Inevitably, the weekends were always busiest for The Silver Swan. Families came together to enjoy its cheap and filling cuisine and its welcoming atmosphere. Even at this early hour, as Annabelle burst through its large doors panting and looking wildly about, half the tables were filled with families from all around chattering through their breakfasts.
Annabelle made a beeline for the bar, already preparing the most efficient way to explain the situation to the bartender. She didn’t want to waste any time. She stopped suddenly, catching sight of someone familiar in the corner of her eye. The tall, imposing – and somewhat dashing, she had to admit – figure of Inspector Mike Nicholls sat alone at a table. The exact man she would have hoped to bump into at this very particular moment.
Changing direction, she weaved through the tables toward his booth, where he was engrossed in the study of a large map. She slapped her palms on the table. He looked up with the kind of seasoned composure you would expect from an officer of the law who had dealt with agitated members of the public many times before.
“Inspector! What are you doing here?”
“Hello Reverend,” he replied, visibly perplexed by Annabelle’s somewhat aggressive introduction. “I’m glad I bumped into you. You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find a James Paynton around here by any—”
“Never mind that,” Annabelle interrupted breathlessly. “Something very serious has happened to Mildred!”
“Mildred?”
“The mechanic who owns the garage across the road.”
The Inspector raised an eyebrow. “What’s happened?”
“It would be easier to show you, Inspector. Though you’d better call an ambulance for good measure.”
The Inspector was more accustomed to giving orders rather than taking them, particularly from officious vicars. However, the look of shock on Annabelle’s face, as well as the begrudging trust he had developed in her during their partnership solving two recent crimes, made him scrunch up the map and follow her hastily out of the pub.
As they jogged the short distance that separated the pub from the garage, the Inspector ordered an ambulance and some police backup from the local constabulary for good measure. They reached the garage, and Annabelle led him to the cause of her concern. The two of them bent down as she pointed out what was unmistakably Mildred’s hand – unmoved from where she had first spied it.
“We’d better move the car,” Nicholls said, standing up.
“The keys may be in the office,” Annabelle said, leading the way to the cramped corner of the garage. She felt more confident now that she was in the presence of a policeman.
They stood in the doorway of the tiny office, rapidly scanning the mass of paperwork and files that filled the desk and shelves.
“These must be the keys,” the Inspector said finally, pointing to a set marked with a Ford emblem hanging on the wall next to Annabelle. She spun around and picked them off the hook. “Why don’t you go move the car?”
Annabelle nodded self-importantly and quickly darted toward the vehicle, followed by the now-thoughtful Inspector. She got in, started the ignition and reversed the car out of the garage, revealing the pit and its contents to the Inspector, who stood over it. When she got out, the Inspector was crouching again, scrutinizing the pits contents. He held a palm out toward Annabelle.
“You may not want to see this, Reverend,” he cautioned.
The warning only made Annabelle more curious, and she quickly moved to the Inspector’s side.
“Oh!” she said, her voice fluttering with shock.
It was Mildred, and there was no doubt about it, she was dead.
Her body was leaning face first against the side of the pit, one arm extended upward, the hand they had seen positioned in mid-air, as though waving. Her other arm was by her side. The back of her ever-wild, frizzy red hair was matted with blood. Her overalls bore the stains of numerous types of fluid, but there was no mistaking the dark-red patch of wetness that trailed down from her skull and onto her collar.
The Inspector sighed, stood up, and walked away from the pit.
“Where are you going?” Annabelle said, her voice quivering in fear and grief.
“To call off the ambulance,” the Inspector replied, pulling his phone from his coat pocket. “We need a pathologist.”
In less than an hour, the once-silent garage became a hotbed of activity. Over a dozen officers were combing the entire area for evidence, the crackle and blare of their radios filling the air. Over the determined, hurried tones of the officers, the commanding voice of the pathologist, Harper Jones, could easily be recognized as she directed her crew in the tricky task of extracting the body from its most unlikely of graves.
Annabelle clutched herself tightly as she stood in front of the wide open doorway that led inside the garage, her shivering only partly due to the cold. She had, of course, seen a lot of death in her line of work, yet rarely as the result of murder. She had always shared a strong bond with Mildred. As a woman who had served the community of Upton St. Mary for decades, Annabelle had developed a tremendous amount of respect and admiration for her. As a recipient of the longtime garage owner’s work and generosity, Annabelle had often thought that if she was half as good at her job as Mildred, she would be very proud indeed.
Mildred had been a pillar of the community, a friend to everyone who passed through her garage, and a role model for all who saw her perform her duties. Annabelle knew for certain that the deep sense of shock she was now feeling was only the beginning of a wave that was sure to affect the entire village of Upton St. Mary and beyond.
“Are you okay, Reverend?” the Inspector said, before Annabelle felt his broad, comforting hand on her shoulder.
She turned around to face him and forced a weak smile.
“I should be used to this,” she said, “considering what I do.”
“Nobody gets used to losing people,” the Inspector said in a low voice. “I take it you knew her well?”
“Quite well. As did most of the villagers.”
