by Gait, Paul;
‘OK, but how did his car get there? Did it just materialise?’
‘Stolen, perhaps?’
‘In that case, why hasn’t he reported it?’
‘Perhaps he’s an ‘illegal’ and doesn’t want to get involved with authority.’
‘Let’s get some ‘eyes on the ground’ with the patrol guys to see if they can spot a likely candidate.’
‘But we don’t even know that he came from this area do we?’
‘No, but at least it’s a start.’
Right. So what are we going to put on the bulletin to alert the troops?’
‘Wanted in connection with enquiries into the RTC on the M5 on 23rd December an Eastern European, possibly Polish. Aged?’
‘About 50.’
‘Height?’
‘The bloke reckoned over 6 foot 6.’
‘Build?’
‘Very big, reckons he was built like a brick…house.’
‘OK. Any distinguishing features?’
‘Not that we’re aware of. So we’re going to the press with this as well as the internal alert bulletin?’
‘Yeah might as well. Somebody might know him and tie him up with the Polo.’
Together they had successfully solved many difficult cases by simply revisiting all aspects of an accident several times using the ‘Caseboard technique’.
‘Remind me again why we’re looking for him?’
‘One witness reckons it was the Polo pulling out from the hard shoulder with no lights on that triggered the pile up.’
‘Let’s put it up on the whiteboard then.’
‘Right. So sequence 2, Polo pulls out, no lights,’ he wrote on the board.
‘Sequence 2? Surely you mean Sequence 1?’
‘No. Sequence 1 is, when did the Polo pull on to the hard shoulder and switch its lights off?’
‘Right, I see where you’re coming from.’
‘But did the Discovery driver, who avoided the Polo, see who was driving it?’
‘No. He reckons he was too busy avoiding the collision to see who was driving.’
‘Right. So avoiding rear-ending the Polo that’s Sequence 3… Sequence 4 and onward are the multiple collisions,’ which together they meticulously recorded.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
3rd January
It was a beautiful winter afternoon, as, suitably attired in a windproof fleece, beanie hat and gloves, Ben started his walk back to Churchup. The clear blue sky and the warm sun helped lift his spirits.
Thanks to the brief chat with the Ticket Inspector, he was now in a more positive frame of mind and had clarified some of the confusion in his head.
Furthermore, he’d decided he was going to attend his appointment at the Police station after all, and would contact Andy later to reassure him of his intentions.
However, as he sweated his way up the steep slope from the train station to the top of Doverow Hill, he was having second thoughts about his ambitious plans. He wasn’t sure walking back was a good idea after all. But at least he wasn’t cold anymore.
Although he reckoned he was pretty fit, because of his competitive Mountain Bike riding, he had packed to camp, not to walk. The rucsac was far too heavy for his intended walk back home, which he estimated to be about 23 miles and over some very hilly terrain.
Stopping to ‘catch his breath’ he reassessed his options.- either to go back to the station and ring for a lift or carry on.
The easiest option, he decided, was not to get anyone else involved. So he tightened up his shoulder straps and carried on.
Trying to justify his decision to himself, he’d use it as a training hike, for the 18mile Silver route, on the Scouts Cotswold Marathon due to be held the following month.
He had no qualms about navigating his way back home without a map, because he knew he could follow well marked and established Long Distance footpaths. These were comprehensively waymarked by a series of painted Acorn symbols, one of the things Andy had repeatedly told them at Scouts.
‘Acorns on the signposts, diamonds on the map,’ was his training mantra.
Consequently, from the top of Doverow Hill he linked up with a section of the 104 mile Cotswold Way that would lead him to Crickley Hill Country Park, near Gloucester. Then he would join a short section of the Gloucestershire Way which would take him to his Grandad’s house in Churchup.
From the frost coated Doverow Hill he walked through winter chilled Standish Woods, near the undulating BMX mud track, where he had ridden many times.
