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

by Andrew M Stafford

  Carla cleared the dishes and cleaned up the mess. The saucepan was in the bin but the acrid smell of burned metal and food would hang around for days.

  Richard listened to her tidying up and was about to ask whether she was OK, but decided against it. She was a good girl and to think his daughter was unhappy broke his heart. Some nights he’d gone to bed and cried over her.

  After she’d finished clearing away she kissed her dad goodnight and told him she wanted an early night because school had tired her out.

  She shut her bedroom door and carried on where she left off, searching for anything she could find about Markland Garraway.

  She wasn’t surprised to find most of the reports were referring to Ben Walker’s murder, but what did surprise her was that, since early October 2009, there had been no further mention of him on news, police, or any other websites. It was as if he’d vanished from the face of the planet. She checked online obituaries and websites that may have referred to his passing and tried searching ‘Markland Garraway Dead’ in Google. Other than a man of the same name who died in Portland, Oregon in 2004 and a boy who’d been killed in a hit and run on the Isle of Wight on Christmas day 2007, there were no other reports of anyone who could have been the detective and had died.

  If he was still alive, where had he gone? She searched ‘Markland Garraway retired’, which also came up with nothing.

  She sat back in her chair and considered why it was concerning her? Her dream and vision of the man were so clear it must have meant something. She wondered whether he was dead and was trying to contact her from beyond the grave. She scorned herself for being ridiculous.

  She carried on looking into some of the older reports of cases with which he’d been involved. Glancing at her watch it was half past nine and she’d been searching the net for over an hour and a half and was getting tired. She decided to give it another fifteen minutes before turning in for the night.

  Reading an archived news report from The Bristol Post she found something interesting. It was a report of a young woman who had been murdered in Bristol in 2006. Markland Garraway had been involved in the investigation. The story gave details of there being very little evidence to find the murderer. The report went on to explain that interviews had been conducted with friends, family and neighbours. Garraway had interviewed an elderly lady who lived in the flat above where the murder had taken place, and although she saw or heard nothing at the time of the murder, she told Garraway of a detailed dream she’d had earlier in the week and had made notes of what she had dreamt. She had called the police and told them. The police were grateful for the information and were very nice to her, but she knew that they would do nothing, but she felt she’d needed to tell someone.

  The murder that had taken place in the flat below was almost identical to what she had dreamt, almost as if she’d had a premonition. The report explained that Garraway had noted the details of her dream and had taken her description of what the murderer was wearing and that he had a tattoo of a spider on his right forearm.

  Garraway had searched the police database and found a known criminal with a tattoo which matched the description from the lady’s dream. Against the advice of his seniors he pursued his investigations using the information he’d received from the lady, which eventually led him to the killer, who had been a jealous ex-lover of the girl.

  Additional evidence was found and the killer was convicted. Although the information from the dream alone was not enough to find the killer, Garraway’s open mindedness had compelled him to consider the lady’s detailed dream. He had checked police telephone records and found a recording of the call she had made earlier in the week before the murder had taken place. She had an alibi which placed her at a rehearsal with an amateur dramatics club at the time of the murder so could be ruled out as being the killer.

  Carla read and re-read the website wondering if there was any connection with Garraway’s openness when it came to using information and his presence in her dream.

  She cleared the history on her browser as she didn’t want anyone knowing she’d been looking at websites which could connect her to Ben’s murder.

  The notes she made about Garraway were placed in a folder along with the portrait she’d sketched of him the night before. She was just about to lock them in her drawer when she heard her father calling. She dropped the folder next to her laptop and called downstairs to him. The folder slid onto the floor and lay hidden behind her wastepaper basket.

  Her father had lost his key fob, which had his car, house and office keys on it and wondered if she’d seen them. This was a usual thing for Richard as he was always losing things. Carla knew exactly where to look for them. She calmly made her way along the hall and opened the front door and pulled them from the lock on the outside of the door. She took the bunch of keys and dropped them in front of her father.

  “You really need to be more careful dad.” He smiled sheepishly and thanked her.

  Carla went back to her room, got dressed for bed, cleaned her teeth, and settled down for the night.

  The folder was hidden between the waste paper basket and the bedroom wall.

  ------------------------------------------------

  Morning came too soon and she could hear her father calling her. It was eight o’clock and she needed to be up for sixth form. She sluggishly rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. She skipped breakfast and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl to eat on the walk to school.

  Richard didn’t need to be in work until nine thirty and spent time at home doing a few household chores.

