Santa's Little Helper (The Charlie Davies Mysteries Book 5)

by Clare Kauter

  “I thought maybe it was a tattoo.”

  He cocked his head. “It’s possible,” he said, sliding the computer over in front of himself and getting to work.

  Now, I’m alright at editing photos – I know a couple of things beyond your basic Instagram edits – but Tim’s skills left mine for dead. A couple of minutes later, he’d somehow managed to extract a semi-clear image of the tattoo. Even so, the picture was taken from a distance and the detail still wasn’t great, so we weren’t quite able to pick out what it was. We could tell it was a tattoo, though.

  “Do you think this would be enough to get Bob out of prison?”

  Tim shrugged. “Maybe. I mean, they arrested him on pretty flimsy evidence.”

  “And look at the coat – it’s too big for him. Bob’s is too small.”

  “I don’t know, honey,” said Tim. “I think you’d be better off trying to find an alternative to Bob, because at the moment every other Santa has an alibi.”

  “Bob did mention that the other Santas were annoyed that he was getting more shifts than them,” I said. “Which was totally justified, by the way – Bob is by far the best Santa.”

  “Maybe you should talk to the other Santas, then. See if any of them have tats.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, that seems like a good idea.”

  “I’d better get going, anyway,” said Tim. “I’m babysitting Gracie tonight.”

  I walked him to the door and said goodbye before heading back to the dining room to pack away my computer. I needed to get the addresses for the other Santas, but I’d do that tomorrow morning. It was getting late now and Stacey was going to be dragging me along to another night class at any moment.

  I heard a yawn behind me and turned to see Will walk into the kitchen.

  “Man, how long was I asleep?” he asked.

  I looked at my phone. “A couple of hours.”

  “Really? Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “That bed was just so comfortable I didn’t want to get out of it.”

  “You’d better get ready,” I said. “Stacey will be here to drag us off to whatever horrible activity she has planned for tonight at any minute.”

  Almost as if I’d summoned her, Stacey burst through the front door at that moment.

  “I hope you’re ready for an exciting night of wood carving!” she cried as she strode into the kitchen.

  The worst part was that she wasn’t even joking – she really found that thought exciting. Oh dear.

  “I certainly am,” I said. “And so’s our new housemate.” I gestured towards Will and Stacey’s eyes widened before she clapped her hands with glee.

  “You’re moving in with us? That’s so exciting! We have so many fun house activities – you’re going to love it.”

  “I know, Charlie told me all about it! I’m very excited to move in.”

  Somehow I thought that had more to do with the air-conditioning than the craft nights, but I didn’t tell Stacey that. It would have broken her little heart.

  Tonight’s class was woodcarving, which seemed like some sort of sick joke on Stacey’s part. I obviously wouldn’t be able to join in (hello, sharp implements) so I took my laptop along to work on Bob’s case while everyone else tried to make their own nativity sets.

  I opened up the information I had saved on my computer – witness reports, mostly – to see if I could come up with any new angles. I stared at the picture of the flashing Santa until my eyes started to hurt. What the hell was that tattoo? Was it even a tattoo at all? I sighed. This was no use. I needed a better plan of action. I decided that tomorrow I’d visit Garry and Randy and question them about their bitterness over Bob getting all the shifts. If that didn’t throw up anything, I’d try questioning the witnesses again. Someone had to be able to tell me something.

  “What are you doing?” Will whispered, joining me in the back corner of the room. He sat down in the seat next to me.

  “Why? Aren’t you enjoying playing with your wood?”

  I paused. Will and I exchanged horrified looks.

  “I didn’t mean –”

  “I know,” Will said quickly. “It’s not that I’m not enjoying it. It’s just...”

  “Is she bossing you around?”

  Will had been partnered up with Stacey for today’s lesson.

  He nodded reluctantly.

  “It’s OK, Willy,” I said. “Stay up here with me and I’ll keep you safe.”

  He smiled. “So, what are you doing?”

  “Working on a case,” I replied.

  “Right,” he said. “It’s, um, not about Topher, is it?”

