BODY AT SCHOOL

  BY

  WENDY CARTMELL

  A MUDDLEBAY MYSTERY

  BOOK 4

  © Wendy Cartmell 2021

  Wendy Cartmell has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  This is a work of fiction. References to real places, real people, events, establishments, organisations, or locations, are intended only to provide a sense of authentication, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  This kindle edition published 2021

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  6

  5

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  BODY IN THE SHOP

  By Wendy Cartmell

  PROLOGUE

  The trees flashed by as Carl Thomas drove to his assignation. He really hoped this one was going to work. To develop into something more. The online dating agency he used had described his potential partner as fun-loving, educated, worked hard, but also played hard.

  His wife was, well, boring, he guessed you’d call it. Cold. Frigid, if he was being brutally honest. He had begun to wonder what he’d seen in her in the first place. Their differences had become a gulf between them. No longer attracted to her, he spent more and more time working at his desk in school, alone. He turned up for most meals, but that was about all. Once dinner was over, he retired to his study, or even bed on particularly bad nights. Nights when he was depressed by it all. His wife. His work. Hell, his life.

  That evening, he’d invented a teachers meeting at the private school where he worked. His wife didn’t seem bothered when he’d said he was going out. She didn’t seem to care either way. That had helped to harden his heart against her. It was as if she were giving him permission to ‘play away’. And Carl was determined to do just that.

  He pulled into the pub car park, gravel crunching under his wheels and parked in a near-by space. Pushing open the door to the pub and walking into a sumptuous, if faded, interior, he looked around, wondering if he could see the woman he was meeting. He gasped. There she was. He realised he’d convinced himself she wouldn’t turn up. She had her back to him, but her white shoulder-length hair was distinctive. Swallowing, he willed his feet to move. It was time to meet his destiny.

  She must have heard him approach, for the woman stood and turned to face him.

  ‘Hello,’ she said in a husky, sexy voice. ‘You must be Carl.’

  Managing to nod his agreement and make his feet move towards her, Carl took the fatal steps that would eventually lead to his death.

  1

  Flynn was at the Muddlebay police station, up in the CID office with Baxter, trying to make sense of the filing he needed to do. All he seemed to have achieved was piles of paper all over the large table in the centre of the room, with no clue as to where they all went. As Flynn flopped into a chair, Baxter, his little dog whose white curls were sprouting all over his body as he needed clipping, leapt onto Flynn’s knee and began licking his master’s face.

  ‘That’s very nice and all,’ Flynn spluttered. ‘But stop now.’

  Baxter continued to lick.

  ‘Stop,’ Flynn shouted.

  Baxter leant backwards, looking at Flynn’s face. Whatever he saw there, it made him stop and jump off Flynn’s knee, heading for the sanctuary of his bed.

  ‘Sorry, Baxter,’ Flynn said, who realised he had overreacted. He ineffectually mopped at his face with a handkerchief. Why, oh why, had he agreed to take in his mother’s dog, he wondered? Flynn could have left him with the foster parents who had been looking after him since her death. But then he remembered all the good times Baxter had given him and he had to admit he appreciated the little dog’s friendship. Why, Baxter had even saved his life once, when Flynn was involved in a serious road traffic accident.

  Flynn was just about to head for the toilets to wash his face, unable to stand the germs a moment longer, when the radio crackled into life. He stood stock still, for a moment unable to decide what to do. Answer the radio? Or wash his face? In the end, duty won out and he answered the call.

  ‘Flynn? Fisher here,’ a disembodied voice said.

  ‘Yes, Fisher, what’s up?’

  ‘Got… a… body,’ said Flynn’s colleague, accompanied by a ton of static.

  ‘What?’ replied Flynn. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, Flynn, I’m sure,’ came the laconic voice. ‘Now are you coming, or what?’

  ‘Coming. Where?’

  Flynn lost Fisher’s reply in a sea of crackles and hisses. ‘Say again.’

  ‘Muddlebay Manor,’ Fisher repeated. ‘I’ve secured the scene.’

  ‘On my way,’ confirmed Flynn.

  Grabbing the phone, he called Mabel, Muddlebay Librarian and his crime busting partner. ‘We’ve a body. I’m coming to get you.’

  Not waiting for a reply and confident that Mabel would want to go with him, Flynn put down the receiver, then grabbed Baxter, his notebook and a pack of anti-bacterial wipes for his face. As he shrugged into his tweed jacket with the elbow patches, his eyes fell on the piles of papers on the table, and he ignored them. A new body was much more important than filing. Mind you, another body? Flynn mused. What was going on? After all, nothing ever happened in Muddlebay. Except murder, it seemed.

  2

  Mabel was waiting for Flynn at the open door of her cottage. She was dressed for the misty weather in a raincoat, headscarf over her iron-grey hair and sensible laced brogues on her feet. Once she was settled in the passenger seat of Flynn’s classic Morris Traveller, she began firing questions at him.

  ‘Who’s dead?’

