BODY IN OFFICE

  A Muddlebay Mystery

  Book 1

  by

  Wendy Cartmell

  © 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.

  By Wendy Cartmell

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  Table of Contents

  By Wendy Cartmell

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Body at the Wedding

  By Wendy Cartmell

  Chapter 1

  As soon as Flynn Moran saw DCI Wright, he knew something was wrong. Flynn had been summoned to the chief’s office, which was an unusual occurrence in itself. Flynn couldn’t image what the boss wanted. As he waited, with some trepidation, he noticed DCI Wright’s normally calm features seemed strained. He was peering at Flynn closely, where normally he’d ignore him as much as possible, and Flynn could hear the man’s foot tapping under his desk. Flynn wondered what was wrong with the boss. Stress? Some trouble at home perhaps?

  ‘Well, Flynn,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I am, thank you,’ Flynn replied politely.

  DCI Wright briefly closed his eyes and then opened them, looking at Flynn as though he were a species he’d not come across before. Flynn found it very disconcerting, this close scrutiny, but managed to keep looking at the chief instead of the floor. He wondered if there was something wrong with his clothing, but he wasn’t wearing anything different to his normal work clothes. His dark trousers were a bit short, showing his white socks, but Flynn didn’t think that was anything to get worked up about. His tweed jacket seemed clean enough, with no marks on it that he could see. He checked each elbow, and the leather patches were there as normal. Flynn shrugged. If it wasn’t his clothes, it must be something else. He’d just had a haircut, so it was short, as regulations prescribed. He didn’t have any tattoos, or deformities.

  But Wright was speaking again, so Flynn listened closely.

  ‘It seems you’ve crossed the line.’

  Puzzled, Flynn looked down. ‘I don’t think so, sir, I can’t see a line, can you?’

  This time when Flynn looked back at his boss, there was a strange red flush all over his face. ‘Are you alright, sir?’ Flynn asked, afraid the man was about to suffer a heart attack or stroke.

  ‘I will be very shortly,’ Wright said. ‘For you’re being transferred.’

  ‘Oh,’ Flynn said, not knowing what to make of that. ‘But I like it here in London, sir.’

  ‘You might, but others don’t. They find your, erm, shall we say, little ways, irritating and your complete disregard for procedure tantamount to mutiny.’

  Flynn thought that last term very odd indeed, as he worked for the Metropolitan Police in London, not the Navy in Portsmouth, but the Chief carried on speaking before Flynn could correct him.

  ‘We’ve decided to send you home, Flynn.’

  ‘Home? Home where? Back to my flat?’

  ‘No, home to Muddlebay. They need a detective there and as you know the area and the people it seems an ideal fit.’

  ‘But I haven’t been back for 10 years, sir, apart from the odd holiday.’

  ‘No matter,’ he said, brushing Flynn’s protests away. ‘Nothing much changes in towns like that. You’ll keep your rank of Detective Sergeant but there isn’t a team there. It’ll just be you. The post calls for someone who works best alone and as I said, you seem the ideal choice. Think yourself lucky you’re not being moved to traffic. I considered that, but you’d cause mayhem if the flow of traffic didn’t work to your sense of order. Then I considered retraining as a dog handler, but of course you’re allergic to dogs. My final thought was to give you the role of Desk Sergeant in reception. But you’re so pedantic you’d never get anything done and the front reception would end up bulging at the seams. So home it is, to work alone, where you can’t do any harm or fall out with your colleagues, as there won’t be any.’

  ‘But no one liked me in Muddlebay!’ protested Flynn.

  ‘No one is supposed to like a policeman, Flynn, so I’d say you’ve got a head start there!’

  ‘But what if I don’t want to go?’

  ‘Listen,’ Wright said, leaning over his desk, causing Flynn to take a step backwards. ‘Do you want to remain a policeman?’

  Flynn thought the question strange but answered truthfully, ‘Of course, I do, sir.’

  ‘Then take the posting. If you don’t... let’s just say you won’t have a future in the police force. It’s Muddlebay or nothing. Okay?’

  Flynn managed to nod his agreement.

  ‘Right, then, go and pack. You start on Monday, here are your orders.’

  Flynn took the envelope the Chief held out, thanked him, and left his office, wondering what on earth was going on. But still, he only had a week to get organised, so he’d better make a start.

  Chapter 2

  Mabel Heggerty, Muddlebay Librarian, and fount of all knowledge was in the children’s section tidying up from the regular Wednesday morning story time. She pushed her white hair off her face and tucked it behind her ears. Her hair made her look older than she actually was, caused by the sudden death of her husband years before his time. A stalwart of Muddlebay, she’d lived there all her life and had never had any desire to move away. Why move to a larger place, where nobody knows you, nor cares about you? Although many had made the move, she had to acknowledge. As for her, she would be forever grateful to her many friends and acquaintances who had supported her in the dark days, weeks, and months after John’s death. So she’d decided to stay in the community and give back to the town the best way she knew how, by ensuring they had a first-class library service on their doorstep.

