MURDER OF A DOCTOR
By Tony Bassett
Chapter 1
Scott Deeley drew back the heavy oak door of his mother’s thatched cottage and peered out. The lane was shrouded in a silvery mist which masked the sun’s rays and threatened another cold, autumn morning. Sadly, for him, it would prove to be his last.
Scott, who was dressed in a light-blue sweatshirt and matching tracksuit bottoms for his morning run, knelt down briefly in the gloom of the antiquated hallway to slip on his running shoes.
He flicked through the opened envelopes still on the hall table from the previous day. They were mainly final bills he’d been expecting after the sale of his seaside house. One letter was a reminder to re-tax his thirteen-year-old Morgan Plus Four. He had managed to make space for his prized sports car in his mother’s cluttered, ramshackle garage.
Another letter was from a tenant, complaining about a damp problem. He would attend to them all later in the day, he thought.
Scott paused as he stood by the door, listening for any sound to suggest his aged mother was awake. At first, the house was silent, apart from the steady ticking of the mantel clock, echoing round the cottage. Then he detected a creaking noise from her bedroom. A sign that she was stirring.
‘Are you all right, Mother?’ he yelled while ensuring his door keys were safely tucked inside the running belt he wore beneath his shirt.
‘Yes, dear,’ she called back.
‘I’m just going for a run. I’ll be back in about an hour to sort you out.’
‘All right, dear. Don’t worry about me.’
He examined himself in the ornate hallway mirror. A small, clump of his greying hair was out of place. Once this had been rearranged with a sweep of his right hand, he slipped out of the cottage door, quietly closing it behind him, and strode to the front gate.
The dawn air was filled with birdsong and his senses were regaled by the delicate fragrance of the pale, yellow honeysuckle that climbed round the porch and the red and white rose bushes on parade beside the stone path.
Scott turned left out of the cottage gate and bounded along the narrow lane like a greyhound sprung from its trap. He passed St Michael’s Church and the Old Bakery, a house belonging to friends of his mother’s who now ran a thriving bed-and-breakfast business. Then he turned left again into the main street.
It had just turned eight o’clock. Two paperboys with bags round their necks were arriving back at the newsagent’s after their rounds. Next door, some early risers were tucking into their fried breakfasts at the only cafe in the village. As he approached, a man in dark clothing came out and collected a bicycle that had been propped up against a side wall.
While maintaining his constant rhythm, Scott broke into a smile as he saw a mother duck leading her newly hatched offspring on an early morning swim at the edge of the village pond. Then he turned left for a third time and set off towards the woods at Foxwell Heath. If he had looked back, he would have noticed the cyclist had left the cafe and was travelling in the same direction.
As the sun finally emerged through the haze, his mind was filled with thoughts of his mother’s impending eighty-fourth birthday on 28 October. What could he buy her? A book was out of the question as her eyesight was rapidly fading. She struggled to manoeuvre her way round her home because of the pain in her legs, and spent most of the day watching television.
Perhaps a gift for the home? Yes, that was the answer. A vase, an ornament, an antique lamp – something of that order, he thought. He would drive into Queensbridge later that day. There was a gift shop called Keepsakes opposite the supermarket in the high street. He would browse for a suitable gift and a birthday card.
A scraping sound disturbed the peaceful morning. Without reducing his pace, he glanced back. A man with a bicycle a hundred metres behind had stopped on the pavement and dismounted. He seemed to be having a problem with his back wheel.
Within a few minutes, Scott was moving at a steady pace towards the west, running along a footpath at the edge of a ploughed field. He gazed across the rich, brown earth of the farmer’s land, where new crops had been sown, and then, as he sprinted past a public footpath sign, he entered the wood.
The terrain was at once cooler and more shaded. On he ran along his familiar route close to the fields, following a makeshift path. He passed dozens of trees before coming to a woodland glade where, for some reason, several oak and birch trees had been cut down and removed. Here, there were signs of a disused campsite – the charred remains of a fire along with black plastic sheeting and blackened utensils, which had been discarded haphazardly among the ash and cinders.
After a while, he lost sight of the field and, on his right, beyond the continuous line of trees, he could glimpse the main road, known as Heath Road, which ran parallel to the woodland path.
Scott was an observant man with a keen mind. He noticed a white Ford Transit van with its two nearside tyres parked on the pavement, close to the trees and bushes. A petrol station stood immediately across the road. The fine mist was clouding his vision, but he could just distinguish a man in a white baseball cap who was sitting in the driver’s seat. He appeared to glare at Scott as he sprinted past.
