“What do you think it is, Inspector?”
“Let’s find out,” Nicholls replied as he took out his handkerchief and threaded it through the fuel can’s handle. He sniffed slowly at the open spout. “Smells like some kind of soft drink.”
He offered it for Raven’s olfactory inspection, and the Constable quickly pulled away in disgust.
“Ugh! That’s not like any soft drink I’ve ever had! It’s so sweet, it’s nauseating!”
Nicholls nodded reflectively.
“Sugar water,” he said. “You can call off your friends in Newquay – our fuel tamperer did his dirty work right here.”
“So it must have been one of the assistant mechanics!” Raven said, triumphantly.
“Not necessarily,” Nicholls replied, immediately deflating his officer’s rather premature celebration. He looked at the fence that circled the garage. “Somebody could have climbed over that with a little effort.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Raven sighed.
Nicholls handed him the fuel can, which the Constable took carefully by the handkerchief still passed through its handle.
“Get this checked for prints, Raven. Maybe that will tell us which one of us is right.”
“Of course, Inspector,” Raven said, interrupted by the crackle of his radio. Nicholls watched carefully as the Constable answered the call.
“Raven here.”
“Constable Raven, is the Inspector with you?”
It was McAllister.
“I’m here,” growled the Inspector, leaning in to be heard over the radio.
“You might want to come to the station as soon as you can, Inspector,” McAllister said, her voice hazy over the radio network. “We’ve found Ted Lovesey.”
Minutes later, both Inspector Nicholls’ and Constable Raven’s cars screeched to a halt outside the Upton St. Mary police station with a sense of urgency that the village rarely saw, especially on a Sunday. The Inspector leaped out in such a hurry that he completely forgot about his furry companion lying with her chin on her paws in the passenger seat. She had to employ her quick reflexes to jump out before the Inspector slammed the door shut and trapped her in. Both the puppy and the Constable followed the Inspector as he burst through the doors of the small station, a full six feet of determination and energy.
“He’s in the interview room,” Constable McAllister said upon seeing the Inspector and standing up quickly from behind her desk. There was no doubting the Inspector’s agitation.
“Where was he when you found him?” Nicholls asked, stopping in front of her.
“At Greg Bradley’s house, sir.”
“Was Greg there?”
“No. Greg’s currently working a shift. Constable Harris spoke to him, however. Apparently, he was as surprised as anyone when Ted didn’t ask him for a lift home from the pub late Friday night like he does every weekend.”
Nicholls raised an eyebrow. “So what happened? Why wasn’t Ted at his own home?”
Constable McAllister shrugged apologetically. “Greg seems just as confused as we are. He said that yesterday afternoon Ted turned up on his doorstep and asked if he could stay a while. He looked pretty shaken up, Greg said, so he didn’t ask any questions, and they just sat around watching TV together. Last night, Greg had to work a long shift, and since then, it doesn’t look like Ted has left Greg’s house.”
Nicholls frowned at the peculiar circumstances. “Well, maybe Mr. Bradley doesn’t like to ask questions, but I certainly do,” he said, as he made his way to the interview room. He stopped after a few steps and nodded at his puppy. “McAllister, make sure the dog’s entertained. This could take a while.”
“Of course, sir.”
Inspector Nicholls placed his hand on the doorknob to the interview room, took a deep breath, and went in.
Everything the Inspector had heard about the drifting, drunken mechanic had informed his mental picture of him. Lacking in self-control, bad with money, and with seemingly no stability in his life apart from his job as a mechanic, Ted Lovesey, Nicholls had inevitably concluded, was more of a criminal type than a typical Upton St. Mary villager. Just the sort of person the Inspector was deeply familiar with.
And yet, seeing him now, sitting behind the simple table of the interview room, his big round eyes more like those of a frightened kitten than a ferocious killer, the Inspector found his expectations deeply challenged. Ted’s round, puffy face was childlike, and his hair sat lank and thin upon his head as if mirroring his defeated, submissive body language.
