by Gwyn GB
Lucy nodded eagerly and drew up a chair next to him. She looked tiny, sitting alongside Harrison, like a child in kindergarten. Although in her early twenties, Lucy was petite and her freckles made her look several years younger than her age.
‘Nobody had made an official report until after the news broke about George’s murder, so we had a time lag of a couple of weeks between the first sightings and them giving statements. There were a couple of the so-called early sightings which I discounted.’ Harrison pulled up some documents on the screen to show her. ‘The language used in these was vague and very much focused on the individual who was making the statement. While I’d expect some lapse of detail, there are some critical elements which they struggled to clarify and were the same descriptions you’d find on social media. I think these individuals either imagined they’d seen the monk, or were saying they had to get attention.’
Lucy looked at the screen and screwed up her eyes, concentrating. He gave her a moment.
‘Here, can you see? There’s a little too much vagueness and perhaps when you were interviewing them, you might have had to clarify points with them more than you would with other reports?’
She nodded slowly.
‘Yes. I remember her. She was very quiet and nervous.’
‘OK, so once we boil those pre-murder sightings down to what appear to be more genuine ones, we end up with a few strong candidates. What we then have to remember is that by the time they’ve come in to you, everyone is talking about the ghost monk. There will have been hundreds of comments on social media and it is going to be incredibly hard to disassociate those stories from their genuine memories. In fact, the witnesses would be unaware that what they’ve since heard has become a part of their own memories. So the best way to get them to go back in time is to take them to the place where they experienced the event. I spoke to two students who had mentioned the monk walking around Palace Green, but once on site, they were able to pinpoint more accurately where exactly the monk had walked. That led me to the rose garden. It gave a purpose to why the monk was there. Then it was a case of me looking carefully at that area to see if I could find a reason.’
‘Wow.’
‘You can’t always take people back to crime scenes for obvious reasons, but in this case it was possible, and it helped.’ Harrison said to her.
Lucy beamed back at him.
‘Have you undertaken the cognitive interview technique training?’ Harrison asked her.
‘Yes, it was so interesting.’
‘I can suggest some additional resources if you want to look into it in more detail.’
‘Yes please, that would be great,’ she replied eagerly, her eyes shining.
Harrison had found a new fan. He was delighted at her enthusiasm. The better trained the police were at interviewing, the more likely they were to catch the criminals and avoid miscarriages of justice from faulty eyewitness statements. Interview techniques had come on a long way since the 60s, 70s, and even 80s, and psychologists had played a big part in bringing about the change.
His next task was going to need more delicate handling, but it was something he had promised to do.
14
Gemma had texted Harrison to say that she could meet him for coffee that morning in between her lectures. He wanted her to show him where she’d seen the ghost monk and so they’d agreed to meet at the Billy B, which she informed him was the Bill Bryson library. There was a café inside, but Gemma said she’d meet him outside. He wondered if she wanted to avoid an embarrassing moment in front of other students, but when he arrived at the building, he realised it was probably more to do with practicalities. There was a constant stream of backpack laden students filtering in and out.
He’d let Sandra know he was meeting her daughter, and she’d sent him over a photo so he could recognise her. Harrison suspected she would probably have done the same with a photo of him to Gemma. There weren’t many images of him, but she could easily get hold of his police ID photograph. He wasn’t somebody who it was easy to miss or not identify. A career as a spy would have been a no-hoper for Harrison. The best spies were those who weren’t easily remembered, people who could merge into the background or not be identified in a sea of faces. Harrison was not one of those men.
The Billy B was a large shiny glass-fronted building and not the traditional structures of the Palace Green area he’d been expecting. It had more in common with his hotel. This was the modern face of Durham University, the cutting-edge research and academic facilities that somehow melded with its traditional heritage. It also hid the area’s traditional past, built on an old colliery site which was just one of many stretching across the county and taking coal from what was known as the Durham coalfield. Mined for centuries, it was the industrial revolution which led to its expansion, helping the Bishop of Durham and the major landowners of the area get rich while the miners often worked in appalling and dangerous conditions.
As Harrison watched the students streaming in and out of the modern library, he tried to imagine the old machinery and wooden structures which would have been there and the coal-blacked miners, who’d return from the depths of the earth, coughing up the dust they’d taken down into their lungs and struggling to adjust their eyes to the sunlight as they came off shift. What would they have thought of this glass fronted building, full of books and papers?
Gemma was on time and gave him a quick wave and nervous smile in greeting.
‘My mum’s told me all about you,’ she said, eyeing him up inquisitively. ‘Sounds like you had a really cool childhood in Arizona.’
Harrison smiled back.
‘Yeah, it was. My stepfather taught me a lot of great things.’
‘I had to google the Shadow Wolves, but I’d love to know how to track stuff. It must have taken you ages to learn.’
‘It took me a while, it’s a bit like learning to ride a bike though, you practice and practice and it’s incredibly frustrating, then suddenly it all just clicks and you don’t ever look back.’
Gemma looked suitably impressed.
‘Do you want a coffee?’ she asked, looking at the busy building.
