She had no idea what had happened to Liz. She had tried to find out whether she had recovered, or died. She had trawled the internet many times and, other than the news reports of Ben’s murder which mentioned Liz, she found nothing.
She was tired and needed to sleep. It was nine thirty five but she wanted to stay up until ten, which was about the time Ben died. She wanted to be awake out of respect for him. She lay in her bed forcing herself to stay awake, but her eyelids were heavy and she was drifting. She pushed herself to get out of bed and walked across the landing to the bathroom. Running the cold tap, she splashed her face in an attempt to wake up. She didn’t dry her face as she wanted her cold wet skin to keep her awake. As she lay on her bed she was still tired and was struggling to stay awake. She was more tired than she was five minutes earlier. She was drifting off and there was nothing that could be done.
She started dreaming of the same thing she dreamt about most nights. The murder. Over the past twelve months her memory of that night and her dreams were still detailed, but lately her memories had lost their clarity and she had forgotten small aspects of what happened that night. She was starting to forget some of the things the others had said, what they were wearing and other small details. One thing she would never forget was the dull thud as the rock crashed into Ben Walker’s skull and the mess it had made of his head. Her dreams and memories always included her shouting ‘Run, it's the police.’ She always dreamt this as it was a way to separate her from the others. It was a way to prove she was a good person and had been able to stop the attack on Liz.
Tonight her dream was more vivid than ever. It included more detail than others she’d had before. The dream included smells, sounds and she could hear Liz wheezing after John had been kicking her. She could hear Boyd grunt as he smashed the rock into Ben’s head, not once but all three times with such detail it was as if she was there in the woods.
This time there was something different about her dream. As she called ‘Run, it's the police’ and pointed to the entrance of the woods she saw someone looking at her. A smartly dressed man in a suit.
She awoke with the image of the man fresh in her mind. He looked familiar. She sat up in her bed and was shaking. She was sure what she had seen meant something. While the face was still clear she grabbed a pencil and pad and sketched the man. Carla didn’t have any coloured pencils nearby, they were downstairs in her school bag so she made notes about the colour of his eyes, his hair and what he was wearing. There was something about the man which was so real and it seemed he had been looking at her and she had been looking at him. She had a feeling that the man was somewhere else dreaming the same dream as her.
Carla put her sketch pad down and thought about the dream and the familiar face. Lying in bed all she could see was his face going round and around in her head. She picked up the sketch book and looked at her drawing again. Where had she seen him before?
Suddenly she remembered. Jumping out of bed she bounded to the other side of her room and flipped up the lid of her laptop. Impatiently she waited for it to start. Eventually the computer was working. She typed into Google ‘Ben Walker Murder Bristol’ and instantly she was presented with a screen full of different websites which were mostly news sites. Scrolling through the choices she saw one which took her eye. Carla clicked on the link which opened up the BBC News archive site which had a report on the murder at Badock’s Wood. It included the press conference which had been broadcast a few days after Ben had been killed. She clicked the play icon and nervously waited for the video to start. The broadcast started by showing the place where Ben had died with the BBC announcer describing what had happened. Carla was shaking as she watched. Then the news conference started. A man was talking on behalf of the police and his name was on the screen as he spoke. She paused the video and stared at him in disbelief. She walked to her bed, picked up the sketch pad, brought it over to the laptop and compared her drawing with the man on the video. It was the same person. She had dreamt of the man in the news report. As she read his name she whispered it, “Detective Chief Inspector Markland Garraway”.
She cleared the history on her computer, closed the browser and shut off the power. What had just happened? She had such a vivid dream of the man, a man she had never really seen before. She had seen snippets of the press conference, but found it to upsetting to watch all the way through. She had remembered listening to Liz’s father, but had paid little attention to the policeman who was leading the press conference.
She got back into bed and couldn’t get the man’s face out of her mind. Perhaps she had subconsciously remembered him from the news conference. The more she tried to convince herself, the less she believed it.