The Inspector closed the door behind him slowly and stepped toward the desk.
“Are you Ted Lovesey?”
The man nodded slowly, his hands clasped between his thighs, his shoulders hunched over as if bracing himself for an attack.
Nicholls sat down opposite him and leaned back. Ted’s eyes glanced back and forth from the floor to the Inspector, unable to meet his glare for longer than a second.
“I didn’t know,” he said suddenly, in a soft and quiet voice.
“What didn’t you know?” the Inspector asked sharply.
“About Mildred. Jenny just told me now—”
“Constable McAllister to you, man.”
“Sorry. Constable McAllister. It’s just that I’ve known Jenny – Constable McAllister – since I arrived here, so I’ve always called her Je—”
“What didn’t you know about Mildred?” the Inspector interrupted, wanting to keep the anxious man’s thoughts on track.
“That she died!” Ted said, his lips quivering. His eyes were glassy with moisture as the words hung in the air. “I don’t believe it! Who could have done that?”
Nicholls frowned and shifted in his seat. This was not what he had been expecting.
“That’s what I’m working to find out,” he said, sternly. “Let’s start from the beginning: Where were you on Friday night?”
Ted gasped and looked directly at the floor, his clasped hands increasingly fidgety. Nicholls waited a whole minute for an answer, until he realized one wasn’t about to be forthcoming.
“Well?” the Inspector urged heavily.
Ted shook his head, a strained expression on his face.
“I can’t say,” he mumbled into his lap.
Nicholls leaned forward.
“And why is that?”
“I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
Nicholls frowned again.
“Okay. Tell me why didn’t you go home yesterday? Why did you go to Greg Bradley’s house?”
Now Ted was wild-eyed.
“I can’t! Please. I’m sorry… I can’t tell you.”
“What’s going on, Ted? Are you afraid of something? Someone?”
Ted raised his eyes from the floor to meet Nicholls’ glare, the sheer terror emanating from them plain to see.
“Okay,” Nicholls said, shifting his tone. “Let’s try something else. What do you know about the fuel tampering going on at Mildred’s Garage?”
Ted stopped fidgeting for the first time since the Inspector had entered the room.
“Fuel tampering?”
Nicholls sighed. “Is that something else that you ‘can’t’ talk about?”
“Honestly, I don’t know anything about it.”
“The sugar water mixed into the fuel that was coming from your garage.
“But that’s ridiculous!” Ted said, animatedly. “I mean, for a start, sugar water in the fuel tank doesn’t stall a car. It’s an urban myth.”
“What?”
Ted’s nervousness seemed to dissipate as he put his hands on the table and leaned forward to explain.
“Well, the whole ‘sugar’ thing is just unnecessary. Just simple, plain water is enough to ruin the petrol in a car.”
Nicholls leaned back and scrutinized the suspect with a tiny smirk on his face.
“So you’re saying you’re far too smart to be involved in this fuel tampering scheme, and that if you had been responsible, you’d have just
used water. Is that supposed to convince me you didn’t do it?”
“No. I’m just trying to understand what you’re talking about. I’m sorry if I offended you,” Ted said, returning to his hunched-over nervousness.
Nicholls tapped his finger impatiently on the table as he looked at the man opposite him. He had pinned much of the investigation on this moment. Questioning Ted – and Aziz – had been his top priorities. But while it was clear Ted was hiding something, it was even clearer that Ted was not ready to talk about it. Frightened, anxious, and seemingly unaware of what exactly had happened to Mildred, Ted had given him no answers. Nothing, in fact, but more questions. The Inspector found himself frustrated, but he wouldn’t let his impatience obstruct his effectiveness.
He stood up from his chair, surprising Ted in the process, and briskly walked out of the interview room.
Constables McAllister, Harris, and Raven were seated at their desks, chattering away and laughing as they played with the puppy between them. When they heard the Inspector shut the door of the interview room, they stopped immediately and each spun in their chairs expectantly, their faces open and inquisitive like baby birds watching the return of a parent. Even the dog turned her head to pant in the Inspector’s direction.