  The sun had come out after a short, sharp rain shower and Mabel stopped for a moment to savour the rainbow that had appeared in the sky. Then her interest was piqued by the sight of a man walking up the hill from the beach, towards the library. He had on a mustard-coloured tweed jacket and dark trousers with a red tie of all things. Clearly not a very colour co-ordinated individual. But there was something familiar about him, in the slope of his shoulders and his gangly limbs. As he raised his eyes from the pavement, she remembered who he was. Flynn Moran. As I live and breathe, thought Mabel, that was a name she hadn’t heard in years. She had a vague recollection that he’d moved away to join the police force. His mother had continued to live in Muddlebay on her own, until her death, what, a year or so ago? As far as Mabel could recollect, the house was still empty, as though waiting like a desolate dog for an owner who would never return.

  She remembered the first time she’d seen a young Flynn, running past the library as though a pack of wolves were on his heels. Which in a way they were. The local bully boys had obviously turned their attention to yet another victim, and the poor unfortunate was Flynn. The following day, the same thing happened. But on the third day, he’d skidded to a halt and ducked through the library doors. She could still remember him, stood before her with his ruffled hair, tie askew, blazer half off and a leather satchel with a strap sat cross ways over his body. Breathing heavily, he managed to gasp out that he’d like to join the library.

  She smiled at the memory. From then onwards Flynn had come in most days. Sometimes to read quietly, on others to do his homework or research the topics being taught that term. He was a quiet studious boy who wore thick rimmed spectacles, making him look older than his tender years. He was uncoordinated, rubbish at all sports, but a whiz at puzzles. Mabel smiled and wondered what on earth he was doing back in Muddlebay. Wasn’t he in London? She was sure she remembered an acquaintance telling her how proud Mrs Moran was of her son, a detective in the Metropolitan Police no less! That was one in the eye for all those who dismissed the boy as having no social skills and therefore no prospects.

  As she put away the last few books, she glance d up at the wall, realising it was nearly lunch. Time to close the library for the day, being Wednesday half day closing. Perhaps she’d eat a sandwich down by the sea at her favourite spot on the pier, if it wasn’t too windy. And so all further thoughts of Flynn Moran were driven away by hunger.

  Chapter 3

  Flynn had just had a nostalgic stroll by the sea, along the promenade, stretching his legs after the long journey from London. He’d even treated himself to a whippy ice cream, which brought back memories of his boyhood, the good ones, not the bad. He was pleased to find the ice cream still tasted the way he’d remembered it. Very few things did stay the same, he knew.

  Plucking up his courage, he toiled up the hill to his old home. His mother’s cottage, which was by rights, his cottage now. There being no other family members at the time of mother’s death, he got the lot. A few thousand pounds and a cottage he didn’t know what to do with.

  Sell it? And have someone else trample over his memories? Not likely.

  Holiday lets? Maybe, but they needed organising and that meant paying someone to do the cleaning and changeovers. Was it really worth it for the hassle and being taxed to death on the income? Probably not.

  So in the end indecision had worked in his favour and meant he still had a home in Muddlebay. Flynn was grateful for small mercies.

  He fished the keys out of his pocket. There was a key fob attached to the key ring, with the address on, as if he could forget it. He slotted the key into the lock and turned it, filled with trepidation. But instead of a musty, dusty, or even damp smell, his nostrils were assailed with the scent of furniture polish and bleach. Excellent. His solicitor had been as good as his word and arranged for someone to clean the cottage before Flynn arrived. It was bad enough having to face his memories, without being forced to face the fact that he’d neglected the property for so long.

  The front door opened directly into a small living room, with a sofa and one armchair squeezed in, both facing an unlit fire and a television in the corner. He remembered how mum had liked her daytime telly programmes and smiled as he recollected some of the theme tunes. She was also a big soap fan, watching the three most popular programmes religiously every evening.

  Walking through to the kitchen/diner he found everything gleaming. The fridge was turned on and opening it, he found that someone had left a carton of milk, one of orange juice, butter, and half a dozen eggs. There was fresh bread in the bread bin and a liner in the peddle bin.