Chapter forty one
Bristol
Daniel Boyd’s Flat
9.55pm
Monday 6th September
Daniel Boyd had moved out of the bedsit three weeks ago and now had a small one bedroom flat which he rented for two hundred pounds a month.
He sat alone on his couch watching one of his favourite DVDs. He loved Alien and had a thing for Sigourney Weaver. Slumped deep into his couch with his feet on a footstool and a can of Stella Artois in his hand, he had no idea of the significance of the day. Many people were remembering the life of Ben Walker and laying flowers at the place where he died, but not Daniel Boyd. As his watch ticked round to 9.56 pm he lit a cigarette and took another mouthful of beer oblivious to what had happened a year ago to the minute. He yawned and belched as his watch moved to 9.57.
Chapter forty two
Maria Jameson’s flat
6.42am
Tuesday 7th September
Christopher woke Maria a little later than usual. He had slept through the night without waking. The previous night’s episode had worn him out and he’d needed to recharge his batteries. Maria had a terrible night’s sleep. She had spent the night worrying about her son. His chanting and head banging was as if he’d been possessed by the devil. It was like something from a B movie horror film.
She was so tired it was difficult for her to lift him from his cot. He was pleased to see his mother, but he didn’t welcome her with his normal beaming smile and cheery gurgle. The past few mornings he had greeted her by saying mummy, this morning he said nothing.
She prepared his breakfast and made herself strong coffee.
Christopher happily sat in his highchair and ate bread and jam. Maria watched him and thought about the night before. She hoped the doctor would be able to provide the answer and she would be on the phone to the surgery as the clock struck nine to book an early appointment.
He left most of his breakfast and became crotchety. Maria felt his forehead and he was warm. She decided not to give him Calpol because if he was going to see the doctor it would be better that he was showing symptoms of any illness he may have. She hated it when he was ill, as he had been lucky until now. He’d hardly had a cough or cold and now he had this strange head banging going on. Maria was not used to him being unwell. At times like this she wished she wasn’t a single mother and could do with the support of his father, or if not his father then a good, kind and supportive man. She sipped her coffee and thought about Campbell.
Christopher and Maria were washed and ready to go by quarter to nine and he seemed a little brighter after having a bath. She had got through to the surgery just after nine and had managed to book a morning appointment. Again she was seeing Dr Marsh. She would have preferred to see another, more mature doctor, but she would have to have waited until the next day for an appointment with someone else.
She spent the next hour tidying her flat after his birthday party the day before. She took the black bags full of wrapping paper and cardboard and dumped them into the black wheelie bin. She was down on her hands and knees removing a chocolate stain from the carpet when her phone rang.
“How’s the party animal?” asked Samreen cheerily.
“He’s not so jolly this morning.”
Samreen sen
sed that Maria was unhappy.
“Is everything OK, Maria?”
She told Samreen about the previous night and how strange Christopher’s head banging had been.
“You’re doing the best thing, I’m sure the doctor will work out what’s wrong with him,” said Samreen in a reassuring voice.
“I have something to tell you,” added Samreen.
“Mmmm?” replied Maria sounding disinterested.
“It doesn’t matter, I’ll tell you another time.” Samreen felt it wasn’t a good time to tell Maria trivial things as she was worrying about Christopher.
“No, no, I’m sorry, what did you want to tell me.”
“You have an admirer.”
“Do I?” replied Maria sounding a little cheerier.
“Yes. I went to Coaster’s this morning for an early coffee and guess who served me?"
“Campbell?” replied Maria expectantly.
“Yes, Campbell. He was asking after you. He definitely likes you.”
Maria smiled as she held the phone to her ear. At any other time she would have been excited by the prospect of someone showing an interest in her, especially handsome Campbell, but right now her mind was focused on Christopher.
“That’s nice, perhaps I’ll call into the coffee shop to see him.”
Samreen said she would be thinking of her and Christopher when they were at the doctors and ended the call.