“What did he say, Inspector?”
“Do you think it was him, sir?”
“Shall we get a cell ready?”
Nicholls looked at each of them, then thrust his hands in his pockets and sighed deeply. His shoulders dropped.
“He didn’t say anything. We just went around in circles a few times. He’s scared, badly shaken-up. I’m sure he knows something.”
“But you don’t think he did it?” Raven asked.
Nicholls looked back at the door of the interview room with a puzzled expression.
“I don’t know. But if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was a victim, rather than a perpetrator.”
Annabelle pulled her car into a tiny parking spot in front of the Inspector’s vehicle with such a swoop that several passersby brought their hands to their mouths in the expectation that she was about to hit something. When instead she parked cleanly and braked smartly, their gasps were replaced by smiles, accompanied by a new respect for her driving skills. It wasn’t every day you saw a Vicar handle a car like that.
Annabelle’s bustling, black-clad figure emerged from the Mini and quickly made her way up the steps.
“Is it true?” Annabelle said, the moment she caught sight of Constable Raven behind the reception desk. “Have you found Ted?”
“Yes,” said Raven with a confused look. “But how did you—”
“Oh, everyone in the pub is talking about it,” Annabelle said, slightly out of breath. “Timmy Trelawny saw him get into a police car outside Greg Bradley’s house.”
“What were you doing in the pub, Reverend?” McAllister piped up from her desk beyond the reception.
“Ah,” said Annabelle, “just having a post-church chat with my flock. They were keen to continue Holy Communion. You know, wine,” she held up an imaginary glass, “and bread.” She nodded and chortled, snorting slightly.
“What’s all this?” Inspector Nicholls said, emerging from his side office at the flurry of excitement.
“Inspector!” called Annabelle, marching past the reception desk to meet him. “I heard you found Ted Lovesey finally.”
“Yes?” the Inspector replied, dubiously.
“I was wondering if I could speak to him. You see, I’ve been thinking about the case rather a lot, and I think that—”
“Reverend,” the Inspector said, assertively. “He’s being held for interrogation!”
“I do hope not, Inspector!” Annabelle cried. “He isn’t a terrorist! And I think I know just what to ask him if we want to get to the bottom of—”
“Reverend,” the Inspector repeated. “This is a police matter. You can’t just come barging in and demand to interview our suspects! There’s procedure to follow. We’re trying to solve a murder here. Look, I respect your interest and investment in this, and you’ve provided us with some valuable information so far, but right now the best thing for you to do is to leave us to conduct this investigation in a professional and methodical manner.”
“But Inspector!” Annabelle cried, gazing at him incredulously. “I’m trying to help!”
“I’m sorry, Reverend, but you shouldn’t be here, and you certainly shouldn’t be asking to speak to someone who is helping us with our inquiries.”
“Actually, Inspector,” said Raven, looking up from the puppy that was perched on his lap, “perhaps the Reverend can help us.”
Nicholls glared at the Constable.
“Yes,” added McAllister, “if Ted is holding something back, he’d be far more likely to talk to the Reverend than any of us.”
“You said it yourself, Inspector. He’s scared,” Constable Harris continued, “but he knows something. Maybe revealing it to us is too dangerous for him.”
Nicholls gritted his teeth and scowled. Annabelle smiled apologetically.
“Well, I guess I’m outvoted. I’ll give you five minutes, Reverend, but I’m going in with you.”
“Of course!” Annabelle said.
Nicholls turned on his heel and walked briskly over to the interview room, opening the door for the Vicar with a combative look on his face. Annabelle stepped inside the room.
“Oh, hello Reverend,” Ted said, his tone a mixture of surprise and amiability.
“Hello Ted. How are you?” Annabelle took a seat opposite him. The Inspector closed the door, crossed his arms, and glowered at them from the corner of the room. As much as he wouldn’t care to admit it, he saw the change in Ted’s body language immediately.