  I was an idiot. Of course he would think that. I shook my head. “Actually, I was kind of trying to take my mind off that whole thing. I don’t feel like stressing about it is going to do anyone any good.”

  Will nodded and put his arm around my shoulder, giving me a hug-squeeze. “Fair enough,” he said. “How are you doing? You OK?”

  I thought for a moment. Finally I said, “Nope. Not at all. How about you?”

  “Nope,” he said. “Not even remotely. It’s all a bit fucked up, really.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  We sat in silence for a moment. Well, not exactly silence – the sounds of saws and sanding and chiselling echoed through the room. There was a decent amount of sneezing too from all the people inhaling the haze of sawdust that was hanging in the air. What I mean is that Will and I didn’t speak for a while.

  Eventually, I worked up the courage to say what I was thinking. I took a deep breath. “About your letter...”

  “Charlie...” Will said, his voice low. He’d already told me he wasn’t going to show it to me.

  “I don’t want to read it,” I said. “I just want to make sure there’s nothing in there that would tell us where he is.”

  Will shook his head. “I promise, Charlie. If I knew, I’d tell you. Especially now. He might not know how much trouble he’s in.”

  I suspected that Topher knew exactly how much trouble he was in and that was why he was staying away, but I didn’t voice that opinion.

  “Do you think he’s really back?” Will asked.

  “Maybe,” I said. “Harcourt seems to think so. Then again, Harcourt seems to think a lot of things and they’re rarely aligned with reality.”

  “It’s OK. If Topher’s in trouble, James will help him out.”

  Once again, I hoped that Will was right about that.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The next morning, as per the plan I’d made the night before, I headed to Garry’s house. When he opened the door, dressed in nothing but a saggy old pair of Y-fronts, he looked me up and down.

  “I’ve often dreamed of being woken up by a young blonde, but not a fully clothed one,” he said.

  My upper lip curled. “Garry, you’re repulsive.”

  “I know,” he said with a wink. A little bile rose up in my throat and I swallowed it back down.

  “You seem like the kind of guy who wouldn’t mind running through a park with your shrivelled up cock swinging in the breeze,” I said.

  He wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Are you propositioning me?”

  “Not even close,” I said.

  “I gotta tell you, girlie, I’m flattered, and twenty years ago I would have been right there with you, but I’m more the indoors type these days. The gammy joints, you see.”

  My eye twitched. “Turn around.”

  “Wow,” he said as he turned. “Checking out the goods? You’re thorough.”

  The back of his leg was bare. No tattoo. I sighed.

  “Garry, shut your face,” I snapped. “You were too old for me four decades ago.”

  “Ouch,” he said. “You’re fei–”

  “If you call me feisty, Garry, I swear to Aphrodite I’ll shove your false teeth so far up your rectum that they’ll be partially digested by the time the doctor extracts them.”

  Garry gulped. “How can I help you?” he asked in a squeaky voice. Muc
h better.

  “I just came here to ask if you have anything against Bob,” I said.

  He furrowed his brow, confused. “Bob?”

  “The other Santa,” I said. “The one who’s getting all the shifts.”

  His eyes widened in recognition. “Right, him.” He shrugged. “Nothing against him specifically. I’d just like to have more shifts, you know? I don’t have air-conditioning here and it’s nice to get paid to sit somewhere cool.”

  I frowned. “You only go there for the air-conditioning?” I said. “You’re not a Santa because you like kids?”

  He snorted. “No one really likes kids. That’s a myth.”

  I thought for a moment, deciding that he might have a point there.

  “But no hard feelings about Bob, you say.”

  “I don’t even know the guy,” he said. “Now, do you want to come in for a –”

  “Nope!” I said loudly. “Not even slightly. Goodbye, Garry.”

  “Bye, doll.”