On the other side of the wood, he passed through a car park, and found the topograph he was looking for. Wiping the rime off the miniature brass dome with his gloved hand, he studied the detail on the circular plaque. The surrounding landscape had been mapped and recorded, directional arrows radiating from the centre of topograph indicating the names and distances of nearby hills and villages.
He crunched his way across the still frozen grass to the ‘trig point’ on Haresfield Beacon, leaving a trail of footprints in the frost coated fields. Here he took in the spectacular panorama of the Severn Vale, the wide sandbanks of the meandering River Severn at low tide, warmly lit by the low sun.
His route took him along a brief green lane and road section, through narrow lanes passing a memorial stone commemorating the siege of Gloucester in 1643 and then on through the long deserted Cotswold stone quarries of Scottsquar Hill near Edge common.
From there, the route took him down into a series of pretty valleys, which were closely associated with the ancient wool and cloth mills, although Ben was unaware of the historical significance of the buildings he passed.
The light had now gone from the clear January sky, as he entered the picturesque and historic village of Painswick.
He decided it was time to stop for a much needed break and he found a bench in the ancient fifteenth century St Mary’s Churchyard facing the magnificent 174ft tall spire.
He slipped the heavy rucsac off his aching shoulders and immediately felt the chill on his back, his thick fleece damp with perspiration.
Digging into the side pockets of his new rucsac, he quickly found the chocolate bars and tetra pack drink he’d bought at the station.
As he ate his snack quickly, he took in his surroundings and couldn’t help but notice the amazing conical shaped topiary, to which each of the churchyard yew trees had been treated.
As artistic and pretty as it was, he couldn’t imagine why anybody would want to spend time on such a thankless task, trimming ninety nine trees to look all the same.
Having walked many hours through the tranquil countryside, he was very conscious of the busy rush hour traffic behind him, as it made its way through the narrow Bisley street. The ancient road, with several overhanging buildings, was ill-suited to modern day traffic where few drivers observed the 20 mph speed restriction.
Deciding to get back to the solitude of the countryside, he cut his rest short as the chill of the evening crept over him.
Lifting his heavy pack on to his sore shoulders, he strode off down the main street, using his head torch to help him find the ‘acorns’ leading him to Painswick Beacon.
His journey continued up a road and then, mercifully, cut away from the traffic and went across to the Painswick golf course.
Slowly he puffed his way up to the high point of the quarry scarred Painswick Beacon. He recalled somebody telling him that these quarries had provided the mellow Cotswold stone from which many of the town’s beautiful buildings had been built.
Here he stopped in a fog of his exertions, as his breath clouded around him in the still air.
It was so quiet here. It was as if he was all alone in the world. Strangely, he wasn’t scared. He felt totally relaxed, seduced by the beauty of it all. It was a scene straight off a Christmas card. The trees fringing the greens were white coated, as if it had snowed or someone had sprinkled icing sugar on them.
However, the freezing temperatures encouraged him not to tarry for too l
ong and he was soon walking across the second part of the sprawling golf course, now bathed in moonlight.
He carried on across the frozen tracks through the woods to Prinknash Corner; near to the former retreat of the Benedictine Monks at Prinknash Abbey.
From there he found his way through the dark Brockworth woods and onto the top of Coopers Hill, known locally as the ‘cheese roll’.
The hill is famous throughout the world for its annual Spring bank holiday Cheese Rolling competitions, where a Double Gloucester cheese is rolled down the very steep ‘one in one’ hill, pursued by competitors, who throw caution to the wind and, out of control, run after the bouncing cheese. Understandably there are usually casualties to this traditional 19th century event, the prize of which is a seven pound cheese and the glory of winning.
Ben had seen the ‘cheese roll’ many times, but had never been tempted to take up the ‘crazy’ challenge, in spite of riding down similar terrains on his mountain bike.
