by Gait, Paul;
However, at their insistence, he made an appointment to take Ben to Cheltenham Police HQ to discuss things in the New Year.
The desk Sergeant was quite happy with the arrangement because of the already busy seasonal workload, exacerbated by the M5 crash and the body in the cemetery.
‘Ok we’ll carry on up to the Church to see what you’re talking about.’ James said.
‘If you go left up here,’ Ben directed, ‘we can get up to the lane from this direction.’
James steered the car around a mini roundabout and up a short lane. However, as they crested a rise they saw a Police car with its blue lights flashing parked across the road, blocking the lane leading to the Church.
It was too late to turn around and make a dash for it. Ben’s heart stopped as James drew the car to a halt at the Policeman’s direction.
‘Where were you hoping to go, Sir?’ the Policeman asked, leaning into the car. Ben turned away to hide his face, but could see in the reflection of the window, that it was not the same one who wanted to speak to him earlier.
‘The Church.’ James said, tensely, hoping he hadn’t inadvertently handed Ben into the ‘arms of the law.’
‘Sorry Sir. The Church and top of the hill have been sealed off to members of the public, while they undertake forensic analysis of the area.’
Ben’s heart skipped a beat. They were treating this seriously after all.
‘Forensic tests,’ repeated James. ‘Something nasty happen then?’
‘Yes. A body has been found.’
‘Oh dear,’ James said, looking quickly at Ben, who paled at the mention of a body. ‘OK, I’ll just turn around then. Any idea when it will be open again?’
‘No. Depends upon the Forensic people really. Try tomorrow.’
‘OK, thanks very much.’
James executed a nervous three point turn by the green and drove back down the way they’d come.
‘Is there something you’re not telling me Ben,’ James said, sternly.
‘I swear to God, I never knew anything about a body. Oh my God, you’ll have to take me somewhere where they won’t find me.’
‘There’s a hell of a difference between vandalism and dead bodies. What’s going on Ben?’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
24th December
Coincidentally, the Vicar and the Parish Clerk were in the church preparing for the Christmas services, when they heard the Police activity outside.
In the car park there were several Police cars and a white transit van with the word SOCO signwritten on it. ‘Excuse me,’ said the Vicar, addressing a man wearing a blue coloured disposable overall. ‘What’s going on?’
‘We’ve found a body in the burial grounds, Madam.’
‘Oh dear,’ she said, shocked. ‘Can we be of any help? It might be one of my parishioners. We obviously know a lot of people who use the hill.’
‘The burial ground is my responsibility,’ said the Clerk.
‘Well, that would be most helpful if you could.’
‘It’s not a messy one is it?’ the Vicar asked quickly, hoping she hadn’t inadvertently, let herself in for a traumatic viewing.
‘No, the guy appears to have frozen to death. Although there is some head trauma.’
After looking at the body, they quickly retired back through the frost coated metal gate that separated the car park from the burial ground.
They confirmed it was the Gravedigger, Jan Criscroski.
‘Poor Jan,’ the Vicar said, shocked, looking at the Clerk.
‘He was a hard worker,’ the Clerk said. ‘We’ll have a job to find somebody who was so hard working.’
‘Look, I’m not going to keep you long in these freezing temperatures,’ the Murder squad detective said, his breath a halo of mist in the still cold winter air. ‘Tell me what you know about him.’
‘We believe he is Polish, but not sure,’ the Vicar said, clearly shocked by the event. For although, in her working life she had seen many dead people and comforted the bereaved, to get involved with a suspected murder in the churchyard where she often worked alone, was disconcerting.
‘But where’s his car? I didn’t notice it in the car park,’ the Parish Clerk said, looking around.
‘Car?’ repeated the Detective Constable.
‘Yes, he drove it up here yesterday,’ the Vicar confirmed.
‘What type of car is it?’
‘It’s a VW Polo. Its black,’ the Clerk volunteered.
‘Have you got the registration?’ the DC quizzed, about to write the details in his notebook.
