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

by Andrew M Stafford

  “You’ve lost it big time, you really fucking have.”

  “Would you like to speak with her?”

  “What?”

  “I said would you like to speak to her, she’s here in my lounge.”

  Garraway passed the phone to Carla who reluctantly took it and placed it to her ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “My name’s Carla, Carla Price……….and I’m ……….I’m the girl in the picture.”

  Matthews listened to the frail voice of the young girl and could sense how uneasy she was.

  “I was there, in the woods, I was there the night that Ben Walker died……….and I know……….”

  She paused to compose herself.

  “And I know who killed him.”

  “Pass the phone back to Garraway,” shouted Matthews.

  Carla handed the phone back to him.

  “I don’t know what you’re up to now, but you’re in the shit even deeper and Munroe’s going to ……….”

  “Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” interrupted Garraway.

  “I suggest you send a car around to my place right now, Carla’s giving herself over to you of her own accord, and I suggest that you come too.”

  Matthews sensed by the tone in Garraway’s voice that he was deadly serious. Even if the girl wasn’t who she said she was, both she and Garraway could be arrested for wasting police time. He grunted an inaudible retort and ended the call.

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

  “I told you he wouldn’t be happy.”

  Carla looked at Garraway. She was tired and scared.

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “Matthews will interview you.”

  “Will I go to prison?” she asked in a trembling voice.

  “No, I really don’t think you will.”

  “Why?” asked Lester and Richard in unison.

  “Because I will refer Matthews to Section 71 of the Serious Organised Crime and Police Act.”

  Carla looked at Garraway and he continued to explain.

  “As you will be assisting the police as an offender, Matthews can exercise immunity from prosecution.”

  The room fell silent.

  “Basically, you can’t give evidence which could lead to the conviction of a criminal, and be prosecuted at the same time.”

  “Would anyone fancy a coffee whilst we wait for the boys in blue?” said Garraway as he hobbled towards the kitchen.

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

  Fifteen minutes later two police cars and a silver Audi A6 pulled up outside Garraway’s house. Two police officers got out of each of the marked cars and Colin Matthews hauled himself from the Audi. Garraway watched from the window and noticed how much extra baggage Matthews seemed to be carrying, more so than when he saw him earlier in the month.

  Ian Lester opened the door as the four officers and Matthews made their way along Garraway’s driveway.

  Matthews was furious and his erratic driving to Garraway’s house had reflected his frame of mind. Garraway had gone too far this time, he had no idea what kind of elaborate hoax he was up to, but clearly the man was completely deranged. Not only had he somehow managed to get the local paper to print a fabricated story, he’d also somehow convinced someone to pretend to be the dream girl.

  Matthews pushed in front of the officers and was the first to enter Garraway’s house. He walked into the lounge and saw the scared teenager who was sitting next to the table amongst a pile of used tissues. Next to her was a man, in his forties, he had his arm around her and appeared to be comforting her. The man had clearly been crying as his eyes were bloodshot.

  “Hello Colin, I’m glad you could join us. Let me introduce you to a few people.”

  He lifted his hand and motioned to Carla.

  “This is Carla Price, you spoke to her earlier and beside her is her father Richard, they’ve driven down from Darlington this morning, and this is Ian Lester, he’s the journalist from The Bristol Post who wrote the story.”

  Matthews recognised the young reporter.

  “Aren’t you the journalist the News and Information Team use?”

  Lester nodded.

  “That’s right, I deal with your guys and a lot of your press.”

  Suddenly things seemed real. Matthews looked at the girl, her father and the journalist. Something about the set up appeared to be genuine. He wasn’t sure whether it was the atmosphere in the room, or the look upon the girl’s face or something else.

  “So you’re Carla Price and you were there at the time Ben Walker was murdered?”

  Carla nodded.

  “And you say that you know who killed him?”

  She nodded again.

  “Why have you left it so long until you called the police?”

  “I was scared, I’ve been scared of what would happen to me ever since Ben was murdered.”

  “She didn’t call the police, we went straight to the newspaper,” said her father.

  “OK, you need to come with me, I’m arresting you for Impeding a Police Investigation……….You have the right to remain silent. Should you, however, refuse this right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you by the court. Do you understand what I have just said to you?"

  Carla nodded, stood up and was lead to one of the marked police cars by two of the officers. Her father followed behind.

  Matthew’s looked at Garraway and said nothing as he turned to leave the house.

  “Colin, remember Assisting Offender under Section 71 of the Serious Organised Crime and Police Act 2005,” said Garraway tapping the side of his head with his finger, like a school teacher who was reminding a pupil of something.

  Mathews turned to him and looked at him blankly.

  “Use your discretion, immunity from prosecution and all that.”

  Colin Matthews didn’t reply. He turned around, shook his head and walked away.