  Upstairs, the bed had been made in the main bedroom, his mother’s old room. He wasn’t sure about sleeping there, but let’s face it the other bedroom only had a very small single bed in it and as he was now over 6’, his legs would dangle over the end, so really, he had no choice. It wasn’t as though his mother had died in her bed. She’d been in a hospice for the last few weeks of her life. The final room, the bathroom, was sparkling and as Flynn walked back down the stairs, he wondered what all the trepidation had been about. It wasn’t so bad coming home after all. At least he had a sense of belonging in Muddlebay that he hadn’t experienced in the huge and impersonal global city that was London.

  He’d had to give notice on his lovely rented flat though, and he really must arrange movers. But first, he needed to go to his beloved Morris Minor 1000 Traveller, a classic British shooting brake car with a wooden frame and collect his suitcases from it. It was time to unpack.

  Chapter 4

  At 9am sharp on Monday morning, Flynn arrived at the Muddlebay police station, to find there was only two officers there, one of whom was sitting at the front desk. All was quiet. The other policeman was reading the paper with his feet up on his desk. Both were devoid of jackets and their shirt sleeves were rolled up, a far too casual look as far as Flynn was concerned and he clicked his tongue in disapproval.

  Flynn introduced himself and produced his warrant card, saying that he was the new detective. The two men identified themselves as Sgt Fisher and Constable Elgin.

  Looking around him, Flynn asked Fisher, ‘Where are all the others?’

  ‘What others?’

  ‘The rest of the police officers, are they all out on a call? On the beat?’

  Constable Elgin laughed so much that his feet slipped off his desk and he nearly fell out of his chair.

  ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Detective Sergeant Moran, but this is a quiet place. In fact, you’re the first detective we’ve ever had here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because nothing ever happens in Muddlebay,’ and Fisher walked away still shaking his head and chuckling to himself.

  It was left to Flynn to lift the counter and join Fisher and Elgin in the small office behind it. Elgin pointed out Flynn’s desk, placed in a corner as far away from Fisher and Elgin as possible in the small area. Flynn sat and looked around at his surroundings. The building was all dim and dingy, he decided. There was no buzz in the air. No ringing of telephones and clack of computer keys. No burble of conversation, nor any laughter. Just the ticking of a clock on the wall. It was all very depressing. Still he had to make the best of it.

  ‘Are there any open cases I should be looking at?’ Flynn looked over at the two men.

  ‘No,’ said Fisher.

  Flynn opened every drawer in his desk. They were all empty apart from a bit of fluff in one and a red elastic band in another.

  ‘Any old cases I can read through then?’

  ‘Aren’t any, sorry,’ said Fisher.

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Because nothing ever happens in Muddlebay,’ the two men said in unison and sniggered. It seemed to Flynn they then deliberately turned their backs on him.

  For want of anything better to do, Flynn decided to go for a walk around Muddlebay. He made sure that the two uniformed policemen had his mobile number in case of an emergency. What sort of emergency he didn’t make clear. He only hoped Elgin and Fisher would, in time, take him seriously. In the meantime, he’d familiarise himself with his patch.

  Outside, the weak sun was doing its best to peek out from behind the threatening rain clouds and there was a brisk breeze blowing in off the sea. Flynn wished he’d put on his coat but wasn’t going to go back and get it and give Fisher and Elgin something else to laugh at him for. Instead he buttoned up his jacket and stuck his hands in his trouser pockets.

  Walking past the library, he was sure he heard someone call his name. He ignored it. The person called out again. He still ignored it. It was all rather disconcerting, as he quite liked the studied indifference people showed towards each other in London. Then a knock on a glass window brought him out of his reverie. He looked up to see a white-haired woman gesturing for him to go in. She looked vaguely familiar, but Flynn couldn’t place anyone with white hair. Then it dawned on him. She must be the librarian, Mabel Heggerty. Glad to see a friendly face, he backed up the street and went in.

  They went into the back office, where Mabel made them coffee and they quickly caught up on their respective lives over the past 10 years; Flynn being characteristically brief, not understanding why anyone would be interested in him. He learned from Mabel that her husband had died unexpectedly at a young age, hence her white hair, which had turned overnight. Flynn noticed she still wore the same style of clothes she had done for the past 20 years to his knowledge: a twinset, pearls and tweed skirt, accompanied by sensible shoes.

  Mabel also told him that Muddlebay was getting quieter and quieter. Less and less locals were able to afford the extortionate house prices being sought nowadays and that any available properties were being snatched up by out-of-towners for holiday homes.

  ‘Oh dear, I was afraid of that,’ Flynn said, but he couldn’t help wondering what his cottage might be worth now. Turning to other things he said, ‘There are two very under worked policemen at the station and they’ve told me nothing much happens here.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,’ said Mabel. ‘Why don’t you sit over there and read some back copies of the local weekly newspaper, to help you get a handle on what’s happened since you left.’

 

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