Grave in the Garage (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 4)

by Golden,Alison

  Annabelle and the Inspector followed only a step behind, but by the time they reached the source of everyone’s panic, the scene at the back of the garage was frantic. Laments in foreign tongues, the puppy’s furious barking, and Samira’s long cries of horror and despair cut through the wintery, cold air.

  There, in the corner at the back of the garage, was Aziz. And he was not in good shape. He had been badly beaten.

  He was curled in a fetal position. Black, crusted blood stained half his face. He was clutching his right forearm to his body and his chin was tucked in defensively. His eyes were closed. His clothes were ripped and covered in dark stains. Blue bruises were visible on his legs and torso.

  After stretching out to touch her brother but pulling back before she could hurt him further, Samira could not bear to look any more. He was shivering in the cold, hard corner of the garage. She stood up and turned away, her usually pretty face smeared with the ugliness of utter desolation. Annabelle opened her arms and the young woman fell into them, clutching the Vicar tightly as she allowed herself to sob and wail her agony.

  “I’ve called an ambulance,” Nicholls shouted.

  “We’ll meet you at the hospital,” Annabelle shouted back, as she cajoled the sobbing girl away from the scene, the puppy trailing in her wake.

  Nicholls rode with Mr. Malik and Aziz in the ambulance. Annabelle, meanwhile, drove Samira and the puppy in hot pursuit of the emergency vehicle, glancing over nervously and talking persistently to soothe the traumatized and now dumbstruck girl.

  Upon reaching the hospital, Nicholls pulled Mr. Malik aside before he entered the building, knowing full well that the dazed and shocked father was too shaken to communicate in anything other than his native tongue and would only get in the way of the emergency medical team.

  Annabelle took charge, following the medics as they pulled Aziz out of the vehicle and brought him quickly to the emergency room. With her arm around Samira’s shoulders, she waited for ten minutes while the doctors looked Aziz over, and then she listened closely to their initial assessment. Eventually, Mr. Malik joined them, and Annabelle left them alone so that Samira could communicate the doctor’s words to her father.

  The Vicar rejoined the Inspector outside, where he had taken the puppy from Annabelle’s car and was kneeling down to feed her some treats he had saved in his coat pocket.

  “What did the doctors say?” Nicholls asked, standing up as Annabelle walked toward him with a face still gravely troubled.

  She sighed deeply and shook her head at the brutality of it all.

  “He’s going to be alright, but it will take time. He’s not only been beaten, but he’s in shock now. It doesn’t look like he’s done anything apart from lie in the corner of the garage since yesterday.”

  “When will he be able to talk?”

  “The doctor said he’ll need at least twenty-four hours before he can talk to anyone,” Annabelle said, sadly. “I don’t understand. Why was he just lying there? His family was next door. Why would he suffer like that instead of going home?”

  Nicholls stared into the distance.

  “It’s not so strange. Stupid, yes. But not uncommon. I see it a lot with young lads, tough ones especially. When they get beaten up like that, their first reaction is rarely to get help or tell someone. Their pride tends to hurt twice as much as their injuries. They worry more about what their peers will think when they find out, or in Aziz’s case, his family.”

  “Surely not!”

  “You’d be surprised, Reverend. Aziz’s father seems to worship the boy for being spotless, a hard worker, and never in any trouble. Aziz doesn’t even fool around with girls because his father doesn’t want him to. The kid’s probably deeply ashamed that this happened.”

  “It’s such nonsense,” Annabelle said, though she understood the Inspector was right. “I’ll never understand men and their ‘manly pride!’”

  Nicholls gave the Vicar a rueful smile before turning back to her car.

  “Do you mind giving me a lift back to the station, Reverend?”

  “Of course not,” Annabelle said, and began getting in the driver’s side as the Inspector urged the puppy into the back.

  “You know,” Nicholls said, as they eased themselves into their seats, the Inspector’s head grazing the roof of the small car, “I think patience is the only tool, pardon the pun, I have left to throw at this case.”

