02 Murder at the Mansion (17 page)

Authors: Alison Golden,Jamie Vougeot

“Damnit!” Nicholls exclaimed into the dark night as he stubbed his boot on a large rock, almost stumbling head over heels himself. “Bloody rock!”

“You should have a torch,” came a distant voice.

Nicholls looked up and was blinded by a powerful beam.

“Get that damn light out of my eyes!” he cried, angrily.

The beam was lowered, and as his eyes adjusted once again to the darkness, Nicholls saw the svelte figure of Harper Jones emerging from a cluster of trees.

“Oh, sorry,” DI Nicholls said, as she drew closer, “I didn’t realize it was you, Harper.”

Not many people could elicit an apology from the Inspector, but Harper Jones demanded a certain kind of respect, not least because she was one of the most brilliant pathologists in Britain and thus the Inspector’s only hope for making some sense of the dead body in the woods.

Harper reached the Inspector and dropped her torch to her side. Even in the dim light, the Inspector could make out Harper’s attractive face and upright bearing from the slivers of fading light that outlined her sharp features.

“This body’s been there a while,” Harper announced rather obviously, never one for small talk.

“How long?” the Inspector asked.

“We’ll definitely need some time to figure it out. We’re still excavating it as carefully as possible, but my instinct is that it’s been buried there for well over a decade,” she said.

“A decade?!”

Harper nodded, the moonlight skipping along her wavy hair. “Judging by the tissue quantities and the large number of roots that have grown around it. It’s why the excavation still has some way to go.”

Nicholls scratched his stubble and looked off toward the rhythmic blue glow being cast over the road.

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Not much,” Harper replied. “The body is in a fetal position, but that could mean anything. Defending against an attacker, huddling for warmth, disposal into a small hole – I don’t know. That’s your job.”

Nicholls sighed deeply.

“The chance of me completing my job here is seeming increasingly slim.”

“There is one request I’d like to make,” Harper said, maintaining her cool, assertive tone of voice despite her slight alarm at the Inspector’s level of pessimism so early in the case.

“What’s that?”

“I’d like a second opinion on this body. There’s a lot of damage. It’s difficult to ascertain what may be suspicious and what is the effect of decay, root growth, or simply the person’s health in life. If I’m to make any judgments, I’d like the opinion of a forensic anthropologist.”

“Do you have anybody in mind?”

For the first time in many years, DI Nicholls detected a somewhat regretful expression upon the face of Harper Jones. He immediately dismissed it as a trick of the light, but Harper’s somewhat wistful tone caused him to reconsider.

“Yes, actually.”

“Okay. Well, bring them on board. I’m willing to pull in anyone who can help me.”

“That’s good,” Harper said, turning her head toward the road, “and I believe you’re about to gain another ally.”

Nicholls turned his head toward the road just in time to see a royal blue Mini Cooper pull up neatly behind a police car.

Harper Jones and DI Nicholls watched as the large, unmistakable frame of the Reverend Annabelle Dixon stepped out of the car and strode over to a nearby officer. After exchanging a few words, the constable gazed across the open plain and pointed out the Inspector.

“Oh great,” muttered Nicholls as Annabelle waved cheerily and began striding toward them, her smile visible even over the dark distance. Harper raised her torch to reveal where they were, causing Annabelle to squint and stumble backwards in its blinding glare.

“Don’t be proud,” Harper said quietly, as she turned back toward the woods. “Reverend Annabelle is a smart cookie – and you’re going to need all the help you can get with this one.”

DI Nicholls gazed at the looming figure of Annabelle coming toward him, arms in full marching mode. When she reached him, she took one step too many and clattered into him.

“Oops!” she said, unconvincingly. “Terribly dark, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid I’m busy, Reverend,” affirmed the Inspector.

“Whatever’s going on, Inspector?”

“I can’t tell you. The one thing I can tell you is that you’ll have to move along.”

Disregarding the Inspector’s dismissive tone, Annabelle decided to keep probing.

“It looks serious,” she remarked, turning her head toward the bright lamps of the forensic team. “I hope nobody was hurt.”

Nicholls remained silent.