‘I’m fine, but if you want one?’
Gemma shrugged.
‘Not bothered. Do you want me to show you where I saw him?’ She looked away and up the road, her face losing its earlier enthusiasm.
‘Yes, please.’
They started walking up the long road out of the main city, South Road, which led to the hill colleges.
‘I’m at Van Mildert,’ Gemma said to make conversation. ‘Did my mum send you up here?’ she suddenly asked out of the blue.
Harrison detected something in Gemma’s voice when she asked the second question.
‘Yes, she asked me to come and help. She’s worried about you.’
‘Is she?’
There was silence between them for a few moments. Harrison hadn’t heard sarcasm in Gemma’s voice, on the contrary.
‘How were your parents when they dropped you off?’ Harrison fished.
‘Dad brought me. He was a bit squishy, but it was fine.’
They walked past Durham University buildings on both sides of the road, which was lined with trees. There were a lot of new buildings at first, abutting the pavement, but as they walked up the hill, the trees grew slightly more dense.
‘I was walking back to college, just gone nine pm from the Billy B,’ Gemma said. ‘It was around here that I saw him.’
They’d reached an area where the bushes were thicker, and it was difficult to see the buildings behind.
Gemma looked away from Harrison and stared at the path ahead. ‘He just appeared in front of me. It was scary.’
‘Can you tell me what happened?’
Gemma turned back round to Harrison, but looked away as she spoke.
‘Yeah, so I got to about here and he just appeared. I didn’t even hear the bushes move. I looked up and there he was in front of me. He had a black monk’s clo
ak on, but under his hood, there was no face. It was like he was headless.’ Gemma stared, glassy-eyed up the road. ‘I stopped, terrified, and he just stood there, looking at me, and then kind of lunged towards me. I screamed and ran.’
‘Did he follow?’
‘I don’t know, I was so scared I just ran and didn’t look back, but when I got to college, there was no sign of him.’
Harrison thought for a few moments and studied Gemma’s face.
‘You didn’t report it to the local police, did you?’
‘No. I called mum once I’d calmed down.’
‘Did the monk say anything or make any noises?’
She shook her head.
‘What kind of height was he?’
‘Definitely taller than me,’ she said. ‘I’m five eight. He was a good couple of inches taller.’
Harrison thought carefully about how to handle the next few questions he wanted to ask.
‘Show me where you were, and where the ghost was. I’ll be the ghost.’
‘So he was standing where you are, and I was walking up and got to about here.’ She demonstrated walking up the path and stopping around two feet from Harrison, who was ahead of her.
‘Then what happened next?’
‘So I was shocked, really frightened. I’d heard people were seeing him all over Durham and that a student had been murdered. I just ran up the hill to college as fast as I could.’ Gemma trailed off, her voice growing quieter.
Harrison could see she’d realised the flaw in her story. He wasn’t going to press the point now.
‘Thank you Gemma, I appreciate your time. It must have been a big upset. Apart from this experience, are you enjoying being here otherwise?’
‘Yes, it’s great.’ Her face brightened, and he could see the relief flow through her that he’d changed the subject. ‘I love it here, the place, the course. I’ve made some brilliant new friends. It’s such a great University, and it gets better every week.’
‘It’s certainly a nice city. I won’t take any more of your time.’
‘It was nice to meet you.’ She smiled at him, her eyes searching his face, hoping to see what he was thinking.
Harrison could see the threads of her mother woven through her and embroidered into her smile. He wondered if she knew he’d report back to Sandra. Probably, in fact, definitely.
‘It was nice to meet you too,’ he replied, smiling.
Gemma turned to walk up the hill towards her college.
‘Thanks Harrison,’ she added, turning and raising her hand.
He nodded back.
Harrison’s next appointment was to three lads who had seen the ghost monk in Palace Green, and given chase. They were the only witnesses who had tried to interact with the monk apart from the girl who had been scratched, and it was also going to be interesting to hear what they had to say because their meeting came the day after George Marshwood had been found dead. All three lived out of college in a house in the Shincliffe area, so he needed his bike to get there. He would have liked to get them to Palace Green, but they only had a half hour window in which to see him before rugby practice. He thought it better to speak to them sooner rather than later.
As Harrison walked back to where he’d parked, he thought through how and what he was going to say to Sandra about Gemma. He’d leave that conversation until later, when he had some quiet time. It needed sensitive handling.
The three students lived in what had almost certainly once been an old miner’s cottage. It wasn’t ample in size, but it was solid and enough to withstand the three strapping rugby playing lads who welcomed him in. It was classic student accommodation. Not overly well kept, old furniture which was tough rather than aesthetic, and an array of eclectic items which had been taken to fancy dress parties, ‘picked up’ in various locations, or bought for their novelty value. It was all harmless fun. Harrison scanned the room they showed him into. The lads had obviously made a cursory attempt to tidy up. He could see wipe marks where they’d attempted to eradicate the dust and beer spills, but not so successfully as to hide the fact that certain items had been removed from view. Possibly they’d been deemed inappropriate for a guest to see. Nevertheless, the atmosphere in the house was relaxed with the aroma of eau de le boy mixed in with stale pizza and beer. It reminded Harrison of being a student. Seemed like a long time ago now.