  I rolled my eyes aggressively, turned on my heel and stalked back to the Mustang. After slamming the door shut behind me, I pushed the button to start the car and pulled out of my parking space, driving in the direction of the hospital. I’d called earlier to check if Randy was still there and the nurse had confirmed that he had been kept in for observation. Apparently he was still pretty sick, but he was conscious and more than capable of talking. (The nurse sounded unimpressed as she told me that last bit. I guess he’d been demonstrating that capability.)

  I parked in the lot outside and walked into the hospital, inhaling the familiar smell of decay and disinfectant. As I strode through the hospital, I reassured all the nurses and doctors I passed on the way that I was fine. Due to my notorious clumsiness, I’d spent a lot of time in hospital over the course of lifetime. (Seriously, I’d been hit by a car multiple times. I was an accident magnet.) Generally when I came to the hospital it was because I’d managed to injure myself – or I’d annoyed someone else into injuring me. It made sense that the hospital staff members were a bit on edge when they saw me.

  “It’s been a while since you’ve been in here,” one of the nurses commented. “It’s making me nervous. The next injury is going to be a big one, I can just feel it.”

  Something to look forward to.

  I checked at the nurses’ station which room Randy was in and headed down the corridor. Thanks to my many trips here over the years, I knew my way around pretty well.

  “Charlie?” a voice to my left said.

  I turned, ready to explain to whichever hospital worker had spotted me that I was fine, just here visiting, and found Adam standing nearby.

  “Oh, hi,” I said. “I’m here to visit Randy.”

  He nodded. “Right. I’ve met him, actually.”

  “What are your thoughts?”

  Adam shook his head. “There’s no way he could be your flasher, Charlie,” he said. “He has maybe a quarter of one lung that actually functions, and even that bit doesn’t work well.”

  I grimaced. “Yeah, when he collapsed the other day I could pretty much hear his respiratory system dissolving.”

  “I’m pretty sure the only reason he hasn’t died is because of his sheer willpower.”

  “Why is he so desperate to stay alive? Because of his sweet Santa gig?”

  It was a little harsh, maybe, but Randy was a roach.

  “No,” said Adam. “Because he likes hitting on the nurses.”

  “He’s repulsive.”

  “I know,” he said. “If his body functioned, he would be my primary suspect for the flashing thing. Unfortunately, there’s no way it could be him.”

  I pouted. “Can’t we just say it was him so that Bob gets out?”

  “Have you actually considered the possibility that Bob might be the flasher?”

  I shook my head. “No. There’s no chance. Bob is a saint.”

  “And you’re so well-known for being an excellent judge of character.”

  My jaw dropped and I crossed my arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means one of your ex-boyfriends is in prison for punching you in the face,” he replied.

  “Yes, one!” I said. “The other ones were all shining beacons of good manners and morality.”

  “And they dated you?” he replied. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

  “Don’t you have a... gross flesh infection to inspect or something?”

  “Fresh out of flesh infections,” he said. “I was about to go and visit Randy.”

  “Fine. Then I guess I’m coming with you.”

  Adam crossed his arms. “Did you not understand what I just said? He’s not your guy.”

  I groaned. “I don’t really have a lot else to go on,” I said. “Can I at least talk to him?”

  Adam shrugged. “OK, but I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.”

  Nodding, I continued down the hall with Adam walking alongside me. “I know it’s a long shot, but even if he didn’t do it, maybe he can point me in the direction of who might have.”

  “You’re really sure it’s not the guy who got arrested?” Adam asked.

  “Positive.”

  “OK,” he said. “Well, I hope Randy can help you.”

  I gave him a small smile. We’d reached Randy’s room by now, so I knocked once on the doorframe and we walked inside.

  “G’day, love,” Randy said when he saw me. “I should have known you’d be back for more.”

  “More? I didn’t have any of you in the first place, and judging by all the tubes coming out of you, Randy, I don’t think you have anything left to give,” I said. “I’m not here just to visit.”

  “Girl on a mission,” he commented.

  “You’re making a mistake here, Randy,” Adam commented as he looked at charts and did doctor things. “If she kicks you in the groin I’m not stepping in.”

  “She wouldn’t risk hurting the merchandise,” Randy croaked with a grin.