  Annabelle smiled sadly.

  “I understand, Inspector. But it was only yesterday that the murder happened. You’re not giving yourself much time.”

  “True,” the Inspector sighed, looking into the back seat to check on his dog as they drove along. “Still, this is one of those cases where progress doesn’t just seem slow, it seems to be going backward.”

  “Surely it’s not that bad,” Annabelle said, as she deftly shifted gear.

  “I’m afraid it is,” the Inspector sighed. “I mean no disrespect by this, Reverend, as I greatly admire your faith in people, but I believe it’s a faith that is sometimes afforded to those who don’t deserve it.”

  “What do you mean, Inspector?” Annabelle said, pouting slightly.

  “Well, I trusted your judgment when you told me that you didn’t believe Mildred’s only competitor, Ian Crawford, had been tampering with the fuel, but I can think of nobody else who would have reason to do so. You’re the one who believes in Ted Lovesey’s innocence, and yet our only other suspect has just turned up in no state to talk and is more likely to be a victim than a murderer. In short, I’m saying that I think your openness and generosity regarding people is naïve.”

  “Inspector!” Annabelle exclaimed, extending her neck with surprise at his rudeness.

  “Now calm down, Reverend,” Nicholls continued in his commanding voice. “I’m not trying to insult you, I’m telling you this for your own good. These are not your typical parishioners we’re dealing with. These are very dangerous people. Criminals, murderers, psychopaths. And they’re frequently as good at lying as they are at committing misdeeds. A little bit of skepticism and distance wouldn’t do you any harm, Reverend.”

  Annabelle gripped the wheel tightly and focused on parking the car, angered by the Inspector’s criticism once again but unable to call upon sufficient evidence to dismiss it entirely.

  “What will you do with Ted?” she asked, pulling at the handbrake with more force than was necessary.

  Nicholls shrugged.

  “I’ll release him for now. We’ve got his prints, but we don’t have the evidence to detain him further. Besides, if we get a match on the fuel can or the murder weapon, I doubt we’ll have trouble finding him again. He doesn’t seem like the smartest tool in the box.”

  “I shall come in with you,” Annabelle announced defiantly, unclipping her seatbelt. “I’m sure Ted would appreciate a lift after this ordeal.”

  They entered the police station together, the dog once more cheerfully padding along between them, though there was no mistaking them for a happy couple this time.

  As soon as Inspector Nicholls entered the reception area, Constable McAllister bounced up from her chair and made a beeline for him. Constables Harris and Raven watched her from behind their desks.

  “Inspector!” she said.

  “What is it, McAllister?”

  “Well, there’s good news and bad news,” she said, casting her eyes toward Annabelle without moving her head. “Two bits of bad news, perhaps?”

  “Go on,” Nicholls urged.

  “The bad news is that there were no prints on the fuel can. Either they were washed away, or the person who used it didn’t leave any.”

  “Damnit. What’s the good news?”

  “Harper will give us the results of her tests on the murder weapon shortly,” she added uncertainly, obviously fearful of what the Inspector might say about this delay. “It is taking longer than she thought.”

  As it turned out, the Inspector didn’t say anything. He looked from the young cons
table to Annabelle, then back again.

  “I really hope Harper comes through for us. We need a breakthrough.”

  Despite their earlier disagreement, Annabelle found herself placing a sympathetic hand on the Inspector’s arm at the sight of his downcast face.

  “We may not agree on some things, Inspector, but I have a feeling we are closer to finding the person who did this than we think.”

  “Are you ever less than utterly optimistic, Reverend?”

  “Golly gosh, Inspector. I hope not.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ANNABELLE’S THOUGHTS WERE so turbulent and confused that she muttered to herself as she drove, completely forgetting that Ted was sitting beside her in the passenger seat. Already uneasy from spending over two hours in the interview room, Ted glanced at the Reverend nervously and decided against saying anything.

  When it became clear, however, that the Vicar was heading toward the church, and not, in fact, his own home, he found himself with no choice but to speak up.