After descending by the side of Coopers Hill, Ben followed the undulating frozen forest tracks through Buckholt woods to Birdlip. Where, as he skirted the edge of the wood, just above Witcombe, he caught glimpses of the shimmering lights of Gloucester.
As the distance and terrain started taking its toll on his tired legs he stopped again on the rocky outcrop known as ‘the Peak’ to gaze down at the Witcombe reservoirs painted silver in the moonlight. The creeping cold again foreshortening his brief rest here.
He was exhausted as he dragged his weary feet through the car park at Barrow Wake viewpoint and crossed the busy A417 road near the Air Balloon public house.
His morale was starting to fail, as was his headtorch. He had been walking for eight, long, tiring hours and his resolve was crumbling. The temperature was continuing to drop, as he climbed yet another hill.
Carefully planting his feet, methodically, one in front of the other, on the icy, heavily rutted paths through a small Chestnut wood, he eventually emerged on to the chilly common at Crickley Hill country park.
He paused and took in the magnificent panorama at his feet, the lights of Brockworth and Hucclecote and in the distance Gloucester.
On the horizon to his right, he could see the distant spine of the Malvern Hills, bathed in moonlight, like some gigantic slumbering dinosaur.
Looking back along the wooded curve of the escarpment, where he had travelled, he acknowledged the reason for his tiredness, and at the same time feeling a great sense of achievement.
In front of him at last, almost within touching distance his gaol, the two red and one white light that marked Churchup Hill. But it was a further 7 miles away. Tonight however, for him, it was a hill too far.
‘That’s it,’ he said, to himself, ‘I’ve had enough. I’m camping here tonight.’
Glancing at his watch he noted that it was nine o’clock.
He decided to erect his new tent near a rocky outcrop called the Devil’s Table where he could pick up the Gloucestershire Way in the morning. Being just off the usual tourist route, it would ensure he wouldn’t be seen by late night dog walkers and courageous courting couples.
Plumbing the depths of his energy reserves, he erected his tent and crawled wearily into it, quickly ‘shaking out’ his new three seasons sleeping bag, to ‘aerate’ the compressed down. He wasted no time in sliding into its embracing warmth.
He couldn’t be bothered to light his small gas stove, so he ate some of the cereal bars and as his water bottle was frozen, he drank another carton of squash.
Remembering that he needed to make some calls he got out the mobile he’d found and rang his Grandad and Andy.
‘Hello Grandad.’
‘Ben?’
‘Yeah it’s me.’
‘Oh, I was just starting to get a bit concerned.’
‘I’m OK. I’m ringing to tell you I’ve gone camping. I’ll be back in the morning.’
‘You haven’t forgotten that you’re going to the Police station in the morning have you?’
No, I haven’t forgotten. I’ll be back by then.’
‘You make sure you are. Well, you’ve picked a right night for it, haven’t you? It’s flipping cold even indoors. Anyway have a nice camp and I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Yeah, thanks Grandad. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight son, take care.’
Ben cleared the call and immediately punched in Andy’s number. After a few rings Andy answered.
‘Hello Andy, it’s me, Ben. I’m camping with my new tent and sleeping bag tonight. But I’ll be back in the morning to go to the Police station.’
‘You haven’t changed your mind then?’ Andy asked, cautiously.
If only Andy knew how close he had come to breaking the appointment.
‘No I haven’t changed my mind.’ Ben said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
‘So I’ll pick you up from your Grandad’s house in the morning, OK?’
‘Yes, I’ll be there.’
‘Whose phone are you using?’
‘It’s the phone that I found in the burial ground. Perhaps I should hand it in when we go tomorrow. What do you reckon?’
‘I think it’s a good idea. Goodnight then Ben.’
‘Goodnight.’
Meanwhile, in the mobile phone company control room an alarm sounded, alerting technicians that a phone they had been hoping to trace had been used.
The Technician quickly informed the phone company Police liaison duty. ‘Sorry, had a problem with the data. We couldn’t get an accurate location, but it’s definitely in the Gloucester area. However, we can tell you the numbers called if that’s any use?’