  “Oh, I won’t hurt the merchandise,” I said. “I’ll just remove it.”

  Randy gulped and his face paled. “Why are you here?”

  “Just wondering what you think about Bob, the other Santa,” I said.

  “Nice bloke,” said Randy. “Way better at the Santa gig than I am.”

  “You can say that again,” I muttered.

  “What was that?” he asked, leaning forward and cupping his hand around his ear as if trying to amplify my voice.

  “You don’t have a tattoo do you, Randy?” I asked. Loudly.

  He jumped at the volume of my voice then rubbed his ear and relaxed back into his pillows, shaking his head. “Nah. I hate the things.”

  “Really?” I said. “Because I was thinking of getting one.”

  “I’m sure it would look lovely on you,” he said quickly. “They’re just not for me. Even if I wanted one, I couldn’t go through with it. Can’t stand needles.”

  I looked across at Adam who nodded in confirmation. “He really does hate needles. We had to get three nurses to hold him down when we gave him an injection yesterday.”

  I sighed. Well, this had been a monumental waste of time.

  I looked across at Adam, who shrugged. I sighed. He was right. This really wasn’t looking good for Bob.

  “Thanks for your time, Randy.”

  I walked away from the bed, heading towards the door.

  “What, suddenly you’re not interested in me because I don’t like needles?”

  My eye began to twitch and I turned back around. “Randy, there is nothing sudden about it,” I said. “I was never interested in you. Your feelings on needles have nothing to do with it. If you knew what was good for you, you’d shut up now.”

  Adam shook his head in disbelief. This man just didn’t know when to quit.

  “Tattoos don’t necessarily make a person tough, you know,” Randy said. “My nephew has one and he’s about as wimpy as they come.”

  “That’s fascinating, Ra
ndy, really,” I said flatly.

  In my mind, I was making a to-do list. What now? I’d have to question the witnesses again. Sigh.

  Randy was still talking. “He’s got a tattoo of a bloody cartoon character. One of those horses from the kids’ show with all the rainbows.”

  I frowned. “You mean My Little Pony?”

  “That’s the one,” said Randy.

  “Your nephew’s a brony?” I said, not bothering to hide my disgust. Don’t get me wrong – I have nothing against adults enjoying animated television shows. I was a huge Pokémon fan myself. It was just that it seemed to only be a particular breed of creepy dude who enjoyed watching My Little Pony past a certain age. I shouldn’t have been surprised that a guy like Randy would have a loser for a nephew.

  “A what?” Randy asked.

  “Never mind.” I began to walk towards the door again, but then I stopped. Something had just occurred to me. Screwing up my face, I tried to recreate the picture of the flasher in my mind. More specifically the tattoo on his leg. Could it be a pony? It was definitely a possibility. And as Randy’s nephew, he’d have access to the costume. He could have picked it up from Uncle Randy’s house at any time. His younger age would explain why he was able to run away from the cops so easily. And the brony thing definitely hinted at the fact that he was a creep. (I’d dated bronies before, one of whom had recently been sent to prison for assault.)

  “Where is your nephew’s tattoo?” I asked.

  Randy gave me a look of disgust. “Don’t tell me you’re interested in him now. It’s not even an impressive tattoo! Just a pissy little thing.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake Randy, just answer the question.”

  He folded his arms crankily. “His leg.”

  “On the calf muscle?” I guessed. “Left leg?”

  Randy nodded. “How did you know that?”

  But I wasn’t listening. Adam and I made eye contact and I could tell we were both thinking the same thing: I’d just found the Santa Claus flasher.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I headed to the address Randy had given me for his nephew and knocked on the door of the flat. After I’d been waiting for thirty seconds or so, a slightly tubby guy wearing a T-shirt and tracksuit pants answered. His face was dusted with a couple of pathetic patches of red stubble and he looked at me blankly, probably wondering who the hell I was and what I was doing here. To be honest, I was kind of wondering the same thing. Why was I here? Of course I needed to speak to this guy, but I really should have come up with a plan first.