The Hill - Carla’s Story (Book Two): A Paranormal Murder Mystery Thriller. (Book Two)

by Andrew M Stafford

  Matthews was confused. He couldn’t understand how Garraway had suddenly come across this new information. If it was valid, then Garraway was right, this was a massive step in the right direction and could breathe life back into the dormant case.

  “OK Markland, you have my full attention. I need to know who gave you this information and why they didn’t come straight to me……..after all, you’ve not been an active detective for quite some time.”

  “I’ll tell you who gave me the description, and you’re going to love this bit, you really are.”

  Matthews waited for Garraway to continue and as he did he saw a look upon his face which reminded him of Jack Nicholson in ‘The Shining’. He looked insane.

  “Ben Walker gave it to me.”

  “Ben Walker gave what to you?”

  “The description, he gave me a really good description of the person who killed him?”

  “Sorry Markland, what the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Ben Walker told me……..”

  “Just hold on a minute, how did Ben Walker tell you?”

  “Wellllllll, he told me last night. He talks to me through a two year old boy under hypnosis. He’s been kind of reincarnated you see.”

  Matthews suddenly stood up and knocked over what was left of his coffee.

  “You’re mad, you’ve really, really lost it, you’re just wasting my time.”

  “Wait, don’t you want to find out how I got the information on the girl?”

  Matthews decided to let him continue, if for no other reason, just to humour the poor man. He’d known Garraway had suffered mental health issues as a result of the Ben Walker case, but had been told that he’d made a good recovery. From Matthews’ standpoint Garraway was still suffering delusions.

  “OK Markland, tell me about the girl.”

  Matthews sat back down, leant back, crossed his arms and let Garraway continue.

  “Well, it was the first anniversary of the murder and I was in bed……..and what happened on the night of the murder came to me in a dream, it was so realistic. And there was a young girl ……I know she wasn’t meant to be there, she was in the wrong place at the wrong time and if it wasn’t for her, then Liz Mason would have ended up dead too. She’s the one who stopped the attack.”

  Matthews looked at Garraway with a blank expression.

  “So, as soon as I awoke from the dream I wrote everything I remembered in the back of this book,” added Garraway waving the book in Matthews’ face.

  “And I suppose you sketched the girl while she was still fresh in your mind?” said Matthews with an air of sarcasm.

  “Don’t be stupid Colin,……… I can’t draw for toffee……No, what happened there was really strange. I came down the other morning, the book was open on the table and the picture of the girl was there. I didn’t draw it.”

  “Well, who do you suppose did?” asked Matthews.

  Garraway shrugged his shoulders and pulled a ‘how am I supposed to know’ face.

  “It just appeared.”

  Matthews rubbed his face and sighed.

  “Markland, with all due respect, you’re a fucking idiot. You’ve lost it, you’ve really lost it.”

  “But this stuff’s gold dust, its evidence you can’t ignore,” said Garraway pointing towards the novel.

  “And the description I gave you of the killer, it came from the person who he killed…….how often to you get that kind of information.”

  “I’ve had enough, said Matthews, standing up to leave.

  “Aren’t you going to use any of this?” asked Garraway.

  Matthews stood by the door, looked at him with pity and shook his head.

  “Well if you’re not going to use it, then I’m not letting this kind of evidence go to waste.”

  “What do you mean, let it go to waste?”

  “If you’re not going to do anything with it, then I am.”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, perhaps take it to the papers, or get it shown on TV. It’ll get a lot of attention and surely it would jog someone’s memory.”

  “How could you get something like this on the television? It’s a drawing in a book, a couple of paragraphs about a dream and a description of someone, that in your confused state of mind, came from a dead man…..Just tell me how that will end up in the news?”

  “Because it will. I’m a respected detective and I know the right people.”

  Matthews was about to explode. Garraway watched as his face turned red with rage.

  “Listen, you do whatever you want, but just don’t involve me……and don’t forget, you signed a confidentiality agreement when you became a detective, so don’t come crying to me when you’re being prosecuted and you’re out of a job.”

  “So are you giving me permission to take this to the press?”

  “As I said, you do whatever you want, just keep me out of it………for your sake I hope they find you insane, because if they do, it’ll explain why you’ve wasted everybody’s time…….Just do whatever you bloody well please.”

  And with that, Matthews left meeting room three, slamming the door behind him.

  “Perfect. Hook, line and sinker,” said Garraway under his breath as he turned off the voice recorder app on his smart phone.

  Chapter one hundred and twenty two

  Markland Garraway’s home

  7.49pm

  Monday 4th June

  Garraway finally put his phone down after a marathon session of two hours of calls.

  First of all he’d called Maria Jameson, followed by Terry Mason, Tom Judd and lastly Esther Hall. All of them agreed, at least in principle, to his idea. Maria wasn’t happy with the general public knowing about her son, but Garraway had assured her that his identity would not be revealed.

  Tomorrow he intended to meet with Ben Walker’s parents with the harrowing task of telling them about Christopher Jameson and what happened when he had been hypnotised. He needed to ask their permission to use his totally unorthodox plan to catch their son’s killer. He hadn’t spoken with them since he was removed from the murder case.

