Ted shook and sighed and fidgeted and winced for a long time before finally sitting upright. He looked directly into the Reverend’s eyes and nodded gently.
Annabelle stood up.
“Don’t worry, Ted. You didn’t tell us anything.” She turned to the Inspector. “Did he?”
Nicholls bit his lip, glanced between the two of them, and then shook his head just as gently as Ted.
“But what about Mildred’s murder, Reverend? Do you think it has anything to with—“
“I don’t know, Ted. I don’t know,” Annabelle looked Ted directly in the eyes. “But I promise you, I’m going to find out.”
The Inspector closed the interview room door once again and gently took Annabelle by the arm. He ushered her into his office, to the puzzlement of both his constables and the puppy, before shutting the door firmly behind him.
“Reverend! What was that?”
“Whatever do you mean, Inspector?”
Nicholls rubbed his brow hard and paced around the room.
“I’m trying to solve a murder case!” he said, with exasperation. “And hopefully in the process, figure out who is tampering with people’s fuel. Now I have a gambling ring to investigate? Where did you get that idea? From all those strange occurrences you were telling me about? Mysterious cars, disappearing men?”
“From a lot of thought and attention to the facts,” Annabelle said, defiantly putting her hands on her hips. “And Ted has just confirmed it!”
“Ah yes,” Nicholls said, exasperation turning to sarcasm. “The man who is the prime suspect in a murder investigation just confirmed that he was taking part in a far less serious crime at the time of the murder. What a surprise! If you suspected that he had built a rocket ship to Mars and visited it during the time of the murder, he’d probably have confirmed that, too!”
Annabelle scowled. “Inspector, I am gravely disappointed in your reaction!”
“How is any of this supposed to help me, Reverend?” the Inspector said. “I’m a detective. It’s my job to answer questions, tie up loose ends, and close cases; not create more of them with wild speculations and gigantic leaps of logic!”
“I’m a woman of the cloth, Inspector” Annabelle said, lowering her voice as she put her hand on the doorknob, readying herself to leave, “and it’s my job to understand that in a community such as Upton St. Mary, everything is connected – even when it may appear otherwise. I sincerely hope you understand this simple fact sooner rather than later. Goodbye, Inspector.”
CHAPTER SIX
“REVEREND, WAIT!” THE Inspector ran out of the station just as Annabelle was opening the door to her Mini.
He leaped down the steps with an energy that matched the puppy that followed him and brought himself to a stop in front of Annabelle where he hung his head.
“Reverend,” he began, “I apologize. I should not have said those things. It was disrespectful of me.”
Annabelle raised her chin as she considered this.
“I was only trying to help, Inspector.”
“I know. But even you must admit, Reverend, that’s a pretty giant leap you took there. A gambling ring? You’d never mentioned anything of the kind to me before.”
“That’s because I had not considered anything of the kind before,” Annabelle said, coolly. “It was only this morning that I realized how it all fit together.”
“But why would you surmise such a thing from mere hearsay about men disappearing for hours and the sighting of a car with tinted windows? It seems a rather flimsy basis.”
Annabelle placed her hands on her hips and pursed her lips at the Inspector’s refusal to believe in her theory, however polite he now was about it.
“I did not surmise it because of those things, Inspector. I came to the conclusion because I happen to know Ted and the people of this village very well. It may not seem as rational to you as counting facts and sticking them together logically, but an understanding of people is often a far better path to the truth.”
She sighed deeply, her hand still on the car door. She shut it softly, and bent over to scratch behind the puppy’s ears briefly before looking back at Nicholls.
“If you must know, Inspector,” Annabelle continued, her tone a little softer now, “I had been thinking of such things long before this terrible business with Mildred occurred. In recent months the church has been struggling to raise funds, a rather remarkable fact considering the generosity of the village during even the toughest of times in the past. Of course, these things can happen. However, when I questioned Barbara, she’s the landlady at the Dog and Duck, if you remember, she seemed even more convinced than I was that something was afoot. Ted wasn’t the only person who seemed too preoccupied to visit her pub. In fact, he was one of the last regulars she had until even he didn’t turn up last Friday night.”
