Tag: Cozy Mystery

Chapter One
Osian

“A massive thanks to our special guest—solicitor extraordinaire Wayne Dankworth, whose insights into criminal litigation have been fascinating. As always, I’m Osian Garey. My partner in crime is Dannel Ortea.” Osian winked at his husband-to-be, who simply rolled his eyes. “Hope you’ve enjoyed this week’s episode of our London Crime Podcast. Don’t forget to tune in next time. This has been Oz and D. Signing out.”
Dannel waited until Osian hit pause to let out a loud groan. “And you’d done so brilliantly right until the end.”
When Osian looked at Dannel, he was always reminded of Richard Ayoade, if the actor were taller, buffer, and a retired firefighter. Whereas Osian felt like a washed-up version of the actor who’d played Constantine on the telly, less buff, shorter, and scruffier.
“Nothing wrong with Oz and D,” Osian insisted. They had this debate at least once every podcast. He got up to stretch, having sat for several hours getting their recording together. “I’m knackered.”
“Are you still not sleeping well?” Wayne paused in sifting through the papers he’d brought to glance at Osian in concern.
“Nightmares aren’t conducive to a good night’s rest.” Osian believed healing started with being open with his friends and family. “My therapist thinks being trapped in the well aggravated my post-traumatic stress.”
A former paramedic, Osian had resigned after losing a patient through no fault of his own. He’d spent over a year trying to unpack the trauma left behind. His recovery had taken a hit three months ago.
While trying to solve a murder, Osian had come face-to-face with the killer. He’d been forced into an old well along with their elderly neighbour, Ian Barrett. Rescue had eventually arrived.
His nightmares had begun not long after. Dannel often sat up with him, and they’d play video games or listen to a cast album of whatever musical had grabbed their attention until he was too exhausted to remain awake.
Thanks to the lack of sleep, Osian felt a hundred years old and not thirty. His therapist did help. It would simply take time.
He fully intended to avoid old wells in the future.
And killers.
And fake ghosts haunting theatres masquerading as killers.
“Are you joining us for coffee and footie in the morning?” Wayne went back to packing up the files. “Chelsea versus Tottenham. Clash of the titans.”
Wayne was shacked up with Dannel’s younger brother, Roland. The latter had moved into the former’s swanky flat. They had a larger telly, so Dannel and Osian occasionally went over to watch their rival Premier League football teams do battle on the pitch.
“Of course.” Osian nodded. Dannel readily agreed as well.
“Bugger.” Wayne checked his phone when it beeped, muttering a few additional curses under his breath. “I’ve got to go.”
“Problem?” Osian followed him to the door, watching him drag on his overcoat.
“Barnaby being Barnaby.” Wayne rushed out the door, shouting a “goodbye” halfway down the stairs.
“Who’s Barnaby?” Osian wondered. He closed the door when it became clear Wayne had already made it out of their building in record time.
“A barrister.” Dannel had begun packing up their microphones. “Rolly mentioned Wayne had quite a dust-up in Crown Court with the man.”
“Did they throw their wigs?” Osian always found the court accoutrements to be entertaining. “Swirl their robes around dramatically?”
“Words were exchanged.” Dannel snorted in amusement at Osian as he waved his hands around. “They were chastised by one of the judges. Not sure Wayne wears a wig. Isn’t that just for barristers?”
“We’ll ask Wayne tomorrow to give us the juicy details.”
“Or we could mind our own business?”
“In the face of potentially interesting court gossip?”