  Recycling collection was due that morning and he had forgotten to put the bins out the night before due to the commotion with the burnt evening meal. He hurried around the house emptying bins into black plastic bags. He didn’t have time to sort card, tins and plastic bottles so he was dumping everything into general waste. He opened Carla’s door, bent down and picked up her wastepaper basket when he noticed the cardboard folder wedged behind it. He was about to put it in the black bag but gave it a second thought in case it was something she needed to keep. He didn’t like going through her stuff, after all, she was a young lady and there were things he was sure that she didn’t want him to see. He made up his mind that he should check the folder, just to be on the safe side. He looked inside and found one of her drawings. He was impressed by the quality of the portrait she’d sketched. He was fascinated by the level of detail in her work. The intricate pencil work amazed him. He was useless at art and she had inherited it from her mother’s side. Just by using a graphite pencil she was able to capture light and shade and even had light reflecting from the pupils of his eyes. He was proud of her work and was certain she would get a job utilising her skills. He had no idea who the man in her picture was. Turning the sheet of A4 paper over he saw a name written on the other side. Her drawing may be brilliant, but her handwriting left a lot to be desired. He squinted as he tried to read her spidery scribble. He could make out a surname.

  “Garraway,” he said holding the sheet of paper a foot from his face. He attempted to read the first name but was having problems deciphering her scrawl.

  “Marland, Marklane?”

  “Markland,” he finally said. He repeated the full name out loud.

  “Markland Garraway.”

  Who the hell is Markland Garraway? he thought.

  Putting down the sketch he flipped through the other sheets of paper in the folder. Again he was having difficulty in working out her writing, but they seemed to be notes taken from websites. There were scribbles which were almost like some kind of shorthand or code, as if she didn’t want her words to be understood and were only for her to read. Alongside each of her scribbly paragraphs was a URL. A few of them were bbc.co.uk addresses and others were from bristolpost.co.uk. He had no reason to be curious other than for the sake of curiosity. He put everything back in the folder and placed it just as he had found it behind her waste paper bin.

  After taki
ng out the rubbish and washing his hands he decided there was just enough time for coffee before he left for work. Markland Garraway, who on earth is Markland Garraway? he thought as he held his mug.

  Was he someone on whom she had a crush? He hoped not as the man in her drawing looked older than he did. Perhaps it was one of her teachers at sixth form? He knew most of the teachers by name and was sure he would have remembered a name like Markland Garraway. Perhaps this man was the reason why she’d been acting so strange lately? His mind was creating scenario after scenario until he could take it no more. He fired up the computer in the lounge. He looked at his watch and saw it was time he should be on his way to the office. Going on-line would definitely make him late for work. His elderly computer took such a long time to crank up he wouldn’t be leaving for at least another fifteen minutes, even if he did find what he was looking for straight away.

  He picked up his mobile and called his office. A lady with a soft Welsh accent answered.

  “Pam, hi, it’s Richard Price, I’m sorry but I’m going to be a little late this morning, can you pass a message on to Art Brooks for me please?”

  “Sure, I can, but why don’t you speak to him yourself?”

  “I would Pam, but I’m up to my armpits in battery charger. The car has a flat battery and I’m struggling to get the thing started.”

  “OK Richard, I’ll tell him. Anyone would think you were scared to speak to him. What time do you think you’ll be here?”

  “I reckon I’ll be there in about forty five minutes’.”

  “OK, I’ll tell him and if Art wants you I’ll get him to call your mobile.”

  He thanked her and ended the call.

  The truth was that he didn’t like Art Brooks an awful lot. He was a fair boss, but he was the sort of person that made Richard nervous. Plus, he could sniff out a lie at thirty paces.

  The computer was up and running. He fired up Google and waited for what seemed like an eternity as the little hour glass signified the thing was thinking about what to do next. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the side of the table.

  “Bingo!” he said as the browser finally started to work.

  He remembered that a few of the website addresses Carla had made notes of were from the Bristol Post site, so it was pretty clear to Richard that Markland Garraway would have some connection with where he and Carla used to live. He typed into the browser ‘Markland Garraway Bristol’.

  He skim read through the results that came up and there were lots to read. He scrolled through and quickly ascertained that Markland Garraway was a policeman. Reading one particular entry he saw him referred to as DCI Garraway. “Detective Chief Inspector” he said out loud. There were plenty of things for him to read, but he didn’t have the time, he needed to leave for work.

  Now his curiosity was running wild. Why on earth would Carla be making notes and sketches of a detective from Bristol? He promised himself he would click just one more link and that would be the end of it. Randomly he clicked a BBC news website which mentioned a murder which had taken place in Bristol. He didn’t have time to read the news report and saw there was a video link. He clicked it and waited……and waited……and eventually the video played. It was a press conference and Markland Garraway was talking about a murder in Badock’s Wood in Bristol. Richard watched the report and was taken aback by how well Carla’s sketch resembled the man who it was supposed to be. Suddenly he remembered the murder. He recalled how sad Elizabeth Mason’s father had appeared when he appealed for anyone to come forward who may have evidence to catch the killer. But why would Carla be interested in any of this? Richard saw the date the press conference had been originally broadcast. Wednesday 9th September 2009.