Nicholls turned to gaze at the activity inside the garage for a moment before turning back to Annabelle. He sighed deeply.
“Reverend, you know I’ll have to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course.”
“But if you’re still in shock, I can give you some time to compose yourself. Leave it until evening, perhaps. I shouldn’t really, it’s against procedure, but… Well… it’s you. If I can’t bend a few rules for you then I may as well be a constable.”
Annabelle smiled at the Inspector’s clumsy effort at humor.
“Thank you very much, Inspector. But I assure you, I’m fine. If anything, the sadness of this makes me even more willing to do anything I can in order to help.”
Returning her smile warmly, Nicholls nodded. He reached into his pocket to fish out his notebook.
“When did you find Mildred?”
“Minutes before I met you, Inspector. My car had broken down on the road to Folly’s Bottom. I walked for a while until Alfred Roper came along and gave me a lift. As soon as I entered the garage I noticed how… quiet everything was. I called out, to see if Mildred or her assistants were here, but there was no response. I was about to leave when it occurred to me to look under the car. That’s when I saw the… hand.”
Her voice broke on the last word.
“It’s okay, Reverend,” he said soothingly, before pulling out a pack of tissues from his pocket. He offered one to Annabelle, who took it and blew her nose loudly.
“Thank you, Inspector,” she said, a little more composed.
“You said something about ‘assistants?’”
“Yes. Ted and Aziz.”
“Can you tell me anything about them?”
“Let’s see… Ted Lovesey. He’s in his forties. He’s worked here since I arrived in Upton St. Mary three years ago. He’s a rather pleasant man, if a little… indulgent.”
“What do you mean by that?” Nicholl
s asked curtly.
“Well, he smokes heavily. Drinks heavily. Has a rather keen eye for the ladies, and tends to lose his money as quickly as he earns it. But other than that, he’s a wonderful member of our community.”
Nicholls eyed Annabelle with confusion.
“Any idea where he is now?”
“Oh, still recovering from his Friday night, I shouldn’t wonder. He lives alone on Violet Lane.”
Nicholls scribbled on his notepad for a few seconds before looking back at Annabelle.
“And this… Aziz?”
Annabelle pondered for a moment before answering. “Aziz Malik is his full name. Actually, he should have been here today. He’s a teenager, and he works here at the weekends and some evenings when he’s not at school.”
“Okay. Can you tell me a little about Mildred?” the Inspector asked, before adding sympathetically, “if you can.”
Annabelle appreciated the Inspector’s kindness and nodded her acquiescence. “She was the nicest person you could possibly imagine. She lived nearby, though she spent almost all of her time at the garage. She never really spoke about family or her relationships, though I gather she was never married and had no siblings. The only relative she had that I heard of was her father, and he passed away over thirty years ago.”
“So you can’t think of any reason why someone would do this to her? Possible grudges? Maybe a high repair bill? A poor job?”
“Absolutely not!” Annabelle said, horrified at the thought. “She was loved by everyone! Her prices were very fair – if not overly so! And as for her workmanship, Mildred could turn a rustbucket into a rocket quicker than you could say thank you!”
The Inspector tapped his pencil to his lips as he mused over Annabelle’s description of Mildred.
“Perhaps she was too good.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if I owned a garage, and I had to compete with somebody who was spoken of with the kind of enthusiasm that you use when talking about Mildred, I’d feel pretty resentful.”
Annabelle frowned. “But… There is no competition. Mildred’s Garage is the only one in Upton St. Mary.”
Nicholls snorted a knowing laugh.
“There’s always competition, Reverend. Even when it seems otherwise.”
“Who?”
“Well, you say your car has broken down. It seems unlikely you’ll be able to use the service of this garage – so who will you go to now?”
Annabelle’s eyes widened a little.
“Crawford Motors. In Crenoweth, around ten miles away. It’s run by Ian Crawford. But I’m sure he’s not behi—”
“Why not? How well do you know him?”
Annabelle stuttered a little as she sought out the right words, somehow feeling like she was indicting someone perniciously.
“Well… Not very well. I’ve only used his garage a few times…”
Inspector Nicholls indicated that he had heard everything he needed to know by scribbling into his notebook.
“I know you prefer to see the good in people, Reverend, but it’s my job to see the bad. And this guy sounds like a possible suspect in my eyes,” Nicholls said in a grave tone, as he finished writing.
“Inspector. Reverend.” A cool and calm voice interrupted them.
Annabelle and the Inspector immediately turned in the direction of the brisk, confident voice. Harper Jones was walking toward them in her typically clipped fashion. She had been the local pathologist for more than a few years now, yet her gritty determination and relentless focus on her work showed little sign of abating. With her immaculate raven-black hair and sharp features, her striking looks garnered her much attention wherever she went, but only those who knew the extent of her professional talent truly saw how remarkable she was. The Inspector most of all.
“What have you got for me, Harper?” he said, knowing that the pathologist enjoyed wasting no time on courtesies.
