was there a travel journal with his deepest, darkest thoughts scribbled inside. No such luck.

  The two women then moved to the ridiculously tiny bathroom at the other end of the room and Max’s bathbag, which was propped against the sink. Caroline went through it as Roxy watched from the door, spotting a raggedy toothbrush, some deodorant, two Band-Aids, a newish shaver and shaving cream and a tiny box of dental floss.

  “Oh well, at least he had clean teeth when he vanished,” Caroline said lamely and Roxy didn’t even bother to laugh. “Oh, there’s something else here, in the side pocket.”

  Caroline pulled it out and regretted it instantly. It was a set of condoms, three connected in a row. She glanced warily at Roxy whose face was now set in stone; she was wondering how many he had started with and who they were for. After a quick glance around, Roxy strode back into the main room and made a beeline for the cupboard beneath the sink.

  “You’re not?!” gasped Caroline as Roxy pulled out a small garbage bin.

  “We have to know if he was here with her. Or with anyone for that matter. It’s important.”

  Important to you, Caroline thought, her nose crinkled with disgust, but she kept that to herself. The look on Roxy’s face was dark and foreboding.

  As she rifled through the bin, Roxy tried to prepare herself for the worst, envisaging dozens of used condoms, maybe some dead roses and an empty box of chocolates, but its contents were fairly innocuous. She found some plastic wrapping that looked like it belonged to the floss, a used tea bag, a few serviettes, which may or may not have held pizza slices once, and a beer coaster for Ted’s Trattoria & Music Bar.

  Roxy pulled the coaster out and stared at it for a few moments, turning it over then back again. This place had come up a few times, she realised, then glanced across at Caroline who had returned to the bed and was placing Max’s belongings back into his bag.

  “For when he returns,” she said softly and Roxy joined her there, holding the beer coaster out.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s our next port of call. Come on.”

  Back on the street, Ted’s was one of the few eateries still open, yet it, too, was starting to wind down. A long, cavernous room with a slanted, bare stone ceiling and white rendered walls, the restaurant had eight wooden tables squashed together inside and another six in a small, outdoor patio at one end, facing the street. The bar at the back had two chrome stools and a bright selection of spirit bottles that were illuminated by a neon light above and a mirrored wall behind. To the right of the bar was a long corridor, which led into what Roxy assumed were the restrooms and kitchen, and perhaps even a stairwell to the floors above.

  It was now 10:15 p.m. and all of the indoor tables were empty, red wine spills on the tablecloths and crumpled serviettes proof that it had been a busy night. There were still a few patrons left outside, two chatting and laughing as they polished off dessert, two others settling their bill. All looked as though they hadn’t a care in the world and Roxy envied them that. She longed suddenly for Max’s favourite Sydney eatery, an Indian restaurant that used to drive her nuts. It was located about halfway between their two homes and was a decent cheap eats as far as cheap eats went, yet Roxy had grown bored by it and by Max’s insistence on going there over and over again.

  A creature of habit herself, Roxy had found it most annoying in others.

  Now she longed for a creamy butter chicken, Max sitting across from her, teasing her about her fetish for death, her habit of cutting out crime stories and pasting them into scrapbooks. She longed for his enormous, clench-your-heart smile, and she wished he were around to smile upon her again.

  “Sorry, ladies, our kitchen is-eh closed!” came the voice of the sleazy waiter she had spoken to earlier that night. He was leaning against a railing outside, dragging on a rolled cigarette, his eyes squinting lasciviously at Caroline. He had clearly moved on from Roxy and it didn’t bother her one bit.

  She pulled Caroline forward so he could get a better look and said, “Oh we’re not after a meal. We’re looking for someone, a man this time.”

  She produced Max’s photo and he stared at it for a few moments then shrugged. Ro
xy was fast learning this was Italian for “I don’t know and I don’t care”.

  “Have you seen him?” Roxy asked.

  “Not tonight, no.”

  “But you have seen him?” Caroline persisted and he nodded very slowly, a slight frown crinkling his forehead.

  “He boyfriend of you?”

  Caroline frowned back at him. “Certainly not. He’s my brother.” This cheered him up and he sucked on his rollie again. “Can you remember when you last saw him?”

