Delivering Death: A Rural Murder Mystery

By Mark Stroud

After a young girl is murdered in the woods, DCI Callum West faces the monumental task of identifying the killer from a host of colourful characters in the village of Cragsbury, a task that becomes ever more urgent as bodies begin to mount.

Who is the killer? Ambitious young excitement-seeking rookie postman John Barlow, who has a habit of opening people's mail? Local gossip collector Tom Brookes? Teacher Phillip Jenkins, who has an attraction to his female pupils? Accountant Dennis Smith, who hides an age-old secret? Successful builder David Smith, who hides a secret of his own? High-flying local Member of Parliament Steven Butterfield, who knows a scandal could ruin his career? Pub landlord Bill Carter or his chef Jon Geddes, who both know a lot of dodgy geezers? Car dealer and wide boy Tom Benson? Clothes shop owner Robert Jackson, who hides a secret affair? Or perhaps Bill Francis, a figure shrouded in mystery?

The clues are there, but there are a few red herrings too. The solution will test the cognitive powers of the most avid problem solvers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SDS Publishing
• Release date: Nov 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310557149

Mark Stroud

Marlborough, Wiltshire, England.

Book preview

Chapter One: First Delivery

It was a beautiful morning in July as John Barlow set off quite late, on his new post round from the Royal Mail sorting office at the town of Listbourne in Wiltshire. John had not been a postman for long, just a few months, and it was his first time driving a Royal Mail van. All his other rounds had been on a bicycle.

John was 19 years of age with short, curly black hair, of slim build and about five foot eight inches tall. He had always been in trouble at school, liking to play truant. An opportunist, he was easily led down the wrong path, if he thought it might be to his benefit.

The round took him to Cragsbury, about five miles from Listbourne, through out-of-the-way farms and scattered hamlets. Cragsbury was still a village, although it had quadrupled in size in the last ten years. He planned to have a cup of tea at his house there, where he lived with parents Peter and Joanne.

On the outskirts of Cragsbury, he decided to pull into a layby to have some chocolate, and a cup of tea from a flask. The layby was on the other side of the road, so he turned the van around, facing away from the village.

He got out, picking two bundles of mail from the back of the van. As he settled back into the driver’s seat, he noticed a letter was unsealed. His curiosity got the better of him, so he took the letter out of its envelope and began reading. It wasn’t a long letter, but gave him a bit of a shock. His shock was compounded by a sudden knock on the window. Christ Almighty! he exclaimed. A disapproving female countenance looked in at him. He wound the window down and smiled. It's alright, it's my mail, he said, fumbling with the letter, trying to get it back into the envelope. You didn't half give me a start, creeping up on me like that.

Sorry. I thought it was Donald, our regular postman. Where is he, by the way?

Oh, he's on holiday for two weeks in the south of France.

You're late today. We normally get our mail, before we go for our morning constitutional.

A bemused looking man appeared behind the woman. John presumed him to be her husband. They were both riding bicycles, and were probably keen cyclists, looking fit for their age. The slim woman was of average height with short grey hair. She had a thin face with a long nose, and wore glasses. The man was also of average height with white hair and a round face; well-built but not fat. He wore round spectacles. They were both in their fifties.

Yeah, replied John. Well, it takes time to get quick at doing a new round.

Have you got any mail for us? the woman asked. If you have, we can take it. It will save you quite a few steps, as we have a long path up to our front door. We're Mr and Mrs Parsons, Well Cottage.

Ah yes, confirmed John. It should be in my first bundle, but really, I’m not supposed to give out mail. You could be anyone. I mean, you say you live in the village, but then I live on the estates, and I don't know anyone who lives in the private houses.

Don't worry about it, Mrs Parsons said. It’s probably only bills or circulars anyway. I just thought I would save you some steps.

How many steps? asked John.

Well, she replied, we've probably got the longest garden in Cragsbury.

Okay, then, John said, quickly finding her letters in a bundle, that settles it. Here you are, three letters. He handed them over.

Thank you, she gushed, more bills.

Right, I must be on my way, hurried John, or I'll never get finished. He wound up the window, and wheel-spun away in first gear, leaving the Parsons in a cloud of dust. Whoops, that was a bit naughty of me, he said to himself, with a big grin all over his face.

His first delivery was to the ‘House on the Hill’. Then he drove down into the village, turning left into Melton Road, delivering to private houses on both sides of the road.

He turned left out of Melton Road, passing a large, rundown disused garage on a corner, before turning onto the main road through the village, where he delivered to some of the estates on both sides.

