This was where she’d met Rob, who had been brought in as an IT consultant.
Rob and Maria had become an item and seemed the perfect couple and were even discussing plans to move in together. His contract with Westhouse had been for a year, and although he had been offered an extension, he had decided to move on to pastures new.
Her boss hoped that she would return full time after maternity leave as she had become an invaluable member of his team. But now her priorities had shifted and her future with Westhouse was uncertain. She knew she would have to return at some point because of the agreement tied in with Westhouse's generous maternity package, but her focus was now on being a mum and not working full time.
She’d given up trying to contact Rob months ago when it became apparent that he’d not be part of her future. She had considered herself a good judge of character and had mentally beaten herself up over the last nine months over how wrong she had been concerning her judgement of him.
Maria and her mother were exceptionally close, even more so since they had lost Christopher. They had become more like sisters than mother and daughter.
The pregnancy had gone well. She had decided not to find out the sex of the baby because she wanted it to be a surprise.
The past two days of pacing up and down the corridors seemed to have gone on forever, but now Maria felt everything was happening much too fast. She was excited, scared and worried as those and a dozen other emotions raced around her mind.
Her legs were now in the birthing stirrups and the obstetrician was telling her that her cervix had dilated to ten centimetres. Now was the time.
With the midwife in position, and Claire and Samreen providing the obligatory encouragement, Maria pushed with all her might.
And she pushed and she pushed. She held tightly to her mother’s hand, squeezing it so hard that Claire flinched with pain.
“I can see the baby's head,” said the midwife in her calm 'I've seen it all before' tone of voice. “Keep going darling, you’re doing amazingly.”
Claire and Samreen were shouting ‘push’ in unison. Maria was moaning, joining the throng of other mothers-to-be in the delivery suites along the corridor.
All of a sudden the baby slid out, like a bar of soap slipping from a wet hand. The midwife swiftly cut the umbilical cord. The baby was whisked away to the corner of the suite where all the usual medical checks were done and the weight was recorded.
The midwife looked at the clock on the wall which was showing 9.58pm. She recorded the time as 10.00pm precisely. However, the moment Maria’s baby was born was actually 9.57pm. Three minutes earlier than the time noted by the midwife.
Samreen slumped in a chair in the delivery suite. She was worn out. She couldn’t imagine how Maria was feeling. She glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that the time was just before 10.
The baby was quickly returned to Maria, as the midwife gently laid it on her chest. The little pink face rolled its tired blue eyes as it quickly adapted to a new world outside of Maria’s womb.
Maria held the baby close. She was in a state of emotional bliss. She had never felt so happy, as tears of elation rolled down her cheeks.
“Don’t you want to know what you’ve got?” enquired the midwife. Maria looked at her in puzzlement.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” asked her mother.
Maria pulled back the little blanket which was keeping the baby warm and looked between its legs. She looked at her mother and replied softly, “he’s a little boy.”
Maria already knew the name she had for him.
Maria beamed as she posed for pictures with baby Christopher. Phone calls were made as relatives and friends were told of the good news. Both Claire and Samreen’s phones were pinging as text after text were being sent as the news got around.
Despite all the excitement and high emotion Maria felt a pang of emptiness because of the absence of Christopher’s father. As much as she appreciated Samreen being by her side, it was Rob who should be here sharing this moment. She quickly dismissed the thought and focused her attention on her beautiful little boy.
After She had attempted breast feeding, the midwife suggested they should all have something to eat and ordered tea and toast for everyone.
Christopher slept in a little plastic cot alongside Maria as she, Samreen and Claire quietly ate toast. The midwife returned to the delivery ward to collect something she had left behind. She was hurrying to the door on the way to the next delivery when Maria asked her a question.
“Why isn’t Christopher crying?”
Since he had been born just under an hour ago he had hardly made a sound, only the occasional whimper like a kitten.
“Don’t worry,” replied the midwife as she stood at the door, “this happens a lot.” Pausing, she looked at her and, with a reassuring smile, said she was sure that Christopher would, without any doubt, find his voice.
No one in the room could know how true her words would turn out to be.
Chapter four
Badock’s Wood
9.54pm
Sunday 6th September
Boyd dropped the rock on Ben's face, which he deflected with his arm. He could barely comprehend what was happening as Boyd stood over him with the rock held high for the second time. He felt no pain as it crashed onto his skull. The impact had instantly knocked him unconscious.
Boyd was not sure whether he was alive, but he was taking no chances so he sent the rock crashing down for a third and final time.
He knew he'd finished the job and Ben Walker was dead. His physical presence no longer had a right to exist in this world.
His body lay at the bottom of the hill, bent and twisted, and his shattered face was barely recognisable.
In the instant that Ben's life had ended, something new began to evolve.
An Awareness started to develop.
An Awareness devoid of physical senses. It could not see, it could not hear, it could not smell, it could not touch and it could not taste ….........but it did exist.
The Awareness had a presence and it had a right to belong.......to exist.
The Awareness lasted a fraction of a second……..and then it was gone.