  The waiter blew out a long plume of smoke. “I no remember. You speak-eh to The Boss.” He nudged his head inside.

  “Oh?” Roxy said. “Ted, is it?”

  He looked at her like she was thick. “No, no, no. Maria. She know everything.”

  There was a slight edge in his voice and when he nudged his head towards the bar at the back, his eyes rolled a little.

  Roxy followed his nudge towards a tiny, dark-haired woman who was sitting at the bar at the back, deep in conversation with an equally small, fair-skinned man with a Fedora on his head.

  “How long-eh you in town?” the waiter was asking Caroline and Roxy held a hand up to her.

  “You stay here, see what else he knows. I’ll just be a sec.”

  Caroline looked appalled by the suggestion but Roxy ignored this and made her way inside the café and towards the bar where the dark-haired woman was now patting the man’s back as though soothing him. From the side, the woman looked Italian, her nose strong and protruding, but as Roxy got closer she realised they were conversing in English. The man had an Antipodean accent and was saying, “I have no idea how I got there, Maria, you have to believe me. No bloody idea.”

  “Shh!” she said suddenly, turning to look at Roxy whom she must have spotted in the mirror’s reflection. She gave her one of those smiles that don’t quite reach the eyes and when she spoke, her accent was slightly Australian, with Italian undertones. “The restaurant’s now closed. Thanks very much. Please come back tomorrow.”

  Roxy glanced quickly at the man and then back again. He looked vaguely familiar, his pale skin blushing slightly, his eyes not meeting hers. She turned to the woman and said, “Yes, I know you’re closed but your waiter suggested I talk to you.” She waved to the front of the café. “You’re Maria, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I just need to ask you a quick question. It’s very important.”

  Maria looked annoyed for a moment before leaning towards the man, her tone softer now. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Okay?”

  He seemed appeased by this and repositioned his Fedora on his head, grappled for his sunglasses and keys, and left without even giving Roxy a glance.

  Maria had no such hesitation and was now moving her eyes up the full length of Roxy’s body as if trying to work out who this annoying creature was and what she could possibly want at this hour. Roxy took the opportunity to check her out, too. She was very short, slightly overweight, and had a cropped haircut that sat like a ragged black mop above thick, sculptured eyebrows and deep brown eyes. There was a smattering of freckles on her nose but her skin was tanned and she wore almost no makeup, just a smidgin of pink gloss on her lips.

  “So, what is your question?” Maria asked, those eyebrows now raised high.

  Roxy sat down on the vacant stool beside her and produced her phone, showing the woman Max’s picture. She glanced at it and then up at Roxy expectantly.

  “Have you seen this man? His name is Max Farrell. He’s Australian and he’s gone missing.”

  “No,” Maria said, jumping off the stool and revealing she was even shorter than Roxy had expected. She made her way behind the bar where she pressed a button on the cash register, causing it to ping loudly before crashing open.

  “Can you take another look?” Roxy pleaded. “He’s been staying at Ola’s Villas and Ola says he came here for breakfast last Friday morning.”

  The woman glanced at the picture again and then down at the till. She pulled out a wad of euros and began thumbing through it. “No, sorry.” She glanced up, her expression more apologetic this time. “We get a lot of visitors here as you can imagine. I don’t remember every one.”

  “Fair enough.” Roxy closed the phone down again. “Were you working that morning?”

  “Morning?”

  “Last Friday. The morning he disappeared.”

  “Um ... no I would have been at the markets that morning. I go every Friday.” She stopped her silent counting and glanced up at Roxy sharply. “Wasn’t that the day that ...” she hesitated, “... that the other Australian woman disappeared?” Roxy nodded and Maria stared at her silently for a few moments, her brown eyes boring into Roxy’s. Eventually she said, “Maybe they were together?”

  The look she gave Roxy then was almost accusatory and it sent her heart into a tailspin. She was speechless for a second as Maria produced another of those dead-eyed smiles.

  “I’m sooo sorry. I wish I could help you but I just don’t remember him.” She looked down at the till and back again. “I really have to keep going with this or I’ll never get out of here. Do you mind?”

  Roxy mumbled her thanks and made her way back to the front of the restaurant where Caroline was now standing, tapping her toes, the waiter nowhere to be seen.