Eventually, the runner found himself approaching the village of Foxwell Green, which lay two and a half miles from his home in Sinton Bank. He circled the grassy village green, peering through the windows of the Cricketers Arms public house as he went. Then he jogged down a lane leading to the church and dashed past the village shop before returning to the main road and re-entering the woods.
He had managed a steady pace for five minutes when he noticed a man ahead of him behaving oddly. The stranger, wearing dark clothing, was using a stick to poke about in a pile of dead leaves. He had a bundle of black sacks with him and a spade. Perhaps he was gathering leaf mould, Scott thought. The man turned to acknowledge him.
‘Hello!’
‘Good morning!’ Scott yelled back as he sprinted past.
When his homeward journey brought him close to the roadside again, he noticed a grey Mini Hatch pull in. Its driver, an elderly, grey-haired man, parked his vehicle partly on the pavement and turned the engine off. Then the motorist sat and watched as Scott swept by. The white van was still parked opposite the filling station, but now the cab was empty.
Soon he found himself running close to the open field again. Just as he neared the abandoned campsite for the second time that day, he spotted a man whose sudden appearance filled him with dread. Could it be the same man who’d once threatened to kill him?
As he drew closer, his worst fears were confirmed. It was the last person on earth he wanted to see… and, fatefully, it was.
Chapter 2
Howard Cooper was following the main woodland path out of the woods when his inquisitive golden retriever veered off to the right and manoeuvred her way through some dense undergrowth. She stopped still beside some bracken, barking excitedly.
He became annoyed. ‘Bella! Bella!’ he called out loudly.
The barking caught the attention of two women twenty metres away who were walking towards him. Their own small dog, a black and tan cocker spaniel, ran on ahead of them. It followed the retriever into the bushes.
Howard, a tall, middle-aged man, was frustrated by his pet’s refusal to heed his command. Without giving the women a glance, he waded through the bushes in pursuit of Bella.
He succeeded in grabbing her collar and pulling her away from a pile of dead leaves, nettles and bracken. A running shoe lay among the foliage. A blue trouser leg was also visible.
The two women behind him had left their woodland track and caught up with Howard, who had stopped still.
‘Whatever’s the matter?’ yelled the younger woman, who was swinging a dog chain. She peered into the thicket and screamed. ‘There’s a body in there,’ she gasped. She backed away and started to cry. The other woman rushed to comfort her.
It was clear that, lying here, partly obscured by greenery, was the corpse of a man. He was lying on his back with his legs close together. Beneath his wavy hair, his blue eyes, staring up at the sky, were open and lifeless. A metal object was protruding from his blood-splattered shirt.
‘Alisha, get hold of the dog. Come away, Harley!’ the older woman cried.
The younger woman put Harley on his chain before turning to Howard, who had a shocked expression.
‘Do you think we should take a closer look – just to make sure the fellow’s dead?’ she said.
‘I don’t mind doing that,’ he replied.
He stepped back among the bushes and brambles. He tapped the corpse twice with the toe of his right foot. There was no movement. He kicked at it more forcibly. The body jerked freely from side to side in rhythm with his shoe. Then he stopped prodding and the body fell back, motionless.
‘Yes, he’s dead,’ he informed them. ‘Poor bastard.’
‘Oh my God!’ said Alisha. ‘Are you all right?’
‘A bit shaken,’ he admitted as he shook his head and looked down at the leafy ground. ‘I’ll be fine in a minute. It’s just that it’s bringing back memories of my poor old brother when he passed away. You don’t expect to go for a little walk and find some poor fellow like that, do you?’
Then he added, ‘We’d better call the police. Have either of you got a phone? I’ve left mine at home.’
Alisha produced a small, black handset.
‘There’s no signal here but I think it’ll work in the car park. Shall we–?’
‘Yes. Let’s try in the car park. There’s bound to be a signal there,’ he said. ‘I’m Howard, by the way.’
‘I’m Alisha. And this is my mother Fariza.’
As they trudged along the main pathway, one of the women took some tissues from a pocket and they both dabbed their eyes. Bella and Harley sniffed each other out of canine curiosity. The mutual interest quickly waned. The retriever had no wish to befriend the boisterous spaniel and rushed ahead with the smaller dog close on her tail.
‘I think I’d better put mine on her lead. Bella! Bella!’ Howard called.
This time his pet obediently scurried to his side. He clipped on the lead and walked determinedly back towards the car park, keeping a few paces behind the women.