An hour later Maria and Christopher were back in Dr Marsh’s consulting room. The young doctor seemed stern and unforgiving as she gave him another thorough examination.
“Perforated eardrum” said the doctor as she put down her otoscope. She had delivered the diagnosis without a hint of compassion. The doctor’s eyes didn’t make contact with Maria’s as she entered notes on her computer.
After what she’d been through last night with Christopher, she could feel her anger welling up.
“Sorry Doctor, but would this have affected him so badly last night, I mean it was like he was possessed by the devil?”
“Miss Jameson, your son was clearly in a lot of pain last night. Children have different ways of dealing with pain and Christopher finds that banging his head and moaning is his way of coping.”
“But he slept through it all, he was banging his head when he was sleeping, surely that can’t be right?”
“As I said, children have different ways of dealing with different things. Believe me, it will pass. All you can do is give him paracetamol and he will get better.” Dr Marsh attempted to smile as she tried to reassure Maria.
Maria remembered the advice given to her by Campbell.
“I would like to have a health visitor come and see Christopher please.”
The doctor was getting irritated.
“Why?”
“Because I would like someone else to see what Christopher is doing.”
“OK, if Christopher continues with his head banging after his ear gets better then I will arrange for our child health visitor to see him.” She paused and looked Maria in the eye.
“But I can assure you, it’s just your son’s way of dealing with the pain.”
Maria couldn’t argue. The doctor had won.
She walked along the high street pushing Christopher in his buggy. He seemed happier since she’d given him a spoonful of paracetamol. She walked past Coaster’s and slowed as she considered calling in for coffee, especially since Samreen told her about Campbell. She was looking through the window and was about to walk on past when she saw Campbell waving at her from behind the counter. She smiled at him. She had to go in now, it would be rude not to.
She pushed the buggy awkwardly through the door, getting the front wheels jammed. She struggled to free the buggy and looked up to see Campbell opening the door for her. She smiled again and thanked him. He showed her to an empty table.
“Cappuccino and a Danish?” he asked.
“Oh, just coffee please,” she replied sounding tired.
“Are you OK?”
She told him about last night and the visit to the doctor. Campbell seemed to be genuinely concerned.
A few minutes later he was back with her drink. He lowered himself to Christopher’s level, smiled and held his little hand whilst shaking it backwards and forwards. This made Christopher smile. His big beaming grin was back.
“He likes you,” said Maria.
“I think your son likes everyone, he’s a lovely lad.”
Maria watched as the two of them interacted and thought about what Samreen had told her. Did Campbell have a thing for her, or was it Samreen attempting matchmaking?
“I need to get back to the counter, but I’ll pop back and see you before you go.”
Campbell walked back to the counter as Maria admired him.
The coffee shop became busier as lunch time approached. Campbell was rushed off his feet and Maria needed to get going, but she would like to see him again before she headed off.
She made Christopher comfortable and got up to leave. Before she had made it to the door Campbell was already there, opening it for her.
“Thank you, you’re a gentleman.”
“Look, I know it may not be the best time to ask and I know that last night was tough for you, but I’m going to ask you anyway.”
Maria waited without speaking.
“Would you like to go out one night?”
There, he’d said it. Campbell could be shy at times, especially around pretty ladies, but he just had to blurt it out.
Maria said nothing at first and then looked him in the eye and smiled.
“I would love to.”
Campbell let out a sigh. He hadn’t noticed he’d been holding his breath.
They exchanged numbers and he promised to call.
Despite what Christopher had been through, Maria was a little happier as she made her way home.
Chapter forty three
Darlington
5.15pm
Tuesday 7th September
Carla had spent her first day at sixth form. She’d found it hard to concentrate as her mind had been occupied by the image of Markland Garraway in her dream the night before. It bothered her why an image so clear and detailed of a man she’d hardly seen before would have entered her dream. She’d muddled through the day but her heart wasn’t in the right place for school.