Chapter five
Badock’s Wood
6.26am
Monday 7th September
The emergency services had been alerted by a woman walking her dog.
When the ambulance crew arrived they’d assumed they were dealing with two bodies but discovered that the girl was breathing. She was admitted to Southmead Hospital which was just minutes away from where she had been found.
It had been a miracle that she was alive. She’d been found on a September morning and during the night the temperature had dropped unseasonably to six degrees. The paramedics were amazed that she had not died from exposure let alone from whatever had caused the horrific bruises on her body.
The young man's body had made a chill run through those who had seen it. Many had seen a dead body before, but not many had seen the aftermath of an act so brutal. The area was cordoned off and declared a crime scene.
Detective Chief Inspector Markland Garraway was assigned to the case of murder and attempted murder.
Garraway’s caseload was already at breaking point. Detective Inspector Tom Strawbridge should have been heading up the Walker murder, but his wife rang earlier that morning to say he wouldn’t be working for the foreseeable future. It seemed that Strawbridge had experienced some kind of mental breakdown. A couple of hours after midnight he’d begun rocking back and forth, holding his head in his hands whilst quietly sobbing. His wife had been so worried she’d called the ‘out of hours’ doctor who eventually arrived and prescribed a sedative. The sedative had the opposite effect and he had become violent towards his wife and the doctor. The doctor had called the police for assistance. Strawbridge had been admitted to hospital at just after four o’clock on Monday morning. When he awoke he had no recollection of what had happened, and had no idea why
he was there. The doctors were baffled by what had happened. Tom Strawbridge had a reputation as a level headed, calm and collected Detective Inspector and had never caved in under pressure. He didn’t have a particularly large caseload and wasn’t under stress either at work or at home. He was desperate to return to work, but the doctor had signed him off until he was fit to return to duty.
Garraway had been a detective for far too long. He had solved many cases and seen so many murders he was almost void of emotion. But there was something about this case which had struck a chord. Something about the murder seemed different. He wasn't sure whether it was two young people that made the difference. Or was it the surroundings? There was something about the place where the young man died that felt strange.
Garraway stood over the forensic scientists who were examining the rock embedded in the head of the body. He placed a foot on the base of the slope and leant forward to get a closer look. As he did so, he felt the urge to vomit. He moved away from the area and was sick behind a tree.
“Are you OK, sir?” asked Sergeant Colin Matthews.
“Yes, I'm fine,” replied Garraway. “I’ve probably eaten too much breakfast.”
“If you are unwell sir, I am sure someone else can be assigned to the case.”
“No, no Matthews, I'm fine, come on we've a lot of work to do.”
The sickness passed, but had left him feeling faint with an aching in his arms and legs.
Garraway and Matthews had worked together for just over eighteen months and made a good team, although at times they didn’t see eye to eye and had differing approaches to work. Matthews did everything by the book whilst Garraway was more open minded, some might say maverick.
Garraway was fifty two and Matthews was a mere boy at thirty four. They both wore suits, but Garraway’s broad shoulders and sturdy frame carried it off better than Matthews. Matthews’ diet of microwave meals and takeaways was beginning to take its toll. He was one of those men who seemed to have an inability to keep his shirt tucked in. Perhaps if he had a good woman in his life, as did Garraway, he would care more about his appearance.
Matthews handed Garraway a tissue which he used to wipe his mouth. They returned to the body and knelt alongside the team who were busy doing their thing.
“What can you tell us?” asked Garraway.
“Not a lot,” replied Gillian West who was leading the forensics team. “We obviously have the murder weapon,” as she pointed to the rock.
“I'm pleased to see the constabulary are getting their money's worth,” he replied sarcastically.
West ignored his comment. “It’s about all we do have,” she continued. “We do know that there were at least three or four involved because of the multiple bruising on the body and on the girl, also the ground has been heavily disturbed.”
“Do they have names?” asked Matthews.
“That's something we do know. The girl is Elizabeth Mason, and the boy was Benjamin Walker…… and there's something else, he was one of ours.”
“He was a police officer?” asked Garraway.
“He was a PCSO.”
“What a terrible waste of a human life.” said Garraway under his breath.
“So whoever attacked them didn’t take their ID?” asked Matthews.
“Not only their ID, they didn't take money or valuables.”
“So it wasn't a mugging gone wrong.”
“No, it doesn't look that way.”
“It looks like there were a few attacking the boy.” she continued. “There are boot marks all over his body and they are from at least two different pairs of boots.”
“And the girl?” asked Garraway.
“We don't know yet, she was rushed to Southmead before we had time to examine her.”
“Ahh!” exclaimed Garraway.
It was only eight thirty in the morning but Garraway was frustrated that there was so little evidence. He knew that even if the murderer or murderers weren't wearing gloves, the chances of finding prints on the rock were slim. The rock had no smooth edges where a fingerprint could be left. If the murderer had used a nice smooth piece of granite then it would be covered in prints.
An hour later the woods were teeming with police officers looking for clues. The highly trained search officers were everywhere. Random objects were bagged and recorded, but so far nothing particularly noteworthy had been found.