The three, Toby, Richard and Matthew, looked like they were enjoying the attention their heroic efforts at catching the ghost had brought them. They were eager to tell him their story. All three were above average in height and build. Toby was the least wide of the three, blonde and suntanned. Harrison guessed he was a big hit with the girls. Richard and Matthew were darker haired and wider. Richard’s ears carried the signs of scrum scarring, despite the protection they wore these days.
‘Not a huge amount of space,’ Matthew said, looking around the sitting room for somewhere for their guest to sit. It wasn’t often they were out-sized. Harrison sat down opposite them.
‘Nice cottage,’ he said to break the ice. Small talk wasn’t his forte, but he recognised it was needed sometimes.
‘Yeah. Solid walls which help with the neighbours. Last place we had was a new build with paper-thin walls, our neighbours were constantly complaining about noise. We couldn’t even sit and have dinner together without them moaning we were waking their kids up.’
Harrison wondered what kind of level of dinner noise they considered reasonable and at what hour, but decided not to pursue that one.
‘Can you tell me what you saw?’ he asked.
‘It was the day after George Marshwood got murdered. We’d already heard stories about some strange ghost that was haunting Palace Green, and it had attacked some girl,’ said Matthew.
‘Yeah, and everyone was jumpy cos they knew that George was found dressed as a monk,’ chipped in Toby.
‘We were coming back from the Undie, been to meet some mates from rugby, and we saw him.’
All three nodded earnestly at Harrison.
‘We just kind of decided to see if we could arrest him. Didn’t believe he was a ghost. Looked solid enough to us.’
Harrison’s turn to nod.
‘So we shouted, and he started to run.’
‘Yeah, shouting probably wasn’t the smartest move,’ said Richard. ‘Stealth isn’t our strong point.’ He smirked.
‘Toby, here’s a winger. Can turn on the speed when you need to, can’t you mate,’ Matthew said. ‘He got ahead of us two, but the monk was pretty fast too.’
‘Yeah and light. We lost him. One minute he was there and the next he wasn’t. The only way he could have got away was by vaulting a wall and that wouldn’t have been easy.’
‘He just disappeared? Where exactly?’
‘He was along the far side away from the castle, and I think he looked like he was going to run towards the cathedral, but we were too quick and cut him off, so instead he darted into Bailey Court,’ said Toby.
‘Could he have gone into one of the buildings?’ Harrison asked.
They all shook their heads.
‘We tried every door. There was nowhere for him to go. He wouldn’t have had time to unlock a door or anything like that.’
‘Did any of you get a look at the person, or can you describe their build?’
They all looked at one another.
‘Shorter than us and thinner,’ Matthew said to the other two’s nods. ‘Couldn’t see a face at all.’
‘You’ve said him all the way through. What makes you say that?’
All three wrinkled their chins and thought.
‘If I’m honest,’ said Richard, looking at the other two, ‘I think it was more like the build of a woman.’
‘Yeah, I’d agree,’ Toby said, nodding.
Harrison knew that interviewing witnesses in a group was far from ideal. Co-witness information was extremely influential and could change an individual’s memory of an event. The three lads could have totally f
alse memories of that night, brought about by reinforcing each others’ versions. Add to this the fact that witnesses tend to be inaccurate when judging the height and weight of people, and more often than not use their own height and weight as the marker to judge other people by. With these three all above average in body build, that could mean the ghost was an average or above average individual too.
‘This wasn’t in your original statement,’ Harrison said to them.
They exchanged glances again.
‘No. I think we were a bit pumped with the chase. I don’t think I really thought about it, but it was the way they ran and their size,’ Toby added.
‘Tobe was up front. He got the best look,’ Matthew said.
‘Thank you for your honesty,’ Harrison said. There was no reason for Toby to suggest the ghost had been female. If anything, it would detract from their macho chasing down of a murderer. Why ruin a good story unless you really believed it? Harrison added the information to his list of clues.
‘Anything else you may have thought about afterwards?’
The three of them pursed their lips and furrowed their brows.
‘There was one thing which we remembered, but not sure it’s relevant,’ Matthew said.
‘Anything could be relevant,’ Harrison replied.
‘Yeah, but it’s not related to the monk,’ Matthew continued, ‘it’s about George.’
Harrison nodded to encourage him.
‘He played rugby with us in the first term. Was OK, nothing special, and he dropped out after Christmas. We never saw him again. We’re all Hatfield, so paths just didn’t cross. But…’ Matthew hesitated again, ‘well it’s odd, but there was one week when he couldn’t play. His legs and back were so bruised. It was bizarre.’
‘Yeah, we all saw it. I think the coach spoke to him about it. You know wondered if he’d been self harming or if someone had attacked him. He said he’d fallen down the stairs and it never got mentioned again. Just seemed odd like, you know?’
‘Were you aware of George being in any secret societies?’
