BODY ON SHOW

  A Muddlebay Mystery

  Book 3

  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

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  BODY AT SCHOOL

  By Wendy Cartmell

  Chapter 1

  The scene was set. A warm, sunny day. Calm seas. Beautiful classic cars laid out in rows, with the sun glinting off the highly polished chrome. A heady mixture to any classic car buff. But there was something wrong. A fly in the ointment. A car in the wrong place and no owner in sight, ruining Colonel Sugar’s sense of order and precision. And as the Chairman of Wheels, the Muddlebay car club, he had responsibilities and standards to keep up.

  ‘Who’s entered that car?’ he grumbled to Josephine James, the car club secretary.

  She scanned her lists, resting her clipboard on her amble bosom.

  ‘Ah here it is, a Volvo P1800s. Did you know,’ she continued, ‘when it was introduced in 1961, it caused a sensation in the sports car world, slotting between cars like the Volkswagen Karmann-Ghia and Jaguar E-Type and becoming the attainable sports car of choice for the sporting set. Today, the P1800s is almost universally hailed as the most beautiful car to ever come from Gothenburg.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ harrumphed the Colonel, owner of an E Type Jaguar himself. ‘That is a matter of opinion.’ Although he had to grudgingly admit that the white car in front of him did look rather beautiful and very stylish indeed. ‘Don’t you have any idea where they are?’ he demanded of Josephine his annoyance evident to anyone in hearing, as his voice rose with his frustration.

  ‘No, sorry. The car was entered on time. It was already here when I arrived. We’ve tried calling the number we were given to no avail. I’m at a loss as to what to do next!’

  ‘The young are so disrespectful these days. If they enter their car, the least they could do is show up on time. We need to know what class they’re entering their car in,’ grumbled Colonel Sugar.

  ‘There’s still another half an hour to go before judging. Perhaps they’ve just been delayed somewhere.’

  ‘Perhaps, but it’s up to you to find them, Josephine, do you hear? Your responsibility. So I suggest you keep trying.’

  With that the Colonel strode away, twirling his walking stick like a marching baton, leaving Josephine staring after him, her mouth agape at the audacity of the man.

  Chapter 2

  ‘Come on, Flynn,’ said Mabel. ‘Don’t drag your feet.’

  ‘Stop grumbling,’ said Flynn. ‘Baxter had to stop and do his business.’

  ‘Well hurry him up. We don’t want to miss anything. I’ve been looking forward to the Wheel’s classic car show for ages.’

  ‘Very well,’ Flynn said and followed her down the hill towards the sea.

  Ever since his Morris Traveller was totalled in an accident when he was hit by a young thug acting under orders from the landlord of the Royal Oak, James Sloane, Flynn had been without a car and forced to use the small police car, which looked as though it was from Toy Town and was far too small for Flynn’s gangly frame.

  ‘I do hope this isn’t a waste of time, Mabel,’ he grumbled as he caught up with her.

  ‘Oh stop being so negative, for goodness sake,’ she retorted. ‘Look, the sun is shining, we can take a leisurely stroll down to the promenade and have a good look at the cars on show. Quite often people are selling them too. Who knows what you might find?’

  ‘Well I would love to have a leisurely stroll,’ Flynn said. ‘If only you’d slow down!’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Mabel slowing her pace. ‘Is that better for you?’

  Flynn scowled in reply but had to admit that at least Baxter wasn’t having to run anymore.

  As they approached the green, his spirits lifted as he spied the beautiful cars on display. A warm breeze was blowing, helping to cool down the sun that was climbing higher in an azure sky. He didn’t think he’d ever seen so much chrome on display.

  But, as ever, the sight was ruined for him. ‘Not another immaculate Morris Traveller,’ grumbled Flynn feeling disproportionately jealous of the owner.

  Flynn had been trying, without success, to replace his own beloved machine. The trouble was he wanted his old one back, which wasn’t an option. The side had been stoved in, but worse than that, the chassis was compromised, so it was destined to be a write off.

  He sighed dramatically.

  ‘Oh, Flynn, do grow up,’ said Mabel. ‘Let’s go and see those beautiful Jaguars. Have you ever thought of buying one of those?’ she said as she walked.

  ‘No, Mabel, I have not. There’s nothing to beat the shape of the Traveller, and the wood sets it off perfectly. It’s rather like having an old cottage with beams, don’t you think?’

  ‘No, Flynn, I don’t think that,’ said Mabel. ‘Now let’s get on.’

  The green was packed with organisers, owners, and the general public enjoying a few hours in the mild sunshine, greedily purchasing ice creams, burgers and hot dogs, dropping litter in their wake and generally making Muddlebay a mess. Flynn was rather partial to whippy ice cream, but the queues were too long so he decided to wait.