Nicholls frowned and looked away.
“You don’t believe me,” Annabelle said, noticing the skeptical look he was attempting to hide.
“Look at it from my perspective, Reverend,” he said. “A Vicar trying to understand why she can’t raise funds, a pub landlady trying to explain why her pub suddenly seems so unpopular, and a prime suspect seeking an alibi and an excuse for his strange behavior. Of course a story to explain away those problems all at once would be appealing – but a gambling ring? In Upton St. Mary? It’s just implausible! There must be a million other ways to explain it.”
“Such as?”
Nicholls’ barely flinched.
“Honestly?” he said, placing a hand gently on the car’s roof, as if placing it upon Annabelle’s shoulder. “One thing you learn pretty quickly as a detective is that the most boring, unexciting, and ultimately disappointing supposition is frequently the most accurate one.”
“And what is that?”
“I think Ted’s our man and that he’s a good liar. I think people aren’t drinking at the Dog and Duck because of the cold weather or because one of the other pubs in the village has become more popular. And as for your church…” Nicholls paused, looking down at his feet before braving to look Annabelle in the eye again, “I’m afraid it’s just a sign of the times, Reverend. People aren’t interested. Or not interested enough to part with money for your project. Face it.”
They gazed at each other for a few moments, the contrast of their arguments seeming to play out in the heady tension.
“Look,” the Inspector said, trying to bridge the gap between them. “Let’s just assume that you’re right. None of this is bringing us any closer to the real mystery: Who killed Mildred, and why?”
Annabelle raised an amused eyebrow.
“‘Us?’ Inspector?”
Nicholls laughed.
“I’m sorry. But can you blame me for thinking of you as a fellow investigator?”
“Not at all,” Annabelle smiled. “I’m flattered.”
“You’re certainly correct about one thing, Reverend,” the Inspector said with all seriousness. “You know the villagers far better than I do, and you’re much more effective at getting information out of them. That’s why I’d like to ask you to come along with me now.”
“Oh? Where to?”
“Aziz’s parents,” Nicholls said, determined now. “I want to see if he’s come home yet, and if not, where the hell he’s got to.”
The Malik’s were Pakistani immigrants who owned and lived above a shop that was a relatively short walk from the police station. As they ambled along the cobbled streets of Upton St. Mary in the Sunday quietude, their coats protecting them against the bracing, chilly wind, a happy puppy between them on a leash held by the Inspector, Annabelle could not shake the feeling that this felt more like a loving couple’s Sunday afternoon stroll than two people seeking somebody with respect to a murder investigation. The Inspector seemed aware of this too, his face a little bashful as he walked by her side.
“How are you finding the puppy, Inspector?” Annabelle asked as she watched the dog bounce along for a few ste
ps ahead of them, stop for a few seconds to wait, then bounce on happily again.
“Oh. She’s pleasant enough company,” he said. “She certainly eats a lot. And she does like to go off and sniff in any direction when she catches a scent,” he added, this time tugging the puppy forward as she allowed herself to be beguiled by the wheel of a parked van.
“Well she’s just a pup, Inspector. I’m sure she’ll mature quickly alongside you.”
“Now, now, Reverend, I’m fond of her, I won’t deny that, but I’ve yet to make up my mind as to whether I’ll adopt her.”
“Very well,” smiled Annabelle, a knowing glint in her eye.
The Maliks’ shop was situated on the corner of one of Upton St. Mary’s most central junctions, among an array of other shops that saw a steady stream of shoppers from dawn until dusk on most days. Unlike the other shops, however, Malik’s was open on a Sunday, and it was very much the first stop for the vast majority of villagers seeking their morning paper, a bottle of milk, or even a specialist tobacco that Mr. Malik would kindly order on request in his typically accommodating manner.
Next to the shop was a small driveway for deliveries, with a rear exit and a shuttered garage for the Maliks’ minivan. Annabelle noticed that there was a new, smaller car in the driveway as they walked past, one she had not seen before.