  Chapter one hundred and forty four

  Trinity Road Police Station

  Bristol

  8.38pm

  Tuesday 19th June

  Carla sat alone and scared on the mattress in Custody Cell number eight. It had been a long day and she was tired and exhausted. Her body was so tense it ached. She thought about all the events that had happened in less than twenty four hours and started to sob again. She had done an awful lot of crying since last night.

  She had told Detective Matthews everything that had happened in the woods. She named Paul Green and Stuart Moss who were already known to the police because, since the murder of Ben Walker, they had both been arrested for minor drug offences and theft. Later that day they were arrested and would also be questioned by Matthews.

  Matthews hadn’t been interested in hearing any of Carla’s dreams, or anything of a supernatural nature. He only wanted to hear what he considered tangible information. He needed solid concrete evidence which would lead to the arrest of Ben’s killer.

  Carla also named Charlotte Williams and gave Matthews her address.

  She provided enough information in her description of Daniel Boyd to produce an e-fit image. Carla was staggered with how well it came out. The image was just as she remembered him, which was just how he looked today.

  She described Seb and John, but her memory of them wasn’t so good and she wasn’t sure whether the e-fit images were very accurate. It had been almost three years since she’d seen them and her mind was fogged by the passing of time.

  Carla had given enough detailed information to convince Matthews that she’d been there when Ben Walker had been murdered. He had put the supernatural mumbo jumbo to one side and concentrated on the information she had provided.

  He had arranged for the News and Information Team to get the e-fit and Daniel Boyd’s details on evening regional news. He’d been too late to
get a slot on the early news programme, but would have a slot on the ten pm BBC Points West news.

  Carla lay on the mattress and pulled the blanket over her. Although it was June, the cell was cold. She shivered and tried to make herself comfortable on the lumpy plastic bed. As unpleasant and uncomfortable as it was, within two minutes of covering herself with the blanket Carla was in a deep sleep.

  Chapter one hundred and forty five

  Stanley Brown’s house

  10.04pm

  Tuesday 19th June

  Stanley and Boyd sat next to each other on the settee in Stanley’s small lounge. He had cooked a meal for Boyd, which was gratefully received. Stanley had asked Boyd to make a pot of tea whilst he searched for something to watch on television before it was time for bed.

  During the meal Stanley had asked where he’d been hiding. Boyd was cagey and Stanley sensed he didn’t wish to discuss his recent past. Boyd told Stanley he’d been doing odd jobs down south and Stanley didn’t ask any further questions.

  Boyd came in from the kitchen holding a tray on which was a pot of tea, two mugs, a jug of milk and a saucer of biscuits. He almost tripped over his rucksack which was on the floor by the side of the settee.

  Stanley put on the BBC news as Boyd yawned.

  “Not a fan of the news I suppose?” asked Stanley.

  “Not really, I never really watch it. I read a paper now and again, you know, The Sport.”

  Stanley laughed.

  “That’s not a real newspaper, that’s all titillation, you know, boobs and bums. You need to find out what’s really going on.”

  Boyd yawned again.

  “The word news comes from North, East, West and South, it means information from everywhere…….., you should watch it more often and then you might learn a thing or two about the world.”

  Boyd laughed as he dunked a hobnob into his tea.

  Boyd froze as he watched the anchor man announce the details of the next story.

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

  “Police are looking for someone who is wanted for the murder of a man in Bristol back in September two thousand and nine.”

  “The attack happened in Badock’s Wood, near the Doncaster Road entrance. Ben Walker, who was twenty one at the time, was brutally attacked and killed, and his girlfriend, Elizabeth Mason, was also attacked but was discovered to be alive the following morning by a passer-by. Miss Mason had remained in a coma until recently.”

  “A witness has come forward and provided new evidence and details of a man who is wanted by the police.”

  The e-fit image, based on Carla’s description appeared on the television screen.

  As the announcer continued Boyd put down his mug and slipped his hand inside his rucksack which was on the floor beside the settee.

  He looked at Stanley who was watching the report intently but as yet hadn’t realised the e-fit was of Daniel Boyd.

  Boyd rummaged around in his rucksack and felt the handle of the long screwdriver he’d put there the day before.

  “The wanted man is Daniel John Boyd, and police are advising the public not to approach him, but to contact the police with any information which could lead to his arrest.”

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

  It took a couple of seconds for Stanley to comprehend what he had just seen and heard. Boyd pulled the screwdriver from the rucksack and before Stanley knew what was happening Boyd had plunged the tool deep into the man’s chest.

  He felt Stanley’s ribs crack as the screwdriver crunched into his chest.

  Stanley recoiled and yelled as Boyd pulled the screwdriver out of his bleeding chest and rammed it in a second time. He repeated the attack seven times until he punctured his heart.

  Within twenty five seconds of hearing Daniel Boyd’s name announced on television, Stanley Maurice Brown, aged sixty two lay dead, slumped on his settee, with a spilt mug of tea on his lap and a screwdriver protruding from his chest.

  Blood was everywhere. Over the floor, over the settee and over Boyd.