  Chapter one hundred and twenty three

  The Turnpike

  Bristol

  9.22pm

  Monday 4th June

  Colin Matthews sat alone in the beer garden of The Turnpike. He’d finished a meal with a couple of work colleagues. He’d considered asking their opinion on what had happened between him and Garraway that morning but decided against it.

  Now they’d gone he sat quietly with time to think about his meeting with Garraway earlier that day. The man was clearly insane and how on earth he was allowed to go within fifty feet of the Kenneth Steele building, let alone work there, was beyond Matthews.

  On one hand he felt sorry for the man. After all, he’d been through an awful lot over the last couple of years and was clearly nowhere near recovered, but on the other hand Matthews was angry with him. The idea of him touting his ridiculous story to the press irked him. He considered speaking with Detective Superintendent Munroe, but knew that as soon as Munroe knew of Garraway’s ludicrous intention he’d make sure that Garraway would be out of a job, and to Matthews that just didn’t seem fair. As crazy as Garraway had become, his current job within the force was surely helping him by adding structure to his life.

  Matthews decided not to tell anyone about the meeting as he was certain that no one in the media would waste their time on such a story. He doubted if the story would even make the pages of the Fortean Times.

  He finished his drink and walked home, pulling his jacket tightly around him to keep him warm on the particularly chilly June evening.

  Chapter one hundred and twenty four

  Sophie and James Walker’s home

  7.48pm

  Thursday 7th June

  Garraway sat in Ben’s parent’s back garden. It had been a warm day, warmer than the day before. The sun was getting lower, casting l
ong shadows across the garden.

  Sophie appeared from the back door of the house carrying a tray with three lemonades which were precariously balanced. Garraway looked round when he heard the chinking of ice cubes bobbing around in the tall glasses. James stood up and took the tray from his wife and placed it on the patio table. Sophie adjusted the patio umbrella to prevent the sun from getting in Garraway’s eyes.

  “I understand that you have some information which could help find our son’s murderer?” said James Walker in a quiet voice.

  Garraway nodded as he took a sip of cold lemonade.

  “I understood that you were no longer on the case,” continued James.

  “That’s correct, I was removed from your son’s case because I suffered a nervous breakdown,” confirmed Garraway.

  “So why have you come here today, if you’re no longer involved?” asked Sophie in a puzzled voice.

  “It’s a long story, well perhaps not long, let me rephrase that, it’s an unusual story, a very, very unusual story. You will probably find what I am about to tell you upsetting, and I know that you will be angry with me, and I appreciate how you will feel, but however upset you get, please hear me out, please let me tell you the whole thing from beginning to end.”

  Garraway had brought his laptop and had the video of Christopher Jameson loaded and ready to show them if needs be.

  It took him over an hour and a half to explain what had happened when Christopher had been hypnotised for the first time and the subsequent sessions which had led to the interview between him and Ben.

  He told them about the strange properties of the hill in Badock’s Wood and how it had connected Polly Ellis to her beloved Sarah. He told them about the many people who were certain that the hill had supernatural qualities which could not be explained.

  By a nine thirty five the sun was dipping behind the neighbouring houses and the evening was becoming chilly.

  “Well Mr. Garraway, you certainly have a tale to tell, and as you requested, my wife and I have let you speak to the end of your story, but to be perfectly frank with you, I wish you hadn’t come to our house tonight,” said James.

  “I don’t know whether you’ve lost children, but Sophie and I have lost two. Our first son, Michael, died of cancer when he was a little boy and now that we’ve lost Ben we have no children,” he added as tears began to flow.

  “James and I have only recently come to terms with the loss of Ben and we don’t appreciate you bringing back the terrible memories of what happened to our son that night in the woods,” said Sophie, with more than a hint of anger in her voice.

  This is exactly the response that Garraway had expected. He thought about the video clips which were ready to be played on his lap top. He hadn’t told them that Tom Judd had recorded the hypnosis sessions and was considering whether he should show them now or wait until another day. There was a high probability that he would not be allowed back to their house and therefore miss the chance of speaking with them again about their son.

  Garraway cleared his throat as he removed his laptop from its case.

  “What if I was to tell you I can prove everything I’ve told you and you can see and hear it for yourself?”

  Sophie and James viewed him with suspicion.

  “Tom Judd recorded all the hypnosis sessions on video…….please would you take the time to view them and after you have seen them I would be grateful if you then make your minds up as to whether what I have told you is true.”

  “Is this a joke?” demanded James.

  “Absolutely not, far from it. Everything I have told you has happened………… I can’t even begin to comprehend how difficult this is for you, but I believe there is enough in these videos to make a conviction. The way I intend to use them is let’s say, well, it’s not down the normal police route of enquiry, but I am positive good will come of it.”

  James and Sophie held hands tightly as Garraway lifted the lid of his lap top and showed the videos in chronological order.

