02 Murder at the Mansion (4 page)

He jumped into a police car and sped away from the station, forgetting even to put his siren on until he had completed half the journey. To Jim, sirens had proven more useful when giving villagers a funny fright or for children to play with as he gave them a lift home, than for actual police work. He reached the fountain in front of Woodlands Manor and screeched to a stop. The tires of his small police car slid across the gravel, giving the Constable a guilty sense of drama and excitement. He turned off the sirens, and leaving the flashing blue light on, got out of the car and fixed his hat firmly onto head.

Jim entered the open entrance of the estate to find Annabelle sitting on an upholstered bench beside the staircase. Her face was fixed in an expression of intense thought and concentration. The two knew each other very well, having frequently crossed paths amid the daily affairs of the village. Their shared love of laughter had instigated many a rumor to flare up regarding a possible romance although there was a slight incongruity in that the police officer, at only five foot five inches, was towered over by Annabelle who had a full half foot on him. It made them an odd couple when in close proximity – not least when Annabelle wore heels. Eventually, the stark contrast between Annabelle’s diligent and sharp mind and Jim’s perpetual seeking of mischief forced even the most persistent of matchmakers to give up.

As he saw Annabelle sitting there, Constable Raven braced himself for a long story. He knew the Vicar well enough to be aware of how she could regale events in full detail, with elaborate and expressive language, many digressions, and only when she was fully ready. This time, however, Annabelle simply stood silently and led the way up the staircase. Jim followed behind, growing increasingly nervous at the absence of talk.

Annabelle reached the master bedroom with the Constable close behind. She stepped aside to reveal the still figure of Sir John Cartwright. Within seconds, Jim had turned around and put his hand over his mouth, leaping toward the private bathroom. After examining the inside of the toilet bowl more closely than he would ever have liked, splashing water onto his face, and returning to the bedroom, the Constable found Annabelle standing in the doorway, surveying the scene as if looking for something she’d forgotten.

“I’m sorry, Vicar. This is the first time I’ve ever seen a dead body.”

“It’s alright, Jim.”

“It just caught me by surprise, is all.”

“Of course.”

“And I’ve had this stomach bug for days, anyway, you see. I shouldn’t have had that fry-up this morn –”

Annabelle turned to the Constable. “Don’t worry, Jim. I won’t tell anybody else unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Jim smiled. “Thank you, Vicar. Much appreciated.”

He turned slowly to look at the body again, fortifying his stance and tightening his stomach this time. “Is this how you found him?”

“Yes,” replied Annabelle, still deep in thought.

“We should be careful to preserve the crime scene.”

“Absolutely. I do hope that there weren’t any clues in the bathroom, however.”

Constable Jim Raven’s smooth-shaven cheeks went red with embarrassment. “I don’t think so,” he said bashfully.

“Hmm, me neither,” muttered Annabelle.

“I’ll go radio for Inspector Nicholls,” said Jim with an air of finality. “He’ll need to come all the way from the city.” He pulled his radio from his lapel and returned to the passage.

It was Annabelle who found herself blushing now.

Forty minutes later, Inspector Mike Nicholls strode into the bedroom along with two other officers of the Truro police branch. Annabelle forgot what she had been saying to Constable Jim Raven as she noticed the graceful confidence with which the Inspector walked. She noticed how he scanned the room with sharp, piercing eyes, his broad, powerful shoulders shifting nonchalantly beneath his trench coat. She wondered if he had chosen the cut of his suit to bring out the commanding posture of his height or if it was just a happy accident. She gazed at the grizzled stubble that accentuated his strong bone structure and couldn’t help imagining what it might be like to run a hand across his–

“Good to see you, Constable,” the Inspector said, shaking his hand vigorously, “and you, Vicar.”

Annabelle applied all the strength she could find to keep her knees from failing to do their duty.

“Oh, yes,” was all she could muster.

“The pathologist should be here any second now. Mind telling me what happened?”

“Well, the Vicar here called me about a –”

“I heard a man had moved into the village,” interrupted Annabelle, raising her hand to silence Constable Raven and sidling over to place herself at the center of the Inspector’s attention, “a Sir John Cartwright. There was some gossip about him among the village.”

“What kind of gossip?” asked the Inspector.

“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary, Inspector. The typical kind of paranoid fantasy and nonsense. Why, you’d be surprised at how fertile some imaginations can be when seeds are planted.”

“I understand. Please continue, Vicar.”

“Of course. You’re a busy man, Inspector. I appreciate your sense of focus. Well, as the Vicar, I decided to pay the gentleman a visit so that I could welcome him to the community. You know, it’s dreadfully important to get to know the people you work with, Inspector. I make it a habit of mine to spend time with those who I feel may need it.”

The Inspector smiled, then gestured for Annabelle to continue. All memories of the horrendous crime had gone far from her mind in his striking presence.

“About two hours ago, I dropped by, and was greeted at the door by a young girl.”

“Where is she?” said the Inspector, looking around the room.

“She left.”

“Can you describe her?”

“Blonde hair, to the nape of her neck. Blue eyes. Early twenties, I should say. Attractive – I suppose.”

“No name?”

“No. She told me Sir John was busy meditating and would not be available for a further hour. I left and returned almost exactly one hour later. The young girl opened the door once again, and a moment later there was the most chilling scream from within the property.”

“The dead man?”

“I believe so. I ran into the house, conquering my fear in order to discover the reason for the horrendous sound. I am not one who departs during times of danger or crisis, Inspector,” said Annabelle, looking fixedly into the Inspector’s eyes, as if trying to communicate telepathically the subtext of her speech. “Eventually I came up to the bedroom,” she continued. “The door seemed locked at first, and the girl who had been here said she would find the key. She left, but I managed to open the door, only to discover
this,”
Annabelle gestured toward the dead body, “truly horrifying scene.”