‘Yes please. At least that’s a start.’
The technician gave him the information.
‘I’m going home in a minute. I’ll pass that on to Gloucestershire Constabulary in the morning. Thanks. If it comes on line again, see if you can get a better location.’
‘Yeah, will do.’
As Ben was about to turn the phone off his curiosity got the better of him. He decided to have a look to see if there were any photos on it, that might help to identify the owner.
Choosing the ‘camera roll’ option, he was disappointed to see that there were very few photos on it. However the most recent one showed an out of focus picture of a person. It took him a few moments to see that it was the face of a woman.
Although it was slightly blurred, she was obviously not happy. The angry look in her blood red eyes, he assumed from the flash, made her look demonic.
‘God, that’s scary,’ he said, peering at the small screen. ‘Hang on! What’s that in the corner of the picture? That’s…that’s the cross I made for Geoffery. When was this taken?’
Just as he went to check, the battery went flat, before he could study the timestamp against it.
‘Oh my God! If that’s what I think it is, it could be the person who attacked the Gravedigger. In which case this…is…his phone.’
Ben threw the phone down as if it was on fire.
‘It’s a dead man’s phone,’ he said, staring at it in horror.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
4th January
Ben was awake early the following morning, for, in spite of the fatigue of the hike, he’d spent a restless night thinking about the picture on the phone and what to do with it.
As he opened his eyes he could see a fine frosty rime on the inside of the tent where his breath had frozen, but apart from having a cold nose, the new sleeping bag had kept him snug.
It was another cold morning as he emerged from his tent, the sun just lighting up the cloudless eastern sky.
The grass around him was stiff from Jack Frost’s nocturnal visit and the tent guy lines were coated white.
Steeling himself for the final part of his journey, he quickly packed his camping gear and lifted the heavy rucsac on to his aching shoulders. He knew he’d walked a long way. The stiffness in his legs and sore feet were a reminder of his achievement.
&n
bsp; Carefully, he started the steep frosty descent down from the escarpment, his legs protesting at each step. He was now following the ‘Cathedral’ signs for the Gloucestershire Way long distance footpath. His route took him via Greenfield Farm, where a circular horse training path added some geometric form to the landscape.
As he walked through Little Shurdington, Ben was pleased that, at last, the hills and valleys were behind him. He was back on to flat terrain.
Turning a corner, he spotted some buildings, which seemed familiar to him. It wasn’t until he got closer that he realised it was the hotel where the wake had been held. The realisation was a shock.
Memories of seeing Geoffery in the video flooded back. He tried to shut out the images of the disrespectful behaviour of the adults. Worse still, the whole burial ground episode erupted in his head again.
The tranquillity he’d experienced during the walk was now cruelly displaced by the anxiety about facing the Police questioning. His spirits plummeted.
He crossed the busy A46, his mind in a whirl. Subconsciously he followed the waymarks, walking by a frozen stream and along footpaths where he had previously seen roe dear.
He didn’t hear the high voltage cables crackling and spluttering in the damp winter air as he walked under them.
Mechanically, he climbed over a footbridge into a small, muddy field, populated by curious wild eyed bullocks.
He dragged his tired feet through on to the small green at Badgeworth. Here he rested briefly in the magnificently carved gateway of the 14th Century Holy Trinity Church, its lovely circular archway tempting worshippers to enter. But that didn’t interrupt Ben’s preoccupation with the forthcoming interview..
Checking his watch to make sure he was going to be on time, he continued along the Gloucestershire Way, becoming more and more agitated as he crossed a road bridge over the M5 motorway. With Churchup Hill nearly within touching distance, he walked back by the rear of the school buildings and returned tiredly to his Grandad’s house.
His stomach knotted with anxiety, he was now having second thoughts about going to the Police and handing in the phone. He needed to talk it through with Andy.