Wednesday, 7 May 2008

A bag full of surprises.

Its been a busy evening, and one which has presented us with a mystery.

Apart from watering all the plants, watering the garden, feeding dogs, chickens, rabbits, sheep, horses and goats we have chucked twenty kilogrammes of grass seed over Oak Bank. Apparently this quantity is enough to cover one acre, we barely got it to cover half of the field. The sheep and goats followed me round hopefully treading it in rather than eating it, and I am hoping its going to rain tonight, though looking at the sunset its not likely. Strange that I should be wishing for rain after only two days sunshine but that's smallholders for you, a fickle bunch when it comes to weather.

The horses were needing to stretch their legs so we walked them down the lane, past Ducky, Poppy's favourite toy and up onto the hill to have a munch of the grass that's fighting a losing battle against the bracken.

Not too far up the hill I noticed a few days ago a black holdall type bag which I thought one of the dogs must have taken from the workshop and deposited it by the gorse bushes. As I was not far from it with Trevor the Shitland pony I thought it high time I retrieved said holdall. We wandered over and to my surprise it wasn't a bag of ours at all but a day sack from a hiker. Sorting through the bag whilst holding onto a very hungry and ever so stroppy Shitland was not going to be an easy task but I persevered. I stood on the lead rope and started my investigations, a large radio, optimistically I turned it on, nothing, so I shook it, still nothing, I put it on one side for later. A strange bundle wrapped in a bandage, drugs perhaps, yes indeed, paracetamol, plasters, scissors, rennies and some perished sticky tape. A phone charger, Panasonic type, no phone though. A disposable camera, all pictures taken, I pressed the flash button, no high pitched whine, water dripped out of the casing indicating there would be no point in taking it to Boots and claiming the 100 extra points getting it developed. There was another camera in the bag, this one unopened in its protective foil. Might be useful. I put it by the radio. Bonus points a diary, this was getting interesting, 2005.

I looked around, 2005. How had this bag lay here undiscovered since 2005. The outside was clean, one corner had signs of rodent or slug attack, one pocket of the bag contained mush so it must have been out here for a long time but 2005 was a bit of a surprise. The diary was wet and all the pages were stuck together. I carefully peeled apart some pages. In black ink neatly written May 4th 2005 it said pay fine, get credit. Another page see Dad? Some pages ripped, another entry, pay fine, get car, get Gary. Obviously who ever made these entries was a literary genius.

I looked up, Trevor was bored and was pulling on the rope, I ignored him and delved into the bag again. A clasp knife. A big one with a big blade. My blood ran cold, I was in a murder scene, I was in a murder scene with a Shitland pony who was dropping lumps of dark green DNA all over the evidence. I looked around for bones, there were none. I put the contents back into the bag carefully. I was intrigued, did the diary writer, see Dad, was the fine paid, could they afford the credit and did the knife have anything to do with getting Gary? What had Gary done to deserve getting? Or was Gary still waiting to be got, or had he got away with it?

But how had this bag lain undiscovered for nearly three years, had it been concealed in the rocks just above, that was full of crevices and hiding spaces, big enough to hide Gary's corpse. Had the dogs found the bag and dragged it here into the open, would they be seen later on playing with a strange ball which turns out to be a skull. Gary's skull! Unlikely, but how does a walker lose their day pack? They carried it here, you would think they would notice their backpack suddenly gone.

Trevor continue to express his discontent by tangling us both in the lead rope and kicking the bag back into the bushes.


We unwound and wound our way down the hill.

I got back to Rock HQ and told Ben about the bag, as I did I tapped my pocket and found I still had the knife. He examined it with interest, murder weapon, definitely, what was I doing he asked, rummaging through a murder scene like that, the trouble I could be in, he laughed and walked off.

I know its just a bag dropped or left by a walker.

I know there's no body hidden in the rocks and bushes.

I know Gary's safe.

So why am I fighting the urge to wipe the knife clean and put it back?

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