  ‘No idea,’ Flynn had to confess.

  ‘Suspicious death?’

  ‘No idea,’ said Flynn.

  ‘Natural causes then?’

  ‘Mabel, I don’t know, okay? We’ll find out when we get there.’

  ‘Muddlebay Manor, you said?’

  Flynn agreed that he had.

  ‘You know what that is and where it is, I presume?’

  ‘No, no idea, as I’m sure you’re aware.’

  ‘You don’t remember it from your school days here?’

  ‘Mabel,’ said Flynn. ‘I try to remember as little from my school days as I can. It wasn’t a very good experience for me at all. So, stop with the twenty questions and firstly give me directions on how to get there. And then secondly tell me all about the Manor.’

  Mabel told him to carry on to the A350, then the A351, looping round the town and the school would be found at the furthest point from Muddlebay.

  ‘You do recall that Muddlebay Manor is a school, don’t you?’ she asked.

  ‘Sort of. It’s where the posh lot went wasn’t it?’

  She smiled at Flynn’s simplistic recollection. ‘Yes, it’s a private school, very expensive from what I hear. Let’s put it this way, there is a lot of kudos for parents around here who can afford the fees.’

  ‘Boarders as well as day pupils?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Mabel. ‘It’s housed in a large Victorian mansion but built more in the gothic style than the austerity usually associated with Victorian architecture.’

  ‘Ah, all pointy turrets and windswept grounds.’ Flynn suddenly braked as the traffic lights changed. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled as Mabel was flung against the seat belt. ‘Go on,’ he urged, pretending nothing had happened.

  ‘It’s set in about 50 acres of landscaped grounds, which includes their own lake and plenty of space for outdoor pursuits.’

  ‘How many pupils would you say?’

  ‘I’m not sure. The information we hold in the library is vague on that, but I’d guess several hundred pupils about half of whom are boarders.’

  ‘And staff?’

  Flynn glanced over and saw Mabel shake her head. ‘I really don’t know, Flynn. Wait, slow down we’re nearly there.’

  Flynn wasn’t driving particularly fast, his classic Morris Traveller not being one of the quickest vehicles on the road, but he slowed as Mabel had asked, just as a large board came into view. On it was the picture of a crest with Muddlebay Manor written above it, in a flowery script, gold in colour.

  ‘Posh sign,’ he said.

  Mabel nodded. ‘Turn in here.’

  ‘Very well,’ and Flynn turned right into the entrance. He pulled the car to a stop and whistled.

  ‘Bloody hell, Mabel,’ he said at the sight before him.

  A large drive wound its way down to a magnificent building on the horizon. The drive must have been half a mile long and the grounds on either side were rolling green hillocks interspersed with clumps of tall trees. It reminded Flynn of the drive in Winds or Great Park, down to Windsor Castle. The grounds and buildings in the distance oozed money. But more than that. There was a magnificence born of pride, power and entitlement. Flynn wondered what the family who had originally built the house had been like and where the family fortune had come from. But, still, he wasn’t there for a history lesson, so he carried on down the drive to meet Fisher and the body.

  3

  Flynn and Mabel parked outside the main entrance to the school, next to the police car belonging to Fisher.

  Climbing out, they were assailed by a cold wind, accompanying the damp and drizzly weather, which made Flynn shiver and pull his coat ineffectually around him. His tweed jacket was no match for the elements and the wind’s insistent fingers plucked at his hair and clothing. Flynn could feel rain in the air and was glad to hurry into the school building through the huge wooden door.

  The sight that befell him stopped him dead. The soaring entrance hall consisted of large windows set on either side of the door, in front of which stood a large, ornate, and swooping staircase. They were stood on parquet flooring which Flynn guessed was original. They were met by a woman dressed in an austere business suit wearing no jewellery that Flynn could see and accompanied by a severe expression. Her eyes glinted coldly, and Flynn was immediately transported back to his own school days, when he would have faced the headmistress with some trepidation.

  ‘Mr Moran?’ she called.

  ‘DS Moran, actually,’ replied Flynn.

  ‘And?’

  ‘My colleague, Mrs Heggarty.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware you were bringing someone with you,’ she dipped her chin and looked at Flynn over the top of her glasses.

  But Flynn wasn’t about to be intimidated. He was no longer 10 years old. ‘I wasn’t aware I needed to inform anyone. And you are?’

  ‘Sally Stafford, Headmistress.’

  Neither made a move to shake hands.

  ‘Please could you direct me to my fellow officers,’ said Flynn.

  The only reply from the Headmistress was a thinning of her lips and she turned on her heel, starting up the stairs. ‘Follow me,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Your colleague is in Mr Thomas’ office.’

  As they climbed the stairs, Flynn was conscious of Mabel struggling along beside him. Although not one to encourage touching, he grabbed Mabel’s hand and tucked it into his elbow, helping her to keep pace by linking arms. She threw him a grateful look and leaned on his arm as they climbed.