  The green was set back from the promenade and Mabel, Flynn and Baxter walked along with the sea on one side of them and the cars the other. Flynn had just stopped to admire a rather dashing Morris Traveller in burgundy when a shrill scream cut through the general hubbub.

  ‘They’re dead!’ could be clearly heard before the screaming started again.

  ‘Come on, Mabel,’ urged Flynn as he ran ahead of her, focused on the screaming to help him find his way.

  Chapter 3

  Flynn pushed his way through a gathering crowd of onlookers. Heads strained to see what all the fuss was about. Ghouls, all of them, Flynn decided, as he unceremoniously shoved people out of his way, calling, ‘Police! Coming through!’

  At last he arrived to find a woman about the same age as Mabel, shaking by the boot of a rather splendid white Volvo P1800s. She was a stocky, large-bosomed woman in a white coat, denoting her as an organiser. Waiving his ID that said DS Flynn Moran from Muddlebay Police, he said, ‘Are you alright madam?’

  The woman held out an arm, a finger pointing to the boot of the car. ‘I was inspecting the car, when, when, I found them, that, this, oh God,’ and the woman staggered backwards, lost her footing, and sat down on her bottom with a bump.

  ‘Someone get the St John’s ambulance, for this lady here,’ he said and turned his back on the crowd. He pulled out his phone, rang the police station, and was relieved to find it was answered with alacrity.

  ‘Muddlebay police?’

  ‘Elgin, thank goodness,’ gasped Flynn. ‘We’ve got a body.’

  ‘A body?’

  ‘Well two actually.’

  ‘But, Flynn, nothing much happens in Muddlebay.’

  ‘Well it does today,’ retorted Flynn. ‘And I need backup.’

  ‘But there’s only me!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s Fisher’s day off.’

  ‘Not anymore it isn’t. Ring him. I need you both to meet me here.’

  ‘Where’s here?’

  ‘What? Oh, yes, at the car show on the green by the promenade.’

  ‘Ah, t he Esplanade.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I suppose’.

  ‘What do you need?’

  ‘Ambulance, forensics, pathologist and bodies to make the crime scene secure.’

  ‘Bodies? More bodies? Is anyone else dead?’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake,’ said Flynn and closed the call.

  ‘Mabel? Get these people out of the way,’ he shouted as he grabbed the plastic line that had been used to make a corridor around the cars. He broke it off, then looped it around the car, moving stakes as he went, with Mabel herding the onlookers away, like a sheepdog working its sheep.

  ‘Oy, what do you think you’re doing? I’m the organiser of this event. Stop this!’ shouted a portly man, as he huffed and puffed his way to Flynn. ‘Leave that alone! How dare you? Who the hell are you anyway?’

  Flynn held up his ID. ‘Sgt Flynn Moran. Detective Sergeant. Now if you don’t mind, sir, please move or you’ll get wrapped in tape.’

  ‘Well, really!’

  But by then Flynn had made a neat rectangle around the car.

  ‘Please don’t come any nearer, sir,’ he said. ‘This is an active crime scene.’

  At a gasp from the crowd, the man said, ‘What? What are you on about man?’

  ‘There are two dead bodies in the boot of this car.’

  ‘Ah,’ Flynn spied Fisher and Elgin hurrying towards them. ‘You can give your details to the two policemen here. Then I’ll decide if I should be treating you as a witness, or a suspect.’

  Chapter 4

  ‘Well, you’ve a right one here,’ said Floyd Redman their friendly local pathologist. ‘Or rather two.’

  By now dusk had fallen and the crowds had been persuaded to disperse. Lights had been set up around the boot of the car and Jerome from the Forensics Service was clicking away with his camera, after having collected samples from the bodies and the boot.

  ‘There’s no obvious cause of death,’ said Floyd.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. Look for yourself, there’s no blood, no foaming at the mouth, no restraints, no obvious injuries.’

  ‘What the hell is going on here?’ Flynn was stumped.

  ‘That’s your department, I’m afraid, Flynn. I tell you how, you tell me why. I’m ready to remove the bodies from the boot and have them transported to the Mortuary.’

  He called over a couple of men from the hospital who got on with the job of laying out a stretcher, opening body bags and carefully removing the couple, handling them as though they were new-born babies. Flynn was pleased to see such compassion on display and such care not to disturb any evidence that may have been left behind in the boot. Once the bodies had gone, Jerome continued his painstaking investigation of the boot, inch by inch.

  Flynn turned towards Floyd. ‘Autopsies?’

  ‘Tomorrow, but not till the afternoon. I’ve an unexplained death in the hospital I’ve got to do first. I must say, Flynn, for a place where nothing much happens, I’m being kept very busy.’ He raised his hand in farewell as he returned to his own vehicle.

