The Lazarus Secrets by Beryl Coverdale Page B

Morrison handed him two sheets of typed notes, “Is that a true statement as given by you today 31st December, 1967?”
    Calway read the statement thoroughly, “Yes, it is.” His voice, like his looks, was pleasant and cultured.
    â€œIf you agree it’s correct, sign it,” snapped the sergeant.
    She snatched the document from him, checked the signature and handed it to Darrington.
    It was over. Twelve months to the day when a man walking his dog had found the missing Sally Wilson’s body on Benchley Common, Darrington had caught the killer on his day off and virtually in his own backyard.
    â€œThey should never have done away with capital punishment, then they could hang that bastard,” the sergeant hissed as she and Darrington left the police station together. She had no trouble hating him.
    â€œWell, that’s not for us to decide Jean, we’ve done our bit and now I’m going home.”
    â€œWhat about the Wilsons?”
    â€œI’ll call and tell them on my way,” said Darrington walking toward his car.
    â€œBut it’s not on your way.”
    Darrington turned and looked back, “I told them their daughter was dead last New Year’s Eve, so I should tell them her killer has been arrested. Of course, it will make me late home, yet again, but I’m sure Sarah will understand, at least I hope she will.”
    â€œYou mean she’s used to it,” laughed the Sergeant.
    â€œProbably, but I’m in so much trouble already today it won’t make any difference. On my first day off for weeks, I went to see my son compete in a race and ended up arresting the winner. I did ring and tell Sarah what had happened. I left her to explain to the vicar, who just happens to be my cousin, why he had no winner to accept the trophy but she didn’t sound too impressed.” He smiled grimly, “But at least we’ve got Calway behind bars.”
    The sergeant nodded, “Well, have a good New Year’s Eve sir, although if you are anything like me you won’t be very good company