He passed the Canal Inn, going over a canal bridge, before turning right onto Canal Street. He delivered to the flats and houses there. There was a building site behind them containing newly-built houses, for which only the interiors needed finishing. He delivered to dwellings on Canal Terrace, which backed onto the water. Then he delivered to most of the houses on Clayton Road, before turning back onto the main road, completing a circle of the village. He hadn’t seen many people, hardly anyone in fact.

Longing for the half-hour break he had promised himself, he visited his house on Chestnut Drive, on one of the estates off the main road. His parents were out working. Peter worked for a carpentry firm in Listbourne. Joanne worked part-time at a clothes shop in the village.

After a cup of tea and a sandwich, John delivered to the remainder of the estates, before heading back to the inn. He delivered to shops opposite the inn; a food shop, a tea shop, and a fish and chip shop. The shops did quite well. Cragsbury was quite a large village, and the shops attracted both local and passing trade. There were quite a few people about, some of which he acknowledged.

He walked into the Canal Inn. Owner Bill Carter was standing behind the bar. Hi Bill, began John, how are you today?

Alright, thanks, young John. How about you? Bill was tall, just over six foot and well-built, in his mid-fifties with white hair and a big nose.

Where's Angie today, then? John asked. Angela was Bill’s wife, but the pub often employed barmaids in the evenings, and on busy weekend afternoons, times when food was also served by chef Jon Geddes, who lived in the village.

Don’t know, replied Bill with a furrowed brow, making John think he was a bit down, gallivanting around somewhere. I expect she's gone into town to do some shopping. Seems to be doing a lot of that lately. She's probably buying some prizes for Wednesday. We've got a quiz and a raffle here, you coming along?

Oh, dunno, I might do. Here's yer bills, Bill. John placed the pub’s post on the bar. Right, must be on my way. See yer later. As he walked out, he noticed some people at a table. They seemed to be in deep discussion.

He delivered to more houses on Clayton Road, eventually reaching Lilac Cottage. Two Alsatian dogs were running around the garden, and ran towards the gate. There was a woman in the garden. Hello, John shouted, but the woman didn’t respond. Christ Almighty, he thought, what are you, deaf? Hello, he shouted louder. She looked up, taking two earpieces out. Ah, that’s why you couldn't hear me.

They’re alright, she said, walking towards him, they won’t bite you.

Don’t care. Royal Mail policy is don’t go into anyone's garden if there are dogs running loose, as they are a potential threat to health and safety.

Oh okay, then. She took the mail from him, then turned away, beginning to open her letters. Sonia Taylor was in her thirties, five foot six with long brown hair, a slim body and sparkling blue eyes. Very nice, thought John. She liked running, and had completed several marathons, belonging to a running club in Listbourne. Husband Neil had a very well paid job in London, so Sonia didn’t need one, preferring to spend a lot of time attending to her beloved garden.

John was on his second, much smaller bundle of letters. Not much to go now. Three houses later, he crossed the road. A man in a smart suit was waiting by a front gate. Have you got any post for me today? Mr Dennis Smith, Primrose Cottage. I am expecting an important letter. He was a tall man with a receding hairline, and a bald patch at the back. What little hair he did have was black. He was quite slim, and always smartly dressed, even when at home. He worked for a firm of accountants in Listbourne, but was currently off work with stress, though he was doing some work from home. It was Monday. He was hoping to return to work at the end of the week, or perhaps the following Monday.

No, I ain’t, sorry, replied John.

Oh okay. A smile appeared across his face. John sensed he was quite relieved. No news is good news, confirmed Dennis, turning away. John remembered that Mr Smith had been waiting there the previous week, when John first travelled the route, learning the post round. Very strange, John thought. I bet he's probably waiting for something that he doesn't want his wife to know about.

A few deliveries later, John reached the end of his round at Appletree Cottage on Clayton Road. Next to the cottage was a footpath leading to Hangman’s Woods, and eventually to Listbourne. He didn’t like the woods much; they were really spooky, and he had heard a lot of stories about strange things happening there. There was a tree from which it was said a lot of people were hung in medieval times, so ghosts haunted the woods.

Suddenly, a ginger cat appeared. John had seen it before. A car had run over its tail, and he heard it had an operation to preserve what was left. It loudly mewed, rubbing itself against his legs. Hello pussycat. What's your name, then? He liked cats. His at home was called Rosie. The half-tail cat rolled onto its back. He wanted to stroke it, but its claws were protruding. It sprung up, and ran off into the woods. He sighed, before jumping into his van.