‘No. I’m afraid not. But he used it as his mobile home. He kept all his personal stuff in it.’
‘Well, it’s not here now. Somebody must have taken it. Mmm, intriguing,’ the DC added, thinking aloud. ‘Did he have a mobile phone?’
‘Yes, have you found it?’ the Clerk enquired.
‘No, not yet. Have you tried ringing it?’
‘Yes, I tried calling him earlier. But it’s switched off. No reply.’
‘No reply!’ the DC repeated.
‘Well obviously not, if he’s…dead,’ the Clerk said, laughing nervously.
‘You’d be surprised what sometimes happens when mobiles go missing. Can you give me his number, please? We’ll get his mobile provider to track it down when, or if it’s switched on again.’
‘Yes I’ve got it,’ volunteered the Parish Clerk and passed on the details.
‘Thanks,’ said the DC, writing down the number. ‘Do you know where he was living?’
‘In his car, I believe. When I wanted him, I called him on his phone. He always answered almost straight away. I thought there must be something wrong when he didn’t reply this morning.’
‘How was he paid?’
‘Always cash in hand.’
‘Was he mugged? Did they rob him?’
‘No, his wallet was still in his pocket with money in it.’
‘Do you know how he died yet?’ the Vicar asked, compassionately.
It looks like some sort of trauma to the head and face. Possibly somebody hit him with a blunt ‘instrument’. We reckon he probably died of hypothermia though. The Post mortem will obviously identify the cause.’
‘He was a big bloke. You’d have thought he’d have put up a fight.’
‘It looks like he didn’t get a chance to fight back; no sign of bruising on his knuckles.’
‘What! A big guy like that? It must have been a giant to have done that to him,’ observed the Parish Clerk.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
24th December
‘You want to tell me about it?’ James asked, gently, as they drove away.
Ben had become morose, staring blankly through the windscreen, his mind overwhelmed by a crushing plethora of emotions.
‘A body…Oh my God, it’s come true!’
‘What? What are you talking about? What’s come true?’
‘I dreamt that they buried Geoffery alive…that he wasn’t dead. But I went and checked. Perhaps I didn’t look properly. Do you think it could be him?’ Ben said, looking haunted.
‘No, of course not. Poor Geoffery was…trust me, the body isn’t his.’
‘What if a grave robber had dug his body up and… and…was disturbed?’
‘Whoa, where did that come from?’
‘We did it in history. Years ago they sold the bodies to the surgeons and…’
‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you. People leave their bodies to medical research these days. There’s no market in digging up dead bodies.’
‘What about that weird artist who pickles bodies and puts them on display?’
‘Even he gets his bodies from people who want to be immortalised in his art work. No, put the thought out of your head. It’s not Geoffery. I mean it could be anybody. Anybody can walk through there, hikers, people visiting the church, dog walkers, anybody.’
‘It was a dog walker that started all this… he accused me
of wrecking Geoffery’s grave.’
‘Why?’
‘I was stood by it, holding part of the wreath and he came along and accused me of doing it. Honest James. It wasn’t me. Somebody had already done it.’ Ben uncharacteristically began to cry. ‘Why don’t they believe me?’ he sobbed. ‘And now a body…they’ll be accusing me of killing somebody next. I’ve got to go,’ he sobbed. ‘Drop me off here.’
‘Go! Go where?’
Ben was now looking around wild eyed, desperately trying to think of a plan to escape.
‘London, Birmingham, France…anywhere.’
‘Come on Ben. You’ve already seen what it’s like running away. I told you about the Gangs who kidnap runaways and force them into prostitution or drug running.’
‘Yeah. But I know all about that now. I can avoid that sort of thing.’
‘You know nothing, believe me.’
‘I’ll go to Bristol then…no that’s too near…Scotland. That’s it, I’ll go to Scotland. Nobody will find me there.’
‘Come on Ben, it’ll be the same anywhere you go. There are bad people out there, who will use you, hurt you.’