The sun was at last peeking through the tops of the trees. It promised to be a warmer day than Howard had expected. He took off his lightweight jacket and undid the top two buttons on his shirt.
‘Do you often walk your dog here?’ he asked the two women as they approached the parking area.
‘No,’ replied Fariza. ‘My husband usually brings him.’
‘We run kennels and I sometimes bring two.’
‘How lovely.’
‘I haven’t been here for a while,’ he admitted as they emerged with their dogs in the bright daylight.
He gazed slowly around. There were more vehicles now – a black, mud-splattered Volkswagen Golf; a red Vauxhall Corsa; a smart blue Volvo XC90; and a grubby, white Toyota van. There was also a grimy, black and white Honda motorbike, which he studied for a few seconds.
The two women waited patiently for Howard as he carefully opened the tailgate of his Ford Focus Estate and helped Bella inside. He removed his black leather gloves and placed them inside the car before walking back to them.
‘Do you want to speak to the police?’ asked Alisha while brushing a piece of bracken off her denim jacket. ‘I’m not very good with things like this. I’ll dial it for you.’
As soon as the emergency number rang out, she passed the handset to Howard. After explaining they’d found a body at Foxwell Heath in North Warwickshire, he told an officer in the control room at police headquarters he was in the Yeoman’s Lane car park and that the body was a few hundred metres away.
‘And you’re sure the person’s dead?’
‘I prodded the body and there was no life,’ said Howard in a calm, cultured voice as the women gazed at him.
‘OK, sir. A team’s on the way. Is it a man or woman and how did you come across the body?’
‘I think it’s a man. I was just walking my dog and we noticed it in the bushes just a few metres to the left of the main path.’
‘You didn’t check the pulse?’
‘No. I wouldn’t really know how to. He was definitely dead.’
‘Must have been a bit of a shock. What time did you find the body?’
Howard called out to the women, ‘What time did we find the body? Nine fifteen?’
Fariza and Alisha both nodded.
‘A quarter past nine,’ Howard informed the officer while staring at the ground.
‘So about ten minutes ago? All right. Your mobile number’s come up here, but what’s your name and address, please?’
Howard frowned. ‘Well, this isn’t my phone. I’m with two ladies who were also with me when I found the body.’
The officer took down all of their details before giving further direction.
‘Sir, would you do me a small favour? Because it’s in the woods, would you be kind enough to wait for the paramedics and first responders so you can show them the exact spot? It might save a bit of time.’
‘Glad to help. I’ll be sitting in my Ford Focus, if you want to tell whoever you send.’
‘Right you are, sir. I know this is asking a lot, but could you discourage people from entering the woods until the police arrive? That would help tremendously.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Thank you. So, you’re in the main car park in Yeoman’s Lane, you say? Is there anyone else around?’
‘Well, there’s a few people – other dog walkers, mainly.’
‘Perhaps I should speak to Miss Hamid now?’ the officer suggested.
‘Well, all right.’ Howard passed the phone to Alisha. ‘He wants to speak to you,’ he said.
Alisha and her mother moved a few metres away to get a better signal. They quickly became engrossed in a conversation Howard was unable to overhear.
Just then a man in black motorcycle apparel, carrying a helmet, emerged from some bushes, started up his Honda and roared off up the road towards the nearby village.
A few minutes later, the three dog walkers took up position on the edge of the car park, ready to bar anyone from passing through the gap in the wooden fence that led to the woods. They chatted for a while in hushed voices as the spaniel continually strained on the lead to get away.
‘What sort of age do you think the man was?’ Fariza asked.
‘Hard to tell,’ replied Howard. ‘Not a young man.’
‘Could have been a tramp.’
‘What did he look like – the dead man?’ Alisha asked Howard.
‘Oh Alisha!’ said her mother. ‘Fancy asking that.’
‘I just wondered if he’d been beaten up and was covered with blood. That’s all, Mum,’ Alisha explained.
‘There was a bit of blood.’
‘The whole thing is a real shock, isn’t it?’ said Fariza.
‘There’s so much crime and violence on TV these days,’ he said. ‘You think something like this isn’t going to affect you, but it does.’
They stood together quietly for a few moments. Howard was trying not to think about the dead man and the loved ones who would surely miss him. Then his attention was drawn towards Fariza. She was peering at someone.
He followed her line of sight. Her gaze was fixed on a man sitting in the driver’s seat of the white van. He was staring directly towards them.
Fariza looked away. But the man in the van continued to stare at them.