  As soon as Christopher began talking and Ben’s childlike tone crackled over the speakers of the laptop both parents recognised their son’s voice. Tears gushed from James’s eyes and Sophie ran her finger over the screen of the computer, as if she was touching her son.

  James was transfixed as he heard the little boy in the hypnotist’s chair recall when he and Ben had spent two weeks in Berlin for the two thousand and six world cup.

  Garraway paused the video, he could tell by their reactions that they believed what they were watching to be true.

  “Do you want me to continue?” asked Garraway.

  “In the next few minutes Ben describes in detail what happened the night he died and I’ll understand if you don’t wish to see it.”

  “Let it play, we’ll watch it to the end,” said James as Sophie nodded in agreement.

  Garraway let the clips run as the parents watched, unable to hold back their emotions. After the videos had finished Garraway closed the lid on the laptop and put it back in its case.

  Garraway didn’t speak as he let the enormity of what the couple had just witnessed slowly sink in.

  “Can I give you a day or so to think about things before you give me your response?” asked Garraway.

  “Response?” enquired James, wiping his face with his handkerchief.

  “I need your permission to allow me to go ahead with my intended use of these clips.”

  “Do you really think you can use them to find Ben’s murderer?” asked Sophie.

  Garraway nodded.

  “In that case you must do what you have to do,” said James.

  Chapter one hundred and twenty five

  Darlington Railway Station

  5.14pm

  Friday 8th June

  Carla Price stepped off the two thirty five from Kings Cross. It had been a long journey. She was tired from the hypnotic lull of the train as it made its way across the country. The trip home for the summer vacation had gone without a hitch and the train had pulled into Darlington station exactly on time.

  She sat in the waiting room. She’d arranged for her father to pick her up from the station. She had sent him a text to let him know that the train was on time and he’d replied to tell her the Friday rush hour traffic was bad and he would be there in around twenty minutes.

  She was tired from the journey and was finding it difficult to keep her eyes open as she waited for her father to arrive. Her eyes slowly opened and closed as she fought the urge to sleep whilst sitting on the uncomfortable plastic chair. Suddenly she noticed the man on the opposite side of the waiting room. She instantly recognised him. He looked older than she remembered, his hair was thinning and was showing signs of turning grey. His faced looked lined and craggy. She was surprised to see that he had crutches on the floor in front of him as he sat in the waiting room. But it was definitely him. Her pulse quickened. Why is he here, why is he in Darlington? she thought as she looked at the man sitting less than twenty five feet away from her.

  As the man gazed around the room his eyes met with hers and a look of recognition appeared on his face. When he saw her he smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile, but more of a smile of satisfaction, a smile which signified he’d found what he’d been looking for.

  He opened his mouth and said her name.

  “Carla.”

  Although he was on the far side of the room, his voice sounded as if he was right next to her.

  “Carla, wake up.”

  She opened her eyes, as Richard, her father, put his hand on her shoulder.

  Carla awoke with a jolt. She looked at her father, stood up and threw her arms around him.

  “I’m sorry I’m late darling, how was the journey?”

  She looked across the waiting room to where the detective was sitting and was shocked to see he was still there.

  It’s Markland Garraway, he really is here, she thought as she stared over her father’s shoulder at the man. As the feeling of drowsiness slowly l
eft her, she looked again at the detective on the plastic chair and instead of Garraway, she saw a disheveled homeless man with a pair of crutches by his feet. He was smiling at her. She turned her face away from him and nuzzled into her father’s shoulder.

  “Take me home daddy.”

  Richard picked up his daughter’s case and held her hand as he walked with her out of the station and to his car. The homeless man watched as she left the waiting room. Carla could feel the man’s eyes burning into the back of her neck which made her flesh crawl.

  Chapter one hundred and twenty six

  The Bristol Post

  Temple way

  Ian Lester’s office

  11.07pm

  Monday 11th June

  Markland Garraway sat in the busy offices of The Bristol Post as Ian Lester brought over two plastic cups of coffee.

  Lester was a young reporter who had worked for the Bristol Post for just over two years. He had briefly met Garraway once before when they’d discussed the possibility of Lester being involved in Garraway’s training programmes to give new detectives a view of things from the perspective of the press.

  He was the journalist at the Post that the Police Department’s News and Information team made contact with when it came to making announcements in the local press. Garraway knew that Lester was a bright and ambitious reporter who was desperate to get his hands on a big story that would make a difference to his career and move him a rung or two up the ladder of success. Garraway had something to share with him of which he was certain would bring the attention of Bristol, if not the rest of the country, and maybe even the world to Ian Lester.

  Lester placed the coffee on the table, sat down and turned his chair to face Garraway.

  Word of Markland Garraway’s mental breakdown and eventual return to work was known to Ian. There wasn’t much he didn’t know. His mind was like a sponge, it soaked up information, but unlike a sponge, which emptied when saturated, Ian Lester’s brain always found space to store something new. Garraway had called him on Friday Morning to arrange a meeting and in between then and now, he had taken the time to find out as much about Garraway as he could.