‘But the Police…won’t listen to me. It’s my word against that old bloke. Who are they going to believe?’
‘They’ll listen to you. They’ll know this bloke has got it wrong. Andy will stick up for you too.’
‘As soon as I found the mess, I rang him and he came up straight away. He was talking to the old bloke and the Police while I was hiding, but the dog walker saw me and told the Police. So I ran away,’ Ben said, absentmindedly repeating, the sequence of events.
‘Look, Andy’s bound to be concerned where you’ve gone? He’s obviously looking for you.’
‘He’ll tell me to hand myself into the Police…I know he will.’
‘Isn’t that the best thing to do though. Clear this up and get it sorted? You don’t want this hanging over your head during Christmas do you? Sometimes the anticipation of punishment is worse than the actual event.’
‘I don’t want to spend Christmas day in prison.’
‘Oh Ben. They won’t lock you up just for doing something to a grave.’
‘Now even you don’t believe that I didn’t do it,’ Ben said, despondently.
‘No Ben, that is not what I meant. Now you’re twisting my words. I was not saying you did it.’
‘Let me out. Stop the car,’ Ben demanded, reaching for the door handle.
James ignored Ben’s request and continued driving. ‘You can’t keep running away every time somebody falsely accuses you of doing something. You need to stand your corner and prove them wrong.’
‘Take me back to my Grandad’s house please.’
‘Not if you’re going to run away again.’
‘No…I…promise. I just want to sort a few things out,’ he lied.
‘Your Mum and Grandad will be devastated if you do.’
‘Look, I’ve already said…’
‘Sorry. OK. You have to understand that I am only trying to help you, as a friend. It’s not for me to tell you what to do.’
‘OK. It’s just…what with the funeral and now his grave being… you know…messed up. I mean, how could anybody even think of doing that anyway?’
James decided to change the subject. ‘Are you and your Mum having Christmas with your Grandad?’
‘Yes. I just hope she stays off the booze that’s all.’
‘Well as they told both of us, now is going to be the hardest time. The lure of easy booze at Christmas is so great. Many people weaken and undo all the months of treatment. Here we are,’ James said, pulling the car to a halt.
‘Oh no!’
‘What is it Ben?’
‘Mum. Look! She’s sat on the doorstep. She looks like she’s been at it again,’ Ben said, despondently.
At the sight of the car, Beth struggled unsteadily to her feet and staggered her way down the path towards them.
‘Hello Bengie my little boy,’ she slurred, putting her arms up to hug him.
Ben dodged the swaying hug. ‘Mum have you been drinking again?’
‘Well… I bumped into some of my school friends…Well… I couldn’t refuse a drink with them could I?…it is Christmas after all.’
‘You could have had a non-alcoholic drink,’ Ben said, pointedly. ‘See James, this is what I’m up against.’
‘Beth how could you? Especially after the Clinic people had told us about the seasonal temptations.’
‘Oh it’s you. Hello James,’ she said, wobbling over to him. ‘I just had a few for old times’ sake. I can resume my drying out… after Christmas. It’s a test.’
‘A test! What sort of test?’ James demanded.
‘It’s a test to show them… I can give it up any…anytime I like.’
‘That’s the whole point of staying dry all the time. That you keep off it ALL the time. You’ve wasted weeks of treatment, thrown it all away. All that hard work!’ James sighed, at her stupidity. ‘You’ll have to go back to square one again. Remember the cravings, the stomach pains, the DTs, the endless longing for a drink? Now you’ve got to go all through that again. You stupid woman.’
While James was berating Beth, Ben had left the two and opened his Grandad’s front door turning around he shouted. ‘Thanks for spoiling another Christmas Mum,’ and slammed the door behind him.
‘What’s he saying? I was only having a Christmas drink, with my friends. Wos wrong with that?’ she said, grabbing James’s arm to steady herself.
‘Come on,’ James said, locking the car remotely. ‘I think you need to sober up.’