As John headed back towards Listbourne, he remembered the letter he had read earlier. He decided on a very exciting plan of action, covering a week or so. It was something he had never done before. It was going to be challenging and interesting, and he couldn’t wait to get started, but knew he would have to be very careful. Who knew what it might lead to?

David Smith woke up to the alarm. Oh God, Monday morning again, he thought. His wife Nicola didn’t wake. He got out of bed, put on his dressing gown, and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He was tall; six foot and well-built with short black hair, and a square hard-looking face. In his late thirties, he owned a building contractors’ firm in Listbourne. It was doing very well, and had plenty of work, covering all school and council house contracts in the area. There was a massive amount of private sector work too; the firm had a great reputation, employing over 40 men. He was a fantastic carpenter, still liking to work the tools, although he was normally home by four, even though his staff worked through to five.

He brought two cups upstairs, and gave Nicola a prod. Wakey wakey, darling, cup of tea here.

Oh no, is it that time already? She gave out a massive yawn, before standing up to stretch. Quite tall, she stood at five foot nine inches. She was slim, very pretty with long ginger hair, and perfect facial bone structure. In her early thirties, she had been married to David for five years. She loved her life, and the perfect house she always wanted. It had the perfect garden, in a perfect spot in Cragsbury. She had recently been made redundant, when a jewellers’ shop in Listbourne was forced to close. But she wasn’t too worried, confident she would find something else soon. She thought David didn't mind her not working, in fact thought he preferred it, but knew he appreciated any extra money she could bring in. They had no children, but had been trying for quite some time, having become worried enough to seek medical help. She gently sat on the bed and took a cup. Thanks love.

It’s alright for you. Lady of leisure at the moment.

Don’t worry, I'll soon find another job. I might try to find one that involves working with animals. I think that would suit me down to the ground. She loved animals. He wasn’t too keen on them, but liked Sam, their three-year-old Dalmatian.

Go for it, he encouraged her, as long as you don't bring them home with you.

There's that kennels and cattery place, just the other side of Listbourne. Or there's the zoo, of course. It’s not too far away. Is it more of a wildlife park? I don't know, anyway it’s got animals there.

Right, I’d better get a move on. If I don't get to work soon, those men who don't know what they are doing today will be only too happy to sit there and do nothing.

She smiled. Yeah, you got that right. I think I’m gonna go back to sleep.

He watched her roll over, and close her eyes. Lucky bitch. But he kissed her on the cheek. Laters, honey.

Laters. Oh, let Sam out for five minutes, will you please, before you go to work?

Yes dear.

Thanks love. She was already half-asleep.

He had toast and another cup of tea, whilst the dog roamed outside.

What a lovely day, he thought, think it's gonna be a scorcher, as he locked the front door of Rose Cottage, Melton Road. Nicola slept on for a while.

Ah, another cup of tea, some toast and television, she thought as she woke up, and maybe a spot of gardening later on.

Whilst watching the TV, she noticed some letters on the mat. Ah, post. Wonder what he's brought us today? She flicked through the letters, sorting them into his and hers. She put his mail on a hall table, but then one particular letter caught her eye.

When David arrived home just before four, he noticed Nicola at a window, looking anxious. Hi honey, he said, strolling indoors, had a good day?

Hi. Not too bad, thanks.

But he wasn’t convinced. What's up? Everything okay?

Yeah, fine. Why shouldn't it be?

Oh right. Okay, then. It's just that you don't seem your usual self.

She made herself brighten up. Oh, it's just that I'm not feeling too well. Got a bit of a headache, and a dodgy stomach. By the way, you've got some mail.

Oh right, thanks. He walked away to pick it up. Could murder a brew.

I'll put the kettle on. She disappeared into the kitchen.

There's a lot of mail here for a Monday, he shouted through. Bloody idiots. She heard him say something else, but couldn’t quite make it out. She began to make her way out of the kitchen to ask him what he had said, but there was a knock at the door.

He was already closing the door when she reached him. Just someone collecting for St. John Ambulance. He smiled.

Oh right. She made her way back to the kitchen.

They sat drinking tea on a front garden patio. Sam sat in the shadow of a table, beside Nicola’s chair. It was still very hot. Nicola sighed, took out a packet of cigarettes, and lit one. Ah, that’s better.

He looked at her disapprovingly. I thought you were trying to give that disgusting habit up.

I'm going to. I'm just feeling a bit stressed at the moment. And anyway, I have cut down considerably, as you know.

Yeah, okay.

There was a long awkward silence. Right, he eventually announced, jumping up, I'm gonna take a walk to the shop. Do you want anything?