  The teachers’ office spaces were situated in the rarefied air of the attics, where previously the servants’ quarters would have been located, Flynn surmised and as he realised the irony of it, a wry smile played over his lips.

  As the Headmistress left them at the door of Carl Thomas’ office and after demanding that Flynn was to see her immediately after he’d viewed the body, Mabel hissed, ‘A queen bee if ever I saw one.’

  ‘Sorry?’ said Flynn. ‘Mabel what on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘Queen Bee, hive, workers…’

  ‘No, you’ve lost me. She’s simply a headmistress. The person in charge. Really, Mabel, you do have some strange sayings. Now come along, let’s go and see Fisher and the body.’

  4

  The sight that greeted them as they pushed their way into Carl Thomas’ small study, was shocking. Flynn told Mabel to avert her eyes, then shooed her and Fisher out. As the two of them waited outside, Flynn examined the body, using his eyes only, of course.

  The man slumped over his desk appeared to be in his 40’s. He wore a jacket, not dissimilar to Flynn’s tweed one. Both arms were extended on the desk and his head turned to one side. His eyes were bulging, and his swollen tongue lolled out of his mouth. His hands were clawed and there were scratches on his neck. There was a fearful expression on his face and Flynn could well imagine the horror the man must have felt as he realised there was nothing he could do to prevent his death. He was choking and there was no one to help him. There was a glass overturned by one of his hands with dregs of a drink caught in it. Flynn sniffed around the body and discerned a faint smell of alcohol.

  His hands off, silent examination, was cut short by a noise from the window. Walking to it and looking out, he could see directly down onto the car park. The old wooden framed windows did little to keep out the cold and the noise, and so he saw and heard Jerome’s forensic van pulling up outside. And there was the pathologist, Floyd Redman, just getting ready by the open doors of his car.

  Flynn knew he had very little time, so returned to his inspection of the body. Walking around the back of the desk, he saw an overturned wastepaper bin. What looked like exercise books were fanned out over the threadbare carpet.

  He was interrupted by Floyd saying, ‘Well, what have we got this time then, Flynn? I must say for a place where nothing ever happens, Muddlebay is keeping me busy.’

  ‘And me!’ piped up Jerome.

  ‘Don’t I know it,’ agreed Flynn.

  ‘You must have brought all that bad luck with you from the Met,’ grumbled Jerome.

  ‘A regular albatross,’ injected Floyd.

  Flynn frowned. ‘Don’t be silly, Jerome. Do I seriously look like an Albatross to you? Anyway, enough of this nonsense, we’ve work to do. Floyd, here we have one dead teacher. My initial impression is that he was poisoned.’

  ‘Why?’ said Jerome.

  ‘Well, I don’t know yet.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  Jerome looked confused, so Flynn explained. ‘I don’t know why he died yet, that’s what I’ve got to investigate.’

  ‘No, I meant why did you conclude poison.’

  Now Jerome seemed exasperated, so Flynn quickly said, ‘Bulging eyes and tongue, slumped over his desk, overturned glass on the desk and books on the floor. You can also see red marks on his neck where he appears to have clawed at his throat. Ergo, some kind of poison. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to see his wife.’

  Flynn wasn’t sure what the matter was with everyone, from Mabel and her bees to Floyd talking about Albatross, followed by Jerome asking stupid questions. Thank goodness he was firing on all cylinders, even if the others weren’t.

  6

  Flynn needed to see the Headmistress again. She wasn’t happy about the suggestion, but she couldn’t do much about it.

  ‘I really don’t want a fuss made about all this,’ she said as Flynn followed her into her office.

  ‘Oh!’ was the only thing Flynn could think to utter.

  ‘Well, I ask you, what will this do to the school’s reputation?’ She shuddered. ‘Have you decided yet?’

  ‘Decided what?’ Flynn sat himself in the chair in front of her rather large and grand mahogany desk.

  ‘If it was suicide, or,’ ‘she lowered her voice, ‘murder.’

  ‘No, Mrs Stafford, we haven’t. ‘

  ‘Ms.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Ms Stafford, not Mrs.’

  Flynn could do no more than apologise. Then continued, ‘The body has only just left the school, there is to be an autopsy and an investigation.’

  ‘Well then, what do you want from me?’ she settled herself in her chair, which seemed to indicate to Flynn that he could ask his questions.

  ‘Could you please furnish us with a diary of Mr Thomas’s classes, duties, meetings etc. And a planner with all the information about the school and any activities taking place.’

  The Headmistress started making notes.

  ‘I also need background information about the school, details of all the employees and their responsibilities including addresses and phone numbers.’

  ‘Why on earth do you want all that?’

  Flynn tried his best to be diplomatic, but it wasn’t his default setting. ‘Because someone might have seen something, not knowing that they have, which could turn out to be important and relevant to the investigation.’

  ‘Well, really, isn’t this rather irregular? A lot of that information is sensitive.’

  Flynn ignored her. ‘And then I need details of the boys.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

 

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