So when the call came from Constable Raven that drove the Inspector to leave the city for the countryside immediately, the officers of Truro police station breathed a sigh of relief before drawing straws to decide who would go with him. Constable Colback drew the short one.
After a long trip, during which Inspector Nicholls articulated his grievances on topics as wide-ranging as long car journeys, people wasting police time, the declining standards of police ceremonies, and the road manners of his fellow drivers, he and his bedraggled constable met the local village bobby, Constable Raven, outside Shona Alexander’s house.
“Hello Inspector! Long time no see,” said Constable Raven, more cheerily than the grave circumstances demanded.
“I have a forensic team on standby, Constable,” the Inspector responded curtly. “So I sincerely hope this is not a waste of time.”
Picking up on the Inspector’s unusually stern tone, Raven stood upright.
“I don’t think so, Inspector. Ms. Alexander and Dougie, her young nephew, sound very concerned.”
“How old’s the boy?” the Inspector asked.
“I believe he’s eight, sir,” Raven replied.
“Wait a minute, Constable,” Nicholls said, a dark cloud passing over his face. “Are you telling me that I’ve just put all my other duties aside, made a formal request for the forensic team to enter the area, and driven for almost an hour, based on the story that a schoolboy told his aunt? You didn’t check the site yourself?”
Constable Raven struggled to disguise his gulp. He was an informal but effective officer, though diligence and rigor had never been his strengths. Under the intense glare of the Inspector, he suddenly wished they were.
“I didn’t want to disturb the scene, Inspector. I thought it right that you be here to witness it first.”
DI Nicholls winced, opened his mouth to say something, decided against it, and walked up the pathway to Shona Alexander’s door, leaving Constables Raven and Colback to exchange sympathetic glances.
“I’m Detective Inspector Nicholls,” he said to the blond woman who opened the door, “I believe you are Ms. Shona Alexander and this lad is Dougie Dewar?”
“Yes, thank you for coming, Inspector.”
The Inspector crouched, bringing himself to eye-level with the freshly-washed boy who clung to his aunt’s trouser leg.
“What did you see out there, boy?”
After a few seconds, Dougie gathered up the courage to speak.
“There was this bone. An arm bone, sticking out of the ground. I tripped on it and got mud and dirt all over me.”
“How big?”
Dougie raised his hands and held them about four inches apart. Nicholls looked around to cast another stern glare at Constable Raven.
“Now are you sure it wasn’t a twig? A strange stick, or maybe something plastic?”
Dougie shook his head, too intimidated by the Inspector’s direct, unyielding approach to speak.
“A lot of animals have bones, you know. Tell me why you think this was a human bone? An arm, you say?”
“I studied the skeleton at school last week. It has a curve like this,” Dougie said, proudly tracing his finger along his forearm, “and another bone next to it like this. That’s what it looked like.”
Nicholls sighed deeply.
“Well, let’s get to it then. The young lad can show us the path and tell us about it on the way.”
The detective stood up and began walking back down the path, followed by Dougie and his Aunt Shona. As he passed Constable Raven, he glowered once again and said:
“I hope this kid’s knowledge of anatomy is better than your knowledge of police procedure, Constable. For all our sakes.”
* * *
The sky was turning a dark shade of orange as the five figures approached the long shadows of the woods. Though the days still bore the pleasant warmth and brightness of summer, the sharp decrease in temperature as the sun set over the hills indicated that the warm season was about to be chased away. There was a little crunch in the rustle of leaves underfoot, and the fervent greens that rolled away in all directions began to wane into shades less vivid as encroaching hues of brown and yellow made themselves apparent.
Though Dougie was meant to lead them, he shuffled along beside his Aunt Shona, clutching her hand, while Inspector Nicholls strode forward, setting a brisk pace. Constables Raven and Colback brought up the rear, chatting a little and scanning the surroundings purposefully when they thought Nicholls was watching.
DI Nicholls turned to Dougie as they passed through another clump of trees and began to navigate the deepening shade of the dense forest. Dougie, still rather intimidated by the Inspector’s intense silence, raised his arm and pointed ahead, a little to one side. Nicholls nodded once and continued onwards determinedly.
“There!” Dougie squealed suddenly. “That’s where I fell! So the bone is…”
Everyone watched the boy’s finger trace a trajectory in the air until it pointed to a spot on the ground. Dougie stepped back and pressed himself up against Aunt Shona’s trouser leg once again.
DI Nicholls almost leaped toward the spot Dougie had indicated, followed closely by the two constables. They gazed at the strange protrusion for a few seconds, musing over its unusual shape.
“Take the woman and the boy to the edge of the forest, Colback. It’s a little way over. You can meet the forensic team there if we need them. Constable Raven?”