  ‘Well, Flynn?’ Asked Mabel.

  ‘I’m fine, Mabel, thank you. What a strange thing to ask. I’m busy doing my job that’s all.’

  ‘That wasn’t quite… oh never mind. What’s next?’

  ‘For me? The office. For you? Home.’

  ‘Alright. Here’s Baxter. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Flynn grabbed the lead and already distracted, turned away from Mabel and watched Jerome at work.

  Chapter 5

  Baxter’s whine brought Flynn back around and he decided it was time he moved. With the oncoming darkness had come the chill of the night and Flynn shivered as he pulled his tweed jacket around him and walked off with Baxter.

  Once at the office he stopped in the kitchen to grab Baxter’s bowl and a tin of dog food. Up the stairs, in the CID Office as it had become known, he fed Baxter and left him happily eating under the window. Flynn fired up his computer. He needed to see who owned the car.

  Once he’d finished his food, Baxter turned around and around on his bed in the corner and once satisfied flopped down with a huff of breath and promptly fell asleep.

  But it wasn’t time for Flynn to sleep. The PNR had done its thing and spat out the registered owner of the car.

  One Rufus Black, and an address in Muddlebay.

  Whistling to Baxter, Flynn left the station. He couldn’t ring, he would have to attend in person. After all if Rufus Black was the deceased, it wasn’t the sort of information he could give over the phone to a family member.

  Once in the police car, Flynn keyed the address into the GPS. Or at least attempted to. After two false starts, he eventually found himself in the right street and parked outside a block of flats, which displayed a sign saying, ‘Overdown Retirement Village’. That confused Flynn for the bodies in the car were probably in their 20’s rather than their 60’s. It seemed to Flynn that there was a disconnect. He’d have to tread carefully.

  Pressing the buzzer for Flat 60, he was let in without any preamble, causing Flynn to worry about security. Perhaps he’d have to arrange for a talk to the residents, reminding them not to buzz any unknown person in, nor open the door to people they didn’t know.

  Following the signs, he felt like a rat in a maze as he went uphill and down dale before finally arriving at Flat 60, which was on the first floor in one of the two wings of the building.

  The door was opened by a woman of indeterminate age, clad in a velour track suit with sequins on it of all things, spelling out the word ‘Juicy’. Flynn shook his head. He had no idea what that was all about.

  ‘Oh!’ said the woman. ‘I was expecting Rufus. Who are you?’

  Flynn produced his warrant card. ‘DS Flynn Moran, Muddlebay police. Who are you?’

  ‘Jean Black. Has something happened to him? I keep telling him not to ride that fangled bike of his! I thought he’d forgotten his keys again, that’s why I opened the door.’

  ‘Bike?’ Flynn was very confused now.

  ‘Yes, his motorbike.’

  ‘Can I come in please, Jean? We’re attracting an audience.’ Flynn had noticed that a few doors had creaked open, and he could see several pairs of eyes on them.

  ‘What? Oh, yes, sorry,’ and Jean opened the door to allow Flynn in.

  ‘So, you are Jean Black?’

  ‘Of course. Rufus is my husband,’ and she flapped a hand at him that was covered in several gold rings.

  ‘Can you tell me, does Rufus have a classic car? A white Volvo P1800s?’

  ‘Oh, that. Well he did. He sold it to buy that bloody motorbike.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘When, what?’

  ‘When did he sell it?’

  ‘Um, last month, maybe? He’d been trying for ages, but finally someone wanted it.’

  Who?

  ‘I don’t know,’ she retorted.

  ‘Don’t know what?’ a deep male voice said.

  ‘Oh, there you are, Rufus.’

  Flynn turned to find an elderly gentleman with a rather large, ostentatious moustache and a shock of white hair.

  ‘This nice policeman here wants to know who you sold the car to.’

  ‘Why?’ he said pulling leather gloves off.

  ‘The car is the subject of a police enquiry, so if you don’t mind, sir, could I have the details of the purchaser?’ said Flynn.

  ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jean Black said. ‘Stop being so awkward, Rufus. He doesn’t really mean it, officer,’ she said to Flynn. ‘Being awkward is second nature to him.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ Rufus said putting down the bag which displayed the logo and name ‘The Muddle Fryer. ‘If I don’t my fish and chips will go cold. Here.’

  Rufus rummaged in the drawer of a bureau and drew out a slip of paper.

  Flynn read it and was pleased that it recorded the buyer’s details, address and phone number and the price paid for the car.

  Flynn whistled. ‘You got a good price.’

  ‘Know a bit about Volvos, then do you? Now, can I?’ and Black indicated his precious supper.

 

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