  He sat back in his chair with his mouth open. He clearly remembered the day as it was when he received the news that he’d been offered the job in Darlington. It was also the week that his daughter had started acting very strangely. His mind was racing. He was putting two and two together, but was he making four? Did Carla have anything to do with the incident in the woods? He was tense and uneasy.

  His phone rang which made him jump.

  “Richard? It’s Brooks. Have you sorted your car yet? There’s a meeting starting in fifteen minutes and I need you here.”

  “Hi Art, I was about to ring you. I’ve just got the car started and I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

  He shut down the computer, ran to the garage and wiped his hands in an oily rag in an attempt to prove he’d been tinkering under the bonnet and then drove like a fool to the office. He would need to think about what to say to Carla. But what? He had absolutely no idea.

  Chapter forty four

  Westhouse

  Bristol

  2.30pm

  Tuesday 28th September

  Maria Jameson was putting on her jacket and was ready to head home after her first day back at work in over a year. It had been a strange morning. Her body may have been there, but her head and heart were definitely not.

  It had been a struggle since the moment she’d sat at her desk. She had been greeted by an office full of cheery expectant faces who hadn’t seen her since she left for maternity leave the previous year. Her chair was festooned with balloons and welcome back cards were lodged in the keyboard of her computer.

  To be fair, the day had been fairly light as far as work was concerned. She had a couple of meetings to bring her up to speed with what been happening over the past twelve months and she was introduced to a couple of new members of staff who’d started since she’d been on leave.

  She sounded like a stuck record. If she’d answered the question “How’s your little boy?” once, she’d answered it a hundred times that morning and the irritation was showing in her voice. Maria had a reputation of being fiery and her colleagues knew when not to push her.

  “Post-natal stuff,” she heard one of the male workers whisper to another. She chose to ignore it.

  She left the building and headed to the car park with a box full of paperwork to read when she got home. She headed to her mother’s house to collect Christopher. She’d not stopped thinking of him all morning. He’d been left with his grandmother many times to let Maria have a bit of me time or allow her to do the weekly shop, but this morning had been different and she was desperate to see him.

  Claire stood at the door waiting for Maria as she was getting out of her car. Christopher was bouncing up and down in his grandmother’s arms. As soon as he saw Maria he was giggling and saying, “ma ma, ma ma”.

  Claire passed the little boy to his mother who gave him a hug like she’d not seen him in weeks.

  After spending half an hour with her mother discussing her first morning back at work over coffee, she strapped Christopher into his baby seat and drove home.

  It had been three weeks since she’d exchanged numbers with Campbell and she’d not heard from him. She was waiting for his call and was looking forward to spending some time with him. Although she had his number, she had no intention of making the first move. She didn’t want to appear too keen. Deep down she was angry. She’d learnt from her mistake with Rob and now doubted her ability to judge characters.

  It was four o’clock by the time she got home and she was exhausted. Christopher’s perforated ear drum was better and he was sleeping well at night. Maria had also been sleeping well, which was good as the rush of getting Christopher to his grandmother’s house and then the journey across the city to the office followed by the return trip had done her in. She was ready for bed and it wasn’t even five pm.

  The new routine of juggling work and Christopher would take the young single mother time to adapt to. Until now, apart from the occasional health hiccups with Christopher she’d had an easy and leisurely ride. Her days had consisted of meeting up with other mums with their children, seeing her family and spending time with her best friend Samreen, and she’d loved every moment of it. But now the party was over. The maternity pay had stopped and she needed to earn money.
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  Before she had become pregnant, work had been her life. She’d loved the hustle and bustle of managing a busy office. She’d considered herself a fair boss who gave credit when credit was due but didn’t suffer fools gladly. Now things had changed. The office seemed alien to her and she wished that Rob had been the right man in her life and was here with her now so she could stay at home and spend time with Christopher, whilst Rob brought home the bacon. She knew how old fashioned it sounded, but this was how she felt, preferring to stay home for the next four years until Christopher was ready to start school.

  She stretched and yawned as she made her way to the kitchen to get Christopher’s food ready. Her son was having a nap and now was a good time to fix a snack for him. She was mashing a banana when her phone rang. When she saw who it was she said his name under her breath, “Campbell.”

  “Hi Campbell, how are you, how are you doing?”