Chapter 23
Compton Wells School
Bristol
Howie Doyle’s Office
12.30 p.m.
Howie sat alone in his small office, surrounded by half used pots of paint and broken sports equipment. He ate a sandwich, whilst flicking through the previous months’ edition of Top Gear. He was about to take a sip of tea when he heard a knock at the door, followed by a voice.
“Hello Mr Doyle, may I come in?”
“Shit,” muttered Howie when he heard it was Markland.
He placed his mug on the table, stood up and opened the door.
“Ah, good you’re here. We need to talk.”
Howie nervously opened the door wider and allowed Markland to enter.
“Is there something wrong?”
Markland was an expert at reading body language and making a judgement just by the tone of someone’s voice. Years of working as a detective had taught him, and now it was like a sixth sense.
“You tell me Mr Doyle. Should there be?”
Howie eyed Markland apprehensively. Had something happened? Had his plan worked?
“It seems to me Howie that somehow you’ve managed to embroil me in your affairs. Today is the second day I’ve set foot in this school, and already things are happening. Things that I am not at all happy about, but they’re things I suspect I can do very little about.”
“Do you know something about James?” asked Howie excitedly.
“Nothing more than what you told me yesterday.”
Although Markland remained calm, Howie sensed an underlying irritation in his demeanour.
“I won’t go into detail now, but as I’ve already said, things are happening. Things which are reminiscent of the Ben Walker murder case. Things, that remind me of when the hill in Badock’s Wood was communicating with me.”
Markland thrust his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket, and pulled out a sprinkling of soil which he scattered over what was left of Howie’s lunch.
“Hey, what did you do that for? I was eating that.”
“Where did that come from I wonder?” said Markland, rubbing the soil into the sandwich.
Howie struggled for words.
“It’s okay Mr Doyle. I think I can guess. It’s a teeny tiny bit of that burial mound. You’re quite a resourceful young man it seems.”
“Okay, okay,” said Howie, with his hands in the air as if he was about to surrender.
Markland pulled the other chair from under the table and sat down.
“Listen Mr Doyle. What you’ve done was underhanded. I made it very clear that I wanted nothing to do with you and your missing friend.”
Howie attempted to interrupt, but was stopped before he began.
“The thing is Mr Doyle, I don’t think I have much choice. I think the burial mound, or the hill as I’ve always referred to it, is calling me again. It began last night when I was at home.”
“What happened?” asked Howie, leaning forward in his chair.
“That’s for me to know, and for you to ponder over.”
Howie lowered his head.
“Mr Doyle, now that I’m involved, I doubt whether I’ll be able to escape this thing until it’s over….., no thanks to you.”
“I couldn’t think of anyone else to turn to for help,” said Howie, with reticence.
“I appreciate why you came to me. But you must remember that It’s taken an awful long time getting my life back together. The job I have here may not seem much to you, but to me it’s a step forward to aid my recovery. I don’t suppose Tom Judd’s book adequately reflects the shit I’ve been through since I became involved in the murder of Ben Walker. It didn’t sum up the fact I’d lost most of my friends, or that I’ve had a mental breakdown, or that I am a recovering alcoholic, or that I’d suffered the most crippling arthritis that I was close to killing myself, or that, and this is the most devastating part of what happened with the Ben Walker case, …….. my wife, of over thirty years of marriage left me. She couldn’t cope with things any longer. She couldn’t cope with me, or what I’d become. So, Mr Doyle, this is why I will never return to the hill in the woods, and this is why I didn’t want to be involved with your friend’s circumstances.”
Howie sat with his head down, staring at the patterns on the wooden table and was glad when Markland had finished speaking.
“There’s one more thing I’d like to add.”
Howie sighed, and lifted his head.
“It seems I have a chance at reconciling my marriage. Joan and I have started speaking again and we’ve even had a meal together. It’s early days, and things are by no means anywhere near perfect,” said Markland, fixing a steely stare upon Howie.
“If you, or your friend James, or any of the hocus pocus that is sure to come along affects my future with my wife, I can assure you that your life won’t be worth living.”
Howie nodded to signify that he understood.
“So does this mean that you’re going to help me Mr Garraway?”
“It means, Mr Doyle, that I don’t believe I have much choice in the matter.”
Markland checked his watch, stood up and made his way to the door.
“Speak to James, and his father, and tell them that I’ll meet with them. I’ll decide how involved I’ll get after we’ve all spoken.”
“Thank you Mr Garraway, thank you,” said Howie, as Markland disappeared out of the door.