What? That's unusual for you to do that. You normally drive everywhere. She eyed him suspiciously.

Yeah, I know, he said. But I thought, with it being such a nice day, I’d take a walk with Sam. I normally get everything in town, but I didn't today, as I've been out in the sticks all day, helping out on a job. You know, the one at Marston Hall I told you about.

Oh yeah, she said in a detached voice.

Why don't you come with me to the shop? We could take in the canal if you like.

No, it's alright. I'll stay here and start making the tea.

He thought she seemed a bit happier at his offer, even though she had refused. I won't be long, see you in a bit.

She watched him put Sam on a lead, and stroll away down the road. They quickly disappeared behind trees and hedges. A cyclist went by, wearing a baseball cap and hoodie. Nicola suddenly jumped up, but realised David was out of sight. Dashing indoors, she rushed up to the bedroom.

She was in the kitchen, when he arrived back from the shop, half an hour later. He had drinks, crisps and a paper. Something to eat and drink, while watching the footie later. England are playing. I've just been followed right round the block, by a guy on a mountain bike. I don't think he realised I'd noticed him. I came back along the canal and Clayton Road, and when I looked behind me, he was still there. I first noticed him when I went out of the front gate, and again when I came out of the shop. It's a bit weird, ennit?

That is weird. I saw a cyclist go by the gate, just after you left, with a hoodie and a baseball cap.

Yeah, same dress. Anyway, let’s not worry about it. He laughed. Is tea ready yet? I'm starving.

Chapter Two: A Murder

On Wednesday, Amy James was sitting on a bench at London Paddington, waiting for a train to Listbourne. It was late morning; quieter because the rush hour was over. Amy was in her late twenties, five foot five, slim and pretty. Her hair was dyed red with a fringe cut square, just above the eyebrows. She had a bubbly personality, and lived life to the full, whenever she could. The day was hot and sunny, so she wore jeans, tee shirt, and a white pair of trainers to offset her black handbag. She quite enjoyed her journey out once a month; it got her away from the flat she shared with her six-year-old daughter, and her flatmate Jenny.

The train arrived after a ten-minute wait. The journey to Listbourne lasted about 35 minutes. The bus to Cragsbury took another 20 minutes. There were four stops in the village, and as she disembarked at the stop by the pub, her mobile phone rang. Oh hi, she answered. It’s you, what's up? She listened for a few moments. What, three thirty? she said, disappointed. Oh God! That means I've got to hang around here for two-and-a-half hours. She listened again. Right, okay. I'll have to ring Jenny, and ask her to pick Sarah up from school for me. At least there's a pub here. I think I'm gonna go in there for a couple of hours. I'll see you at three thirty.

She rang off, and stood outside the Canal Inn, spotting a poster advertising the quiz that evening, next to one offering accommodation. After pondering, she rang Jenny, who agreed to look after things until the next day, Amy deciding to stay at the pub overnight.

Amy went inside. Bill smiled, pouring her a coke with lemonade, before accepting her credit card payment for a room upstairs. She sat at a window. There were four other people in the pub; two gentlemen, standing and talking at the bar, and a man and a woman at another window table, overlooking a car park.

Time passed slowly. Amy ordered something stronger to drink. It became very overcast. Bill walked over to her, and looked out of the window. I do believe it's going to hammer down in a minute.

She smiled. It certainly looks that way. Hope it's not going to last too long.

Sure enough, within five minutes, rain was absolutely bucketing down. She watched it in a trance-like state. She loved to watch the rain, when it was really fierce. The downpour lasted about half an hour, then the Sun came out again.

When she left the pub at 3:15, the roads had dried out. It was as if the rain never happened. She made her way to the canal, and took a towpath to Clayton Road, where she stopped, musing whether to continue along the canal on the towpath, or take a footpath across a field. She followed the canal, loving the fragrance of flowers, combined with the smell that always follows a fall of heavy rain. The towpath became rather wet and muddy. Her trainers began to get filthy, but she carried on.

She suddenly heard someone approaching from behind. Looking around quickly, she just had time to get out of the way of a fast lady jogger, who put her hand up as she passed. Thank you very much, breathlessly said the jogger, quickly disappearing round a slight bend. A green barge approached, a man steering at the back. ‘THE GREEN GODDESS’ was painted along the side. Good afternoon, the man hailed. Nice day, now the rain's stopped.

Good afternoon. Yes, isn't it?

The barge went past, heading to Hangman’s Woods. When Amy reached the woods, she took a path leading down the west side, still able to see the houses on Clayton Road. Halfway along the path, she turned left and took the west-to-east path, leading deep through