‘Wos the matter with my little boy? What have you been doing to him? I just remembered you’re gay aren’t you?’
‘Come on Beth, we’ve been through this discussion before, Gay not Paedo.’
James grabbed her arm and steered her into the house. ‘Let’s get some coffee down you before your Dad gets back. You don’t want him to see you in this state again, do you Beth?’
‘My boy Bengie loves his Grandad. Why doesn’t he love me anymore?’ she wailed, drunkenly.
‘I think this is one of the reasons,’ James said, lifting a small bottle of Vodka out of her bag. ‘He does, but you keep letting him and yourself down. Time to face facts Beth, you either kick the booze for good; no more little tests, or you lose Ben forever. He’s stood by you time and time again. It’s now time for you to become his mother, not his burden.’
James could hear Ben upstairs opening and closing draws, and sobbing.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
24th December
Sue hadn’t escaped unscathed from the M5 incident. She’d had a sleepless night as the pain in her neck and shoulders from the whiplash increased. The minor burns to her face and thick lip were more annoying than painful. Had she been vain about her appearance, she might have thought otherwise.
Consequently she had remained in bed all day, dozing fitfully until the newspaper boy disturbed her, whilst delivering the Christmas eve edition of the local paper.
She lay there for a while, wondering what the papers were reporting about the crash. Eventually her curiosity got the better of her and she made her way painfully downstairs.
The short journey to the front door took five, agonising minutes. She paused on each step, gripping the banister tightly to recover from the spasms that threatened to cause her to blackout, each footstep, jarring her neck and sending searing pain up her spine.
At last she arrived in the hallway, her pyjamas wet with the perspiration of her determination. To her dismay, the newspaper had not lodged in the letterbox but had fallen on the floor.
‘Damn the kid. The only time I need it to be left in the letterbox flap, he pushes it all the way through.’
The irony of the situation hadn’t escaped her, for she was constantly berating the paper boy for not pushing the newspaper all the way through; sometimes even ‘staking out’ his arrival and chasing him up the drive if he failed to do
as he’d been told.
It took her some time to figure out how to pick up the newspaper off the hall floor. She tried several abortive, frustrating ways, until eventually deciding the only way was to put her hands against the wall and slide frontwards down on to her knees.
Having now picked up the newspaper, she had to figure out how to stand back up again. Eventually putting it in her mouth, she slowly reversed the operation to stand up. It went easier than she had anticipated.
Exhausted by her efforts she went and sat on the stairs and was pleased to see that her mission had been worthwhile. The front page headlines screamed ‘Man dies in M5 Inferno.’ Quickly she read the article.
One man died and several people were injured, some with life threatening injuries in a crash on the M5 which happened last evening on the southbound carriageway near junction 12.
Police last night described the multivehicle collision on the motorway near Gloucester as a major incident.
Shortly after the initial collision fire broke out in the wreckage and quickly spread to all the vehicles caught up in the accident.
The inferno reduced vehicles to unrecognisable lumps of twisted metal and melted the tarmac road surface.
Witnesses talk of seeing a fireball as petrol tanks exploded with vehicles burning out of control.
Following the incident, Police mounted a search for a woman seen leaving the accident site, fearing she was injured. If anyone has any knowledge of the missing person they are advised to call Gloucestershire Constabulary.
There were chaotic scenes as Christmas shoppers and diverted traffic brought gridlock to the area.
The motorway is expected to remain closed for two days while resurfacing work is undertaken to repair the carriageway.
The article contained a picture showing a large number of burnt out, rusted, vehicles with numbers crudely painted on them. Sue thought that she recognised the remains of the Gravedigger’s car and, on the edge of the photograph, Rupert’s charred car underneath the burnt-out shell of a BMW.
‘Goodbye and good riddance Rupert,’ Sue said, spitefully. ‘You wouldn’t listen to me would you? You chose the wrong person to cross. I am now a widow, a very wealthy widow.’ She smirked, uncharacteristically happy.