She was home by four o’clock and went straight to her laptop to discover more about Markland Garraway. She hoped to find something which would explain why she had dreamt such a vivid image of him.
She dropped her school bag on her bedroom floor and lifted the lid of her laptop. As she opened the lid there was a note written on a yellow Post It from her father. ‘Don’t forget to cook our meal’.
They’d agreed, or rather her father had, that in return for generous pocket money, she would cook the evening meal. Her father was not home from work until five thirty most evenings and after a busy day he didn’t fancy cooking. This new arrangement was to start when Carla began sixth form. She was let off the chore yesterday as she’d been feeling unwell.
Carla sighed as she made her way back downstairs to the kitchen where she peeled potatoes and carrots before bringing them to the boil and had an oven ready chicken cooking away nicely in its own juices.
After she’d brought the veg to simmer she disappeared back to her room and fired up the laptop. Cranking up Google she feverishly typed ‘Detective Chief Inspector Markland Garraway’. There were fourteen pages of results which mentioned Markland Garraway’s name.
Carla read each entry one by one and scrutinised every page. Most of them linked to reports of cases he had worked on over the past few years. She jotted down details in her notebook by the side of her laptop, including the address of the websites. Most of them were the BBC news site covering the Bristol region. She’d been hard at work for about forty five minutes when she was hit by an awful smell. She stopped what she was doing and looked around her room. A smoky haze filled the landing outside her bedroom
door.
“Oh shit!”
She charged down the stairs and almost carried on in the direction of the front door. Skidding on the rug as she turned towards the kitchen as fast as her legs would allow her.
Thick smoke was bellowing from the kitchen as the water had boiled dry which left carrots and potatoes smouldering at the bottom of the burnt saucepan. After turning off the gas she grabbed the handle of the pan and swore as it burnt her skin. Dropping it back on the hob she used a tea towel to move the hot saucepan to the sink and ran the cold water. The water hissed and bubbled like a geyser as it splashed over the pan creating a cloud of steam.
The saucepan and the vegetables were ruined. Carla opened the windows to let the steam, smoke and smell out. Then she remembered the chicken. She opened the door and luckily it didn’t look too bad. After turning off the oven she placed the chicken in its tin foil tray on the kitchen worktop.
Sitting on a kitchen stool, resting her head in her hands she began to cry.
She heard her father opening the front door. She looked at the clock on the wall and couldn’t believe it was almost half past five. She knew she was in trouble. The first day she’d been left in charge of her new chores and she’d messed up.
Her father wasn’t as hard on her as she’d expected. He was disappointed that she’d not been able to carry out such a basic task, but was more annoyed with the putrid smell drifting through the entire house and the waste of an expensive saucepan. Her punishment was to take a trip to the local Indian takeaway and bring back a meal which was to be deducted from her weekly allowance.
Something about Carla was still bothering Richard. Although she was brighter and seemed happier since their move to Darlington, she wasn’t the girl she used to be. He found it hard to communicate with her and she had become introvert. He’d discussed her mood change with his friends at work and was told it was completely normal. Everyone he’d spoken to with a teenage daughter had said their girls were exactly the same. Locking themselves in their rooms, only coming down to raid the fridge, shouting at their parents over the most trivial things and showing total apathy towards life. This made Richard feel better, but only a little. With most girls it was a gradual change. Some girls would slowly become grumpier as their hormones kicked in and the transition took several months. Most of them started to change well before they’d hit their teenage years. But Carla was different. When she was twelve he’d noticed a few subtle changes in her character which he put down to puberty, but in the last year she’d changed dramatically. He could almost pinpoint the day she changed. It was the day he’d announced they were moving to Darlington. This was what confused him. If it had been the move away from Bristol and away from her friends that had upset her, why had she never protested? She’d gone along with the move without complaining. Almost as if she’d welcomed it.
The Hill - Ben’s Story (Book One).: A Paranormal Murder Mystery Thriller. (Book One). Page 16