The Inspector exchanged a quick glance with Constable Jim Raven, who had been edged ever so slightly further to the side during Annabelle’s recital of events.

“It’s always a shock to see a dead body.”

“That’s very perceptive of you Inspector,” Annabelle said, slowly.

“Especially when it’s a case of murder, as this appears to be.”

“It must take such strength to face this kind of horrible brutality. It takes a man with real fortitude and conviction to do so in the name of justice.”

“I suppose. It’s my job, really, Vicar.”

“So stoic, so noble, so –”

“Ah, Harper!” exclaimed the Inspector as a raven-haired woman entered the bedroom. As he turned to greet the pathologist, Annabelle quickly suppressed the petty irritation she felt at the newcomer, who had seized the Inspector’s attention away from her so easily.

Harper Jones had been one of the most exemplary physicians in the north of England before moving south to the sunnier climes of Cornwall to marry the owner of a local bicycle shop. A strict believer in leading by example, her extensive fitness regime and dedicated diet had afforded her an appearance far younger than her forty-seven years. She still warranted stolen glances from men half her age. Her silky-black hair cascaded around her sharp features, which included a pair of hazel eyes that seemed to probe and investigate everything in their path.

“Inspector,” she said, curtly nodding a perfunctory greeting to the assembled group, barely breaking her stride as she made her way to the victim’s body. “Vicar. Jim.”

Without ceremony, Harper dropped her doctor’s bag beside the corpse and knelt down. The Inspector stepped toward the open window, with Annabelle shuffling closely behind. As the pathologist began probing the body, fumbling in her bag for various instruments to take measurements, the Inspector flipped open his notebook and began scribbling.

“Vicar…”

“Yes?” said Annabelle, rather hastily than was warranted.

“How long ago would you say you heard the scream?”

Annabelle checked her watch. “Almost exactly an hour ago. I found the body, prayed for a minute or two, then I took a short while to look for the girl. Constable Raven arrived about ten minutes later, and a few minutes after that he called you. All in all, I suppose just under twenty minutes went by between our discovery and the call to you. You arrived around forty minutes later, making an hour.”

“I see,” said the Inspector, directing his attention further across the large room. Annabelle watched him with rapt attention as he stood in front of the window, holding his pen to simulate the arrow’s trajectory. She noticed a police officer scanning the grounds at the edge of the woods outside. She looked back at the Inspector and noticed his brow was filled with lines of frustration.

“Is something wrong, Inspector?”

“Hmm, I can’t figure out why he’s lying where he is.”

“Oh?”

“The arrow is embedded deep enough in his chest to indicate a hell of a lot of force. That kind of whack should have sent him farther back than it did. Unless he was leaning out of the window…”

Annabelle looked from the body, to the window, and back to the Inspector’s irritated expression, before coyly saying, “Might I offer an idea?”

The Inspector looked up from his notebook. “Of course, Vicar.”

“I mean, it’s probably nonsense,” Annabelle chuckled, “I’m sure it’s just a silly idea, and I’m just wasting your time. I probably shouldn’t even be bothering you right now.”

“No, no. Go ahead.”

“Well, he was meditating, so he was probably sitting cross-legged just in front of the window. His legs are crossed at the ankle. If he had been standing – and this is just a wild assumption, please ignore me if I’m being terribly ignorant – I would imagine his legs would be splayed out a little more.”

“Hmm,” the Inspector mumbled, tapping his pen against his lips.

Annabelle continued, spurred by the excitement of having the Inspector’s full attention. “The window reaches low to the ground so his head and upper body would have been visible from the ground outside, even while sitting. The arrow is embedded rather high on his torso too, in the part of the body that would have been visible from outside were he sitting at the time. It seems entirely plausible to me. Perhaps… Maybe… Forget I said anything, it’s probably ridiculous.”

After a few moments of pondering, pen-gesticulating, and note-scribbling, the Inspector looked at Annabelle with a warm smile.

“I think you’re most likely correct, Vicar. Some keen observation skills you have there.”

Annabelle felt all the blood rush out of her legs and into her cheeks. There were times she wished she could loosen her collar, and this was certainly one of them. After some struggling due to the dryness of her throat, she managed to utter a high-pitched “yes” and decided against anything more ambitious.

The Inspector went back to his notebook, leaving Annabelle to gaze at his strongly defined jaw. Before her reverie could take over completely, Harper suddenly stood up between them and said: “He died well over an hour ago. Much before you heard that scream.”

The statement, as were so many of Harper’s, was brief, to the point, and threw the entire logic of the situation out of alignment.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” the Inspector said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Annabelle agreed.

Harper shrugged the statement off. “I’ll need everybody out of here. My assistant is on his way and will take the body away. I’ll confirm the time after an autopsy.”

Harper turned around and walked away, giving instructions to the medical assistant who stood by the door. The crowd of police officers that had amassed inside the room shuffled away down the steps and out onto the gravel in front of the large house. There were now several cars parked at all manner of angles around the fountain, including an ambulance. Annabelle, being one of the last to exit, lost sight of the Inspector. She frantically searched for him as multiple police officers got in their cars and drove away.

“Inspector! Inspector!” she called wildly, as she discovered him about to get into his unmarked Ford Focus. She half-ran, half-walked toward him as daintily as she could, but so quickly that she was badly out of breath upon reaching him.

“Yes, Vicar?”

“Is there… anything… I can do… to help?” Annabelle gasped, in as ladylike a manner as she could manage.