The Inspector attached the puppy’s leash to a lamp post outside the shop and told her to “Sit.” She obeyed immediately. He and the Vicar then stepped inside the small, yet neatly arranged and organized shop and walked up to the counter at the far end. Mr. Malik saw them approach. He stiffened as he always did in the presence of authority.
“Good afternoon sirs! And madams!” he said, in his heavily accented voice.
“Hello, Mr. Malik,” Annabelle beamed.
“Have you heard from your son, yet?” Inspector Nicholls inquired directly, brooking no small talk and remembering vividly the difficulties they had had in their previous interview.
The shopkeeper shrugged and spread his hands widely.
“Aziz not here. Always busy. School. Study. Exercise with bike. Visit with friends. Work with cars. I told you.”
“Aren’t you worried?” Annabelle asked, speaking simply, so the shopkeeper could catch every word and understand. “Aziz has not been seen for two days!”
Mr. Malik beamed a wide smile and laughed gently.
“Aziz is good boy! When he finish with everything, then he come, eat, go out again.”
“But it’s dangerous. There’s been a murder, Mr. Malik. Aziz should be home now!”
Mr. Malik wagged his finger furiously.
“No, no, no, no! Aziz not dangerous. Never. Very soft boy. Kind.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Annabelle said, her tone growing ever-so-slightly frustrated. “It’s dangerous for Aziz.”
“No,” the bearded shopkeeper repeated adamantly. “Seventeen years, no trouble. Teachers say perfect student. Go to Oxford. Very good to parents. Aziz not trouble, dangerous, nothing.”
Annabelle exchanged a defeated look with the Inspector, who opened his mouth to speak, frustration clear on his face. Annabelle, sensing that his involvement in the exchange wasn’t going to move the situation forward, quickly pressed a hand to his elbow. In the event, all the Inspector emitted was a deep sigh.
“We’ll be back, Mr. Malik,” he said.
“Thank you,” Annabelle added.
“Anytime!” the shopkeeper called heartily.
They walked back outside, reclaimed the puppy, and took a few steps down the street before stopping. The Inspector shook his head angrily.
“Do you see what I’m dealing with, Reverend? I’ve called for a translator to come from Truro, but they won’t be here until tomorrow at the earliest. By then it could be too late.”
Annabelle gazed around the street as if an answer might drive by at any moment. When she turned back to the Inspector, she noticed movement in the driveway beside Mr. Malik’s corner shop. She watched intently as a tall, slim, and strikingly beautiful young woman slowly eased herself out of the shop’s rear entrance, and closed the door silently behind her. Nicholls turned to look at who had caught Annabelle’s eye.
“Officer!” the girl whispered, as she stepped quickly over to them. “Officer!”
She looked to be in her late-teens or early-twenties. She had a pair of intelligent hazel eyes set in a smooth, light-brown face. Her hair fell thick and lustrous about her shoulders. It swayed dramatically in the breeze. “My name is Samira Malik. I’m Aziz’s sister.”
Annabelle squinted at her for barely a second. “I know you.”
“Yes,” the girl smiled. “And I remember you, too. I met you at the village craft fair this summer. It’s nice to see you again, Reverend Dixon.”
They shook hands and smiled at each other, before a cloud of doubt entered Annabelle’s thoughts.
“But I’ve not seen you since then… Where have you been?”
Samira nodded. “I’m at Brighton University. I’m only here for the weekend, though I didn’t know all this would happen.”
“All this?” the Inspector asked, keenly.
Samira scanned the street carefully before backing up into the driveway slowly. She beckoned the two inquisitors to her. Annabelle and Nicholls exchanged another brief glance before obliging. Once they were huddled into the tight space between the car and the wall, Samira leaned forward and spoke quietly, as if conspiring with them.
“Aziz is missing!” she said.
“What?!” Annabelle cried loudly, before covering her mouth. “What?” she repeated, much more quietly.
“Aziz should have come home already, and my father knows that. He’s desperate to find him, even more than you.”
“So let’s go and speak to him,” Nicholls insisted gruffly. “Surely you can communicate with him. Tell him that we’re looking for Aziz, that he might be in danger, and anything he tells us will—”
“No,” Samira interrupted, shaking her head gravely. “That wouldn’t work. I heard you talking. My father is only pretending not to understand. You see, my dad thinks that Aziz has found a girlfriend. It’s his biggest fear. Ever since Aziz was ten years old, my father has worried that Aziz would find some girl who would influence him badly and that he would run away with her. He’s not telling you this because he is ashamed. Of all the plans my father has for Aziz, marrying a nice Pakistani girl is the most important to him.”
“Well, isn’t it possible?” the Inspector said, as he tugged the puppy back to stop it from exploring. “Could Aziz have run off with a girl?”
Samira shook her head firmly.
“No. Aziz already gets plenty of attention from girls. His mind is purely on his studies and doing things the right way – in that sense he’s like my father.”
“Seems unlikely to me,” the Inspector said, bending down to scratch the puppy’s ears and stop her gentle whining. “A teenage boy who isn’t interested in girls? That’s all I thought about when I was his age.”
Annabelle frowned at the Inspector, but he was too preoccupied with the dog to notice.
“If he did run off, I would be the first to know,” Samira said. “We tell each other everything. That’s why I’m so worried—”
Samira turned her head sharply as she heard her father’s voice call out from inside the shop. Upon hearing that he was merely having a simple exchange with a customer, but still unsettled by the sound of his voice, she stepped further back into the shadow of the shuttered garage. She kept her voice low as she leaned over once again to speak.
“I’ve not heard anything from Aziz since Friday morning.”
“The day before yesterday.”
“Yes. Not a call or a text. Nothing. And I’ve been sending him messages all weekend. He knew I was visiting. We’re very close. There’s no way he’s alright and hasn’t thought to message me back or come to see me. No way.”
They were all quiet for a moment, as they reflected on wha
t this might mean. Suddenly, their thoughts were interrupted by the sound of clattering metal as the puppy leaped toward the garage shutters, clawing at it roughly with her front paws.
“Hey!” called the Inspector, pulling the pup back. The puppy strained at her leash with every ounce of her strength, whining and barking.
Annabelle kneeled down and tried to placate her, but she remained intent on the metal garage doors, her front paws scrabbling at the air in her desperation.
The rear door to the shop opened suddenly, and Samira’s eyes seemed to double in size. Her father came out screaming angrily, before his rage was replaced by confusion at the sight that greeted him.
“What’s going on here?” he said, his eyes flicking rapidly between the three figures and a singular, small, yet loud and agitated puppy.
After the elder Malik exchanged some quick, tense words with Samira in their native language, the Inspector broke in.
“What have you got in here?” he said, holding the leash with both hands to stop the puppy from throwing herself against the doors again.
“Nothing!” Mr. Malik cried with a big shrug. “Delivery tonight. I not open since Friday!”
“Well, open it now!” the Inspector ordered in a voice he typically used for his officers. Annabelle winced.
Mr. Malik looked hard at the Inspector but quickly took a ring of keys from his pocket and made toward the padlock of the metal shutter. He went to unlock it, but when he got close, he found it hanging. Frowning, Malik set the lock aside, and lifted the wide shutter with the help of his knee.
It flew upwards with a heavy clank. The “thunk” as it rolled back echoed in a split-second of silence. As the echo reverberated, they briefly anticipated what they might find before the scene exploded in a blur of cries, shouts, and frenzied activity.
First, the puppy lunged once more toward the garage interior. The Inspector was taken by surprise and the leash flew out of his hands. The dog bounded down the side of the minivan parked inside toward the back of the garage, quickly followed by Samira, who immediately started to scream loudly. Then, with his hands on his head and a series of cries in Urdu, Mr. Malik did the same.
Grave in the Garage (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 4) Page 9