“I don’t know,” Ted said, with a sigh. “I can’t tell if I’m coming or going.”
“Yes, I understand,” Annabelle said, with a sympathetic smile. “It’s been a rather busy weekend.”
“I can’t believe what’s happened to Mildred,” Ted said, shaking his head. “It’s just… I… I don’t understand.”
“None of us do, Ted. That’s why we have to help the police, so that the person who did this gets their comeuppance. I mean, who knows if they’ll try to do it again!”
Ted’s eyes widened.
“You think they might kill someone else?”
Annabelle directed a worried look at him.
“If they can murder somebody as beloved as Mildred, then nobody is safe.”
“Oh my God!”
Annabelle glanced back at the Inspector, who remained stony-faced.
“Ted, you’re an intelligent man,” Annabelle began. “You know how bad this looks. You don’t go to the pub on a Friday evening for the first time in years, Mildred is murdered sometime early the following morning, and then you turn up at Greg Bradley’s house without going home. Now I don’t believe you had anything to do with her murder, but I’m afraid I might be the only one.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Ted pleaded, reaching his hands out over the table as if clutching at hope. “I can’t tell you where I went, though. I just can’t! Please trust me!”
“You don’t have to tell anyone anything, Ted. But if you don’t tell the Inspector where you were, then he really has no option other than to assume you had something to do with the murder. There’s very little evidence to the contrary.”
Ted buried his face in his hands and sobbed uncontrollably.
“How about this,” Annabelle continued in a gentle voice, “I tell you what I think might be going on, and you don’t have to say a word.”
Ted pulled his face up to look at Annabelle, then at Nicholls, then back again. With a confused expression, he shrugged mildly and wiped his tears.
“Okay,” he said, slowly.
Annabelle smiled, then cleared her throat.
“I believe there is illegal activity occurring on a regular basis in Upton St. Mary. Activity entertaining enough to entice many of the men who l
ive here, yet illicit enough for them to keep it a secret.”
Ted raised his chin slightly and narrowed his eyes. His mouth was open slightly. Whether it was in awe of what she was saying or anxiety at what she was about to say, she couldn’t tell. Either way, Annabelle had certainly struck a chord. She turned briefly and exchanged a look with the Inspector, who had dropped his fixed glare at the prospect of a revelation.
“Now I also believe,” Annabelle said, “that this activity involves and is perhaps controlled by criminal elements from outside the village. A criminal element dangerous and organized enough to make a man keep the activity a secret even when faced with a murder charge.”
Ted’s eyes widened even further, the whites revealing his deepest fears.
“The only thing that I’m struggling with, Ted, is just what this illegal activity is.”
Ted was breathing heavily now, but he managed a nervous semi-chuckle.
“There are only so many vices, Vicar.”
Annabelle grinned.
“Indeed, and they haven’t changed much since the Bible was written,” she said. “One learns just how diverse a man’s sins can be from the good book.”
Ted opened his mouth as if to speak, before shutting it and shaking his head again. He covered his eyes with his hand and sighed deeply.
“Let’s see,” Annabelle persisted, “it wouldn’t be drink. You’re quite adequately catered-to in that department. It’s not women, either. Many of these men have wives, and it’s unlikely that even the most dubious of men in Upton St. Mary would be that adventurous. Drugs, perhaps? I can’t believe that, myself. That doesn’t leave many options.”
“Say it, Vicar,” Ted challenged, as if unable to endure the torture of suspense any longer.
Annabelle looked back at the Inspector one more time. He nodded his agreement, and she turned to the forlorn figure on the opposite side of the table. Ted looked beaten-up and exhausted.
“It’s gambling, isn’t it Ted? The only thing accessible and entertaining enough to tempt the men of Upton St. Mary. The only thing you would find more exciting than a typical Friday night getting drunk at the Dog and Duck or watching England lose again on the big screen.”
Grave in the Garage (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 4) Page 8