  “Um… Vicar?”

  “Oh!” Annabelle exclaimed, swiveling her head, startled to find Ted beside her. “Yes?”

  “I think you missed the turn. My house is down that way.”

  “Oh!” Annabelle repeated. “Sorry.”

  She looked out of the side window and wondered when the next opportunity to make a U-turn would be. Then she re-considered.

  “Actually, would you like to come by my cottage and have a cup of tea, Ted? I could give you a lift home later. I’m sure we could both do with some company considering what has happened.”

  Ted took a moment to think about the offer. He lived alone, had little money, and now that Mildred was dead, he had no job. He had nothing to do but sit at home or go down to the pub where he was likely to spend what little money he did have on drink.

  “That sounds alright, actually. Thanks, Vicar.”

  Annabelle smiled warmly as she eased the car into the church driveway. Her cottage looked warm and inviting on this cold winter’s evening.

  A moment later, they went inside and made their way to the kitchen.

  “Hello Reverend,” Philippa said, her back to them as she pulled a tray out of the oven. She turned around and opened her eyes wide. “Oh, hello Ted.”

  “Hi, Philippa,” he said meekly.

  “Would you put the kettle on, Philippa? I need a cup of tea and a slice of cake even more desperately than usual.”

  Philippa obliged as the Reverend and the mechanic sat at the kitchen table.

  “How are you feeling, Ted?” Annabelle said, as she foraged in her pockets.

  Ted sighed sadly.

  “Stunned. I haven’t had a moment to think, let alone feel anything. One minute I’m being dragged out of Greg’s house, the next I hear about Mildred, then I’m being treated like I’m the one who killed her! It’s not like I was having the best weekend as it was, what with—”

  Ted stopped himself abruptly, and looked over at Philippa. Annabelle understood perfectly. Ted had struggled to tell her about the gambling ring. He wasn’t about to start spilling the beans with another person around, especially when that person was the village gossip extraordinaire.

  Annabelle stood up and walked over to her church secretary.

  “I’ll make the tea, Philippa. You go sit down.”

  Annabelle poured a little water into the teapot and let it warm as she set the tray with cups, sugar, teaspoons, and milk. After she’d added the tea leaves and filled the pot with boiling water, she turned back to the table. She set the teapot and tray down before walking over to open a large square biscuit tin that sat on the counter.

  “What’s this?” Annabelle asked Philippa.

  “What? Oh, Mrs. Clunes left those for you. She’d made too many and thought you might like a few.”

  “Well, she was right!” Annabelle exclaimed, as she looked over the half dozen madelines that sat daintily in the tin. Annabelle placed the coconut-covered pink spongy confections onto a plate and went to sit back down with the others.

  “Oh!” Philippa exclaimed suddenly, before standing up. “I’ll go get Jeremy. The poor boy’s been weeding the cemetery all afternoon. I’m sure he’d love a cup of tea too.”

  “Good idea,” Annabelle said, through a mouthful of cake.

  Annabelle watched Philippa leave, then looked back at Ted. He smiled awkwardly as he took a slow sip of his tea, seeming to take some courage from the hot brew.

  “Thanks, Vicar,” he said, softly.

  “Oh, tosh!” Annabelle smiled, gently placing her cup down. “I know you didn’t do it, Ted. You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’ve no need to act so apologetic.”

  “Well, I’m not entirely innocent,” he said.

  Annabelle raised an eyebrow.

  “The gambling,” he added, in a whisper.

  “Oh. Yes.”

  “Look, Vicar. Please don’t tell anyone about that. If it got out that I’d—”

  “Of course I won’t, Ted. But you really should tell someone about it. Or at the very least get yourself away from such things. No good can come of it.”

  Ted put his cup down heavily, as if lacking even the energy to hold it.

  “I know, Vicar.”

  He gazed at the table for a few moments.

  “What exactly is this gambling ring?” Annabelle asked, hoping to interrupt his morose mood.