Annabelle was rather fond of the Inspector (and, if the rumors were to be believed, more than a little fond), but she found his silence somewhat rude and unfriendly. Not least because she had only recently helped the Inspector with a particularly tricky case. Nonetheless, Annabelle was determined and happy to place the blame for the Inspector’s grumpiness on his long drive for Truro.

“Do you know whose body it is?” asked Annabelle, matter-of-factly.

The lines of DI Nicholls’ frown were so deep that they were visible even by the faint light of the road.

“Who told you there’s a body?!”

“Nobody!” Annabelle responded jovially. “I simply noticed the forensic team working busily away. There are only two things I can think of that would demand so many people to be plugging away at the ground – the discovery of treasure and a dead body. And you don’t need so many policemen around to unearth a treasure!”

Annabelle laughed easily, unable to notice the Inspector’s scowl in the darkness.

“I’ll hope you’re not planning to go around telling people there’s a dead body in the woods, Reverend.”

“Heavens, no! But I don’t imagine it’ll be a secret for long.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, this road gets rather busy in the morning. It’s one of the main commuter routes. You’ll have plenty of rubberneckers spreading gossip before most people have had their morning coffee!”

Nicholls sighed defeatedly. He hated gossip, especially when it involved a case of his and even more so when it involved a case as open as this. Once the gossip started, he would be stumbling upon more red herrings than a mystery novel.

“Goodbye, Reverend,” DI Nicholls said, decisively.

“Bye, Inspector!”

Both of them took a step in opposite directions before Inspector looked back.

“Reverend? Your car is that way.”

“Oh I know, Inspector. I’m still on my daily rounds and thought I’d pay the good Ms. Alexander a visit.”

Nicholls considered trying to dissuade the Reverend, but he knew her well enough to know it was a lost cause. He nodded grimly and headed back toward the forensic team.

Annabelle was not immune to the Inspector’s bizarrely downbeat manner, and she could only surmise that whatever – or whoever – was buried in the woods behind Honeysuckle House was a cause for great concern. If anyone would know what was happening, it would have to be Shona Alexander, her bouncy young nephew being the only one who frequented those woods daily.

She walked briskly closer to the warm glow of Honeysuckle House’s wonderfully decorated windows, pots of herbs, and aromatic flowers neatly arranged beneath them. As she opened the wooden gate, she noticed Constable Raven coming in the opposite direction, no doubt from his own visit to Ms. Alexander.

“Constable Raven!”

“Oh, hello Reverend. Strange to see you out this late.”

“It’s not that late, Constable. The days are just getting shorter.”

Jim Raven looked up at the sky, as if confirming.

“I suppose you’re right. It’s going to get cold soon, I’d better get my boiler fixed.”

“Constable,” Annabelle said, seriously. “What is all this fuss about in the woods?”

Constable Raven shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Reverend. I’m under strict orders from Detective Inspector Nicholls to keep this as secret as possible.”

“I had a feeling you might say that. But it must be something rather concerning to have the Inspector so worked up.”

Raven allowed himself a wry smile. “Are you referring by chance to the chief’s foul mood? I’m afraid that’s got nothing to do with the case. Apparently he’s been acting like he swallowed a wasp for weeks now.”

“Why?” asked Annabelle, leaning forward with keen interest.

Raven shook his head.

“Constable Colback tells me nobody in Truro has the faintest idea what’s bothering him. It’s an even bigger mystery than the body in the woods. Ah-”

Raven stuttered somewhat, looking for something to say that would distract Annabelle from his slip of the tongue. Annabelle chuckled.

“Relax, Constable. I had already figured that out.”

Raven’s shoulders dropped a full inch, deflated. “It’s nice of you to fib, Reverend, but I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Forget about it, Constable,” Annabelle said, stepping past him. “I’ll see you about the village, I expect.”

“Yeah,” muttered Constable Raven, still shaking his head at his own stupidity.

“You’re not planning to ask Ms. Alexander about this, are you?”

Annabelle smiled. “I was actually planning to ask how she was managing to keep her basil so vital at this time of year, but I expect this will be a rather unavoidable subject.”

Constable Raven nodded as if receiving bad news, before turning around and making his way out of the gate and back toward the crime scene. As he drew closer, he decided that it was no fault of his own. Reverend Annabelle simply had a very sharp knack for uncovering secrets.