“Blunt force to the back of the head. My early assessment is that there were multiple strikes. Quick. Rapid. The weapon must have been long enough to swing hard, and heavy enough to strike deep. The garage and the pit are full of such objects. Could have been any of them. It’ll be difficult to ascertain the exact weapon used. There’s a lot of blood, along with plenty of other fluids. Gasoline, oil, lubricants. It’s a mess. My guys are taking the body away now, as well as the tools. We’ll study them and hopefully find which one was the murder weapon. After that, I’ll pass it on to your people for fingerprinting.”
The Inspector looked at Annabelle, hoping she wouldn’t be affected by the pathologist’s detached recounting of the gruesome details. He needn’t have worried. It seemed as if Annabelle’s focus on the facts was almost as intense as Harper’s.
“She was killed inside the pit?” Annabelle asked quickly.
Harper looked at Annabelle and nodded.
“But, the car…” Annabelle mused to herself.
“She was definitely murdered in the pit,” Harper interrupted. “There would be blood everywhere if she was killed outside of it.”
“Was she already inside the pit when she was attacked or could she have been dragged into the pit, and then killed?” Annabelle asked.
“Either is a possibility,” Harper said, her blunt tone softening as she considered it, “we should check the floor for signs of dragged boots.”
“Good idea. Can anyone get in and out of that pit when there’s a car over it?” the Inspector asked.
“Mildred could,” Annabelle replied. “She was rather slight. Even if the car was small like my Mini, she could climb down quite easily.”
“What about Ted? Or the teenager?”
“Certainly not Ted. His paunch wouldn’t allow it. Aziz probably could,” Annabelle said, before suddenly feeling that she was incriminating someone again.
“Hmm,” the Inspector said, tapping his pencil against his pad. “That leaves us with two options. Either somebody small – possibly Aziz – slid into the pit while Mildred was working and killed her, or somebody threw her in there, killed her, then parked the car over her.”
“And put the keys back on the rack of the office wall,” Annabelle said, her voice softening at the thought of such cold-blooded behavior. “Maybe we should check them for fingerprints?”
Harper fixed her eyes on Annabelle. “Cars and their keys are some of the worst things to get fingerprints from. Too many people handle them. You did, remember. I’ve checked the car briefly for traces of blood, the keys too, but I’ve not found anything. It might be worth looking further, but much of the blood flow happened after she was dead, and whoever did this was very careful.”
“Cauldwell!” Nicholls spoke sharply to a nearby officer.
“Yes, Inspector?” the eager young man responded, appearing quickly by his side.
“It’s a long shot, but I want to know who that hatchback belongs to and what it was in the garage for.” He tore a sheet from his pad and handed it to the Constable. “Last thing, Aziz Malik and Ted Lovesey. Find them and bring them in for questioning.”
“Yes, sir!”
The young officer left, and Nicholls turned toward Harper.
“Thanks, Harper. Keep me posted.”
She nodded curtly before returning quickly to the scene, leaving Annabelle and the Inspector standing outside on the garage forecourt together. They looked at each other rather awkwardly for a few moments until Annabelle broke the silence.
“I must say, today has been full of strange occurrences.”
“Indeed,” replied the Inspector.
“It’s one thing after another.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, really.”
“Tell me, it could be important,” the Inspector insisted, his curiosity quickly turning professional.
“Where do I start!? I mean, it’s nothing next to the fact that one of my dearest community members and a well-respected businesswoman in the village has just been murdered in cold bl
ood.”
“Still, it’s important to be observant.”
“The devil is in the details, I believe you mean,” Annabelle said, wryly, smiling in spite of herself.
Nicholls chuckled warmly. “I wouldn’t want to offend you.”
“Tosh!” Annabelle exclaimed good naturedly. “I’ve far too much to worry about already to be offended by such trivialities.”
“May I offer you a lift somewhere?” he asked, gracefully, “You can tell me about these ‘strange occurrences’ on the way.”
Annabelle smiled, shyly this time, and nodded so deeply she almost curtseyed.
“Back to my car would be most helpful, Inspector.“
“Of course, Reverend.”
They began making their way across the road toward the Silver Swan.
“So, about these ‘strange’ things…” he began.
“Ah, yes. Well, my Mini breaking down for one thing. Not that it’s strange in itself, but it was the way that it happened. If I had to guess, and I can only guess because I know nothing worth knowing about cars, it was as if something wore out.”
“These things happen.”
“I know. But Mildred really was very good at spotting problems. And I had brought my car in only last week.”
“What for?”
“Oh, just to fuel it up.”
“Well she couldn’t have diagnosed any problem from that. Not unless she checked the engine as well.”
“I know,” admitted Annabelle with a note of sorrow. “But then there was a car I noticed earlier. It was very odd, much flashier than anything you typically see driven around here – even by the wealthier estate owners.”
“Hmm.”
“It even had blacked-out windows. Imagine that!”
“Could have been a limo. Somebody important heading to the city.”
Annabelle shook her head. “No. Unless it was owned by one of the very few families in Folly’s Bottom, and I can certainly say it wasn’t, it wouldn’t have been going that way. There are much quicker routes to take.”
Grave in the Garage (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 4) Page 3