  “I gave him the brush off,” she told Roxy, shuddering dramatically as though he were a slimy insect she had literally just shaken off.

  “But maybe he had something to share.”

  “Oh he wanted to share all right, but not what I was after. As if.” She shuddered again. “How’d you go inside?”

  “Not sure. The boss, Maria, reckons she can’t remember Max.”

  “But?”

  “But for some reason I just don’t believe her. She seemed, I don’t know, dodgy or something. Fake. A little too saccharine for my taste.”

  “Maybe you just don’t want to believe her,” Caroline suggested and Roxy thought about this as she glanced inside again.

  Maria was still behind the bar but was now talking into a mobile phone, gesticulating wildly as she spoke. She caught Roxy’s eye through the restaurant window, dropped her hand and turned her back to her.

  Oh no, thought Roxy. There’s definitely something dodgy about that one.

  Chapter 18

  A harsh chopping sound woke Roxy from a deep sleep and she sat up with a start, unsure where she was and what she was doing there. It took another full minute before it all came flooding back and she dropped into the pillow, her heart heavy, then glanced towards the window. The shutters were still closed but bright light was streaming through the slats, and she could hear a helicopter hovering overhead.

  She pulled herself out of bed, noting that Caroline was also up, clearly busy in the bathroom, the sound of water rushing through the pipes. Roxy flung the shutters open and looked out. It was a warm, sunny day and all around her, people were doing the same, some leaning out of windows, others looking up from street level towards that manic chopper.

  “They’ve found something,” came Caroline’s voice, flat behind her, and Roxy looked around to find her friend wrapped in a crimson silk bathrobe, her hair in a white towel.

  “How do you know?” Roxy asked and Caroline shrugged, pulling the towel off her hair to reveal wet, knotty locks.

  “I just do.” She began tugging her fingers through her hair, flinching as she did so.

  She didn’t look too good today, and Roxy said, “Still jetlagged?”

  “No, just stressed, actually. Another text came through to your phone from Gunter. I’m surprised it didn’t wake you. Max still hasn’t shown up for work.”

  “Did you really expect him to?”

  Caroline glared at her like she’d never heard anything so shameful, then stalked across to her handbag, which had been dumped on the dining table and rummaged through for her cigarettes. Roxy didn’t say a thing as she pulled one out and lit up. She then stepped across to another window, thrust open those shutters, and dragged on it deeply
as she watched the helicopter disappear beyond the ridge.

  “I’ll have a quick shower,” Roxy told her. “Then we can get some breakfast. I think it’s time we both got a decent meal into us, okay?”

  “Oh, well, if you say so,” Caroline snapped.

  Roxy stared at her. “Sorry?”

  She held a hand up. “Never mind!” Then she turned her back to Roxy and continuing sucking on her cigarette.

  Roxy watched her for a few seconds and was about to say something when she decided against it. Perhaps reality was finally sinking in for Caroline and she didn’t like it one bit. She located her bathbag and headed for the shower.

  Twenty minutes later the two women made their way back outdoors and towards the café they had used soon after they’d arrived. Caroline was keen to check the Internet again, and Roxy wanted to get hold of the “Big Breakfast” she had seen advertised on the chalkboard yesterday. For the first time in days, she was famished, and she knew it was time to refuel properly.

  Caroline, however, barely ate a thing. After checking her e-mail, Twitter and Facebook accounts—“nothing, damn it!”—she nibbled a slice of ciabatta and jam despondently, and Roxy didn’t blame her. It was now officially one week since Max had spoken to his mother and they felt no closer to finding him. As far as missing person cases go, Roxy knew that a week was nothing at all. Most law enforcement agencies around the world would sniff at that, laugh at her, tell her to go home and chillax, but Roxy knew better. She knew Max. He might have lost contact with her but he would never deliberately avoid his mother or his sister, or his job. It was not his style. He was loyal and he was loving, and he would never put them through such unnecessary worry. Nor would he leave his luggage behind in some strange hotel room, his bill unpaid.

  Nope. Max was missing and something had happened. The hovering helicopter seemed to slam the point home. They may be searching for a missing Australian woman, but Roxy feared they might find themselves a missing Australian man at the same time.