Matthews organised door to door enquiries. Officers were knocking on all the neighbouring houses.
There was a school two hundred yards from where the murder took place. Garraway decided to pay a visit in case anyone had been working there the night before. He knew it was a long shot as the murder happened on Sunday night or early on Monday morning. He spoke with the deputy headmaster who told him the only one who was likely to have been there was the caretaker, Doug Plummer.
Garraway was introduced to Doug who took him to his little office. Garraway sat in the only chair whilst Doug leant against the wall.
“I was in school yesterday,” said Doug, “I was here between about five and seven.”
“Why were you in on Sunday?” asked Garraway.
“Because the girls’ showers were leaking and they needed fixing before Monday............. and if you didn't already know, today is the first day of the new school year.............are you accusing me, Mr Garraway?”
“No, no, not at all. Did you see or hear anything suspicious yesterday?”
“No, not a thing, other than the kids in the adventure playground I don't recall seeing anyone and the kids had gone by the time I left the school.”
Garraway thanked him, gave him his card asking him to call if he did remember anything.
“I think it's disgusting,” said Doug as Garraway turned to leave the cramped office.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said I think it's disgusting that the school should open when such an awful thing has happened. The kids can see everything from their classrooms.”
Garraway nodded and sighed. “As you say Mr Plummer, it’s the start of the new school year.”
He thanked him again and left the school.
The door to door enquiries carried out by the police officers yielded no significant information. The locals were scared, and worried that this had happened on their doorsteps. Only one person had reported something that might be of use. A woman walking her dog had seen a group of youths walking away from the Lakewood Road end of the woods. She had taken little notice and wasn’t able to give a good description.
Just after ten, Matthews and Garraway met in a nearby cafe and discussed whatever information they had found. Both agreed they had nothing to go on.
“How's the girl?” asked Garraway.
“Not good, she's critical and in intensive care. I doubt if she'll be much help for the time being.”
Garraway's phone rang. It was Gillian West calling from the forensics lab.
“I think I might have something.”
“We're on our way,” he replied, as he and Matthews grabbed their jackets and left the cafe.
Twenty minutes later they were waiting for her in her office. She entered the room with three mugs of coffee. Garraway and Matthews were grateful for the drinks as the two they had ordered in the cafe were left to go cold in the rush to get to her lab.
“What's the boggle?” asked Matthews. West looked at him blankly.
“He means what can you tell us?” explained Garraway.
She smiled, “as you may remember, the rock found embedded in Ben Walker's head had a jagged side, which was the section of the rock that laid to rest in his skull, the other side of the rock was rounded and fairly smooth. The smooth side was the part of the rock the murderer was holding.”
“Are there any fingerprints on the rock?” asked Matthews.
“No, but there is a blood stain.”
“Interesting,” said Garraway.
“I'm waiting for Collins to call me with the results but I’m pretty sure that the
stain on the smooth side of the rock won't be Ben Walker's blood.”
“If you're right Gillian, it doesn't necessarily mean it’s the murderer's blood, but at least it's something, as we have very little to go on just now.”
Matthews stretched, yawned and was just about to speak when Gillian's phone rang.
“That was Collins from the lab, and he’s confirmed the blood stain isn't Ben Walker's.”
“Good work,” said Garraway, “but as I just said, it could be a blood stain belonging to anybody. Let me know when you've run it through the DNA database.”
“Collins is already on it.”
“Is there any news from the pathologist?” asked Matthews.
“Not yet,” replied West. “We won't know the outcome of the autopsy for a while.”
Garraway stood up. “OK, I'm off to do some thinking. Matthews you head over to Southmead Hospital and see if you can find out anything about the girl, and Gillian, I'll speak to you tomorrow, unless you have any more news this afternoon.”
-----------------------------
Markland Garraway was born in Kilchoan, a tiny village on the west coast of Scotland. When he was two his family moved to Ullapool, where his father worked as a fisherman. After eight years his father started working in the construction industry and had to go where the money was. For the next few years, Markland and his parents moved around Scotland and England from one building contract to the next, eventually ending up in Bristol where his father found steady and well-paid work. Because of constantly being on the move Markland found it difficult to make friends which made him something of a loner for the rest of his life.
He married Joan when he was twenty six, the same year he became a police officer. They soon started a family and were blessed with two daughters.
When he became a detective, Joan considered herself a police widow because of the long and unsociable hours, but stood by her husband like the loyal wife she was.
He didn't have much time for hobbies, although he enjoyed cricket and had a fascination for UFOs ever since seeing something amazing over the skies of Ullapool when he was nine. Since then he had read book after book on the subject and the fascination was still with him today. Perhaps this was the reason he was so open minded. Having an open mind had helped him solve cases which otherwise may have ended up on the 'pending' pile. Behind his back some of his colleagues referred to him as 'spooky' Garraway, but never to his face. At six foot three inches tall, few would want to see his angry side.
The Hill - Ben’s Story (Book One).: A Paranormal Murder Mystery Thriller. (Book One). Page 3