“Yes sir?”
“Help me dig it out a little – carefully.”
“Yes sir.”
As Shona walked after Constable Colback, pulling Dougie away and holding his head so that he couldn’t look back, Nicholls and Raven pulled away at the dirt from which the bone emerged. After almost ten minutes of clawing at the ground, growing increasingly impatient, they unearthed what was unmistakably a human elbow.
DI Nicholls pulled out his phone.
“Colback? Call in the forensic team, and bring them over. Tell them we’ve confirmed it.”
* * *
Within the hour, night had fallen swiftly and Upton St. Mary had become shrouded in darkness. Drivers on the lazily curving country lanes had to depend on their headlights to see, and the quaint cottages and houses were apparent only by the warm glow coming from their windows and visitor lamps. Few people were outside, most choosing to enjoy the comfort and warmth of their homes, but for those who were, the sky was clear enough for moonlight to help them along their way.
Tonight, however, there were vibrant additions supplementing Upton St. Mary’s nighttime illuminations. Multiple police cars had parked by the wall of trees at the woods’ edge, their blue lights casting ominous blinking shadows across the forest floor. A little deeper in the woods, powerful lamps, set up by the forensic team, cast a piercing white glare over the scenes of crime officers as they carefully excavated and examined the forest floor. Police officers circled the area, scanning for clues or merely making their way through the unlit portions of the woods, directing their flashlight beams erratically like they were roving spotlights.
There would be gossip in the morning for sure, thought DI Nicholls, as he marched back toward the woods from Shona Alexander’s house. He had really needed that cup of tea, but his lengthy conversation with Dougie and Shona had not revealed much. The boy had been more concerned with the mess he had made of his uniform, while his aunt seemed to live an incredibly isolated life at the big stone cottage, sentimentally named “Honeysuckle House.” Despite living for fifteen years in Upton St. Mary, the closest she had come to giving him a lead was information concerning a land dispute that had been resolved eighteen months ago.
“Damnit!” Nicholls exclaimed into the dark night as he stubbed his boot on a large rock, almost stumbling head over heels. “Bloody rock!”
“You should have a torch,” came a distant voice.
Nicholls looked up and was blinded by a powerful beam.
“Get that 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.
“Sorry,” DI Nicholls growled, 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 respect, not least because she was one of the most brilliant pathologists in Britain and thus the Inspector’s best hope for making some sense of the dead body in the woods.
Harper reached the Inspector and dropped her flashlight 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 here 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 guess 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.
“We’re never going to close a case this cold.”
“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, DI Nicholls detected a slightly regretful expression on 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.”
“That’s good,” Harper said, turning her head toward the road, “because I believe you’re about to gain another ally.”
Nicholls turned his head just in time to see a royal blue Mini Cooper pull up neatly behind a police car.
They watched as the large, unmistakable frame of 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 stretch of land and pointed them out.
“Oh great,” muttered Nicholls as Annabelle waved cheerily and began striding toward them, her smile visible even in the darkness. 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. “The Reverend 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 got close, 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.”
“Whatever’s going on, Inspector?”
“I can’t tell you. It’s police business and classified. 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, more than a little fond if the rumors were to be believed, but she found his silence somewhat rude and unfriendly. Not least because she had only recently helped the Inspector solve a particularly tricky case. Nonetheless, Annabelle, her big, warm heart nearly always bursting with generosity, was determined, happy even, to place the blame for the Inspector’s grumpiness on his long drive from 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 moon.
“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 be plugging away at the ground – the discovery of treasure or a dead body. And you don’t need so many policemen to unearth 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 it started, he would be stumbling upon more red herrings than one would find in a mystery novel.
“Goodbye, Reverend,” DI Nicholls said, decisively.
“Bye, Inspector!”
Both of them took a step in opposite directions before DI Nicholls 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 knew what was happening, it would be Shona Alexander, her bouncy young nephew being the only one who frequented those woods daily.
She walked briskly closer to the welcoming light of Honeysuckle House’s decorated windows. Pots of herbs and aromatic flowers were neatly arranged beneath them. As she opened the wooden gate to Shona’s wildflower garden, she noticed Constable Raven coming in the opposite direction.
“Constable Raven!”
“Oh, hello Reverend. Strange to see you out this late.”
“It’s not that late, Constable. The days are simply getting shorter.”
Jim Raven looked up at the sky.
“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 smil
e. “Are you referring by chance to the chief’s foul mood? I’m afraid that’s got nothing to do with the case. 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, 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 her 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 garden and back toward the crime scene. As he went on his way, he decided that his spilling the beans was no fault of his own. It was Reverend Annabelle. She simply had a very sharp knack for uncovering secrets.
Murder at the Mansion Page 11