  Boyd panicked and stood up holding his hands against the side of his head. He hadn’t planned to murder Stanley, the only man that had ever seemed to care for him, it had been an instinct, an instant reaction to protect himself.

  He spotted Stanley’s keys on the sideboard, which included the key to his beloved Golf. Boyd hobbled over, picked up the keys and fled the house.

  He scurried across the road to where Stanley had parked the car, unlocked it, struggled clumsily to release the crook lock, started the car and drove away into the night.

  Chapter one hundred and forty six

  Southmead Hospital

  10.19pm

  Tuesday 19th June

  Dr David Edison was reviewing the results of Liz Mason’s MRI scan. She had been scanned earlier that day after complaining about excruciating pains in her head. She had been given a sedative but after it had worn off she had awoken and again she had been rolling around her bed in agony.

  Edison was shocked when he saw the images from the scan.

  There was a tumour in Liz’s head which was huge. He couldn’t understand why she’d only just begun to feel the pain since she’d woken from the coma on Friday.

  He knew it was malignant due to its irregular border which was invading the normal tissue around it with finger like projections. Edison was sure it would be difficult, if not impossible to remove.

  He sat back in his chair, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He pondered how Liz and her family would take the news. He would speak to them in the morning after consulting with his peers.

  Again, he looked at the image of the intimidating white blob standing out against the grey of her brain and knew she didn’t have very long to live.

  Chapter one hundred and forty seven

  East Bristol

  10.24pm

  Tuesday 19th June

  Boyd was driving erratically through the streets of Bristol. It was almost half past ten, and he was driving with no lights. His mind was a maze of confusion and panic and he’d not thought about turning them on.

  He didn’t have a licence as he’d never taken a driving test. He hadn’t even taken a lesson and had taught himself to drive in stolen vehicles shortly after being expelled from school years earlier. His driving was awful. He’d not sat behind the wheel of a car since the night he stole Paul Jackson’s Previa, the night he’d murdered Ben.

  He was heading for the M32 motorway and out of Bristol. He had no idea where he should go. Back to Cornwall? Wales? Or perhaps somewhere totally different? Then he decided that he would aim the car north on the M5 and just drive. He looked at the petrol gauge and saw he had a full tank. If he was lucky he had enough fuel to get him as far as Scotland. Surely he’d be far enough away if he made it there.

  He headed towards Junction two of the M32 where he would join the motorway to start his new life as far away as Stanley’s Golf would get him.

  His shaking hands gripped the steering wheel as he sped along the main road. The vision of Stanley dead, with the screwdriver rammed into his chest was fresh in his mind. Tears formed and his vision became blurred.

  He was driving at just over forty miles an hour when he sped through red lights outside the Queen’s Head Pub and as he did, he was broadsided by a Ford Mondeo coming from his left. The Golf skidded sideways and stopped on the opposite side of the road causing oncoming traffic to screech to a halt. The crash was witnessed by over twenty people who were enjoying a beer on benches outside the pub overlooking the main road.

  Boyd staggered from the car. He was dazed and had a deep cut on his forehead. Blood ran into his eyes making it difficult to see where he was going. He lurched onto the pavement. The blood from his cut was running down the side of his face and onto his T-shirt mixing with Stanley’s. Although he was confused, he could make out the entrance to Eastville Park, which was twenty feet from where he was desperately flailing. He swayed from side to side as
he staggered towards the entrance of the park.

  Jason Anderson and his group of friends saw the crash as they sat outside the pub. There was a lot of shouting and confusion as the accident happened. Within seconds the driver of the blue Mondeo was hauled from his car by two men just before it burst into flames.

  Anderson spotted the tall and wiry frame of Boyd as he disappeared into the darkness of the park. He jumped up, along with two others, sprinted over the road and chased after Boyd, who was awkwardly running away from the scene of a crime.

  There were no lights in the park and Boyd was nowhere to be seen. Anderson and his friends stopped in their tracks.

  “He can’t be far away,” whispered Anderson.

  He was right, Boyd had entered the park barely fifteen seconds earlier. He was hurt and disoriented, but the park was so dark it was difficult to see anything other than the trunks of the tall trees and the bushes which lined the edges.

  Martin Williams, who was standing next to Anderson opened his mouth to speak, but Anderson raised his hand to stop him.

  “Listen,” said Anderson and his two friends strained to hear to what he was referring.

  A desperate panting could be heard coming from their right, it wasn’t much louder than a whisper, but they could all hear it.

  “Over there,” whispered Williams as the three of them crept towards the bottom of a large horse chestnut tree.

  The sight was pitiful. Boyd was crouched against the tree. Blood ran down his face and he looked terrified.

  Anderson turned on the torch app on his phone and shone it in Boyd’s face. He covered his eyes with his bloodied hand to shield himself from the light.

  “Don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me,” whimpered the pathetic young man.

  Anderson and Williams hauled him up and marched him across the road to the pub.

  Boyd’s ears were buzzing and his head was aching as he could hear the distant sound of police sirens.