  Ted looked up with frightened eyes. “If I tell you, you can’t tell no one, right? Doctor-patient confidentiality, or… or like a confession? Something like that?”

  Annabelle chuckled lightly.

  “Well, I’m not quite a doctor, and confession is for Catholics. But I can promise you that I’m a woman of my word, and I won’t say anything to anyone.”

  Ted’s shoulders settled, and he breathed deeply. He began to tell his tale.

  “It began as an innocent poker night. Just a few of the men getting together for the fun of it. They didn’t even play for money to begin with. It was just a way for some of the men to relax. Upton St. Mary’s a small place, so any chance to do something new or go somewhere different is welcome.”

  “Where did you play?”

  “Various places. Someone’s barn one week, an empty school the next. Whoever joined in would offer a place to play. That was part of the fun, I think: the whispers of where it would be, trying to find out, but keeping it all a secret. Only certain people were invited to join the ring. It was quite an honor. It was like a secret gentlemen’s club.”

  “Sounds like a boy’s club to me,” Annabelle said, rolling her eyes.

  “Not for long,” Ted answered, ominously. “At first it was just a few of the guys, the ones with the… er… most ‘difficult’ wives… It was their chance to get away for a bit. I was never a regular. I only went a few times, and only once on a Friday, but the rest of us kept it a secret because we knew how much those men appreciated the chance to just disappear for a few hours. It was exciting. But then things changed.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t really know how it happened, exactly, but outsiders started coming. Men, dangerous men, from other places. It was perfect for them. Hidden locations, a system for inviting people. In the bigger cities, the police are always watching them and know all of the places where these kinds of things are held. But no copper would think to look for a high-rolling gambling ring in Upton St. Mary. It was perfect because it was so unlikely.”

  Annabelle sat back and shook her head at the sheer lunacy of it all.

  “But why did the Upton St. Mary men continue to play? Weren’t the outside men a little out of their league?”

  “They had to!” Ted said as emphatically as if he were defending himself. “For one thing, the local boys knew the area. They were the ones providing the locations. Without them spreading the word and arranging it all, the outsiders wouldn’t have been able to play. And these men, they just… well, they didn’t do anything exactly, they just felt evil. A look. Or a walk, you know?
And who knew what these… criminals would do if someone stopped turning up to the tables? These men were not nice people, Vicar. I’m not saying nobody was enticed by winning big. These guys brought a lot of money to the table, but the vast majority of men who were taking part in the end did so out of fear, not greed, in my opinion.”

  “And what was the reason in your case, Ted?” Annabelle asked, gently.

  Ted smiled weakly.

  “You can probably guess, Vicar. I might have been afraid of those men, but I’m even more afraid of not having any money. I’m a forty-six-year-old mechanic who lives by himself and spends all his money on booze. The opportunity to win the kinds of amounts that were being thrown around at those games – and they were pretty big, let me tell you – was just too much for me to resist.”

  “You sound quite self-aware, though.”

  “Two hours locked up in a police station will do that to you,” Ted said. Annabelle smirked sympathetically. “The only thing that keeps me going is the dream of hitting it big somehow, and with this gambling… I don’t know. I suppose I thought I was due a bit of luck.”

  “But you lost everything, didn’t you, Ted?”

  “How did you know?”

  “You didn’t go home. You went to Greg’s on Saturday morning. Were you scared? Do you owe those men money, now?”

  Ted took his tea with shaky hands, lifted it to his lips, and gulped ferociously.

  “We’re back!” came Philippa’s sing-songy voice from the front door, just before she slammed it shut. “Took forever to find him! I thought the ground had finally caved in and swallowed him up! But he was just behind that big tombstone at the back.”

  She stepped into the kitchen followed by Jeremy, who gently pulled off a pair of large, rough gardening gloves.

  “Oh, Jeremy, you shouldn’t be weeding. What about those lovely musician’s hands of yours!” Annabelle laughed.

  Jeremy smiled, mildly. “It’s quite alright, Reverend.”

  “Ted,” Annabelle said, “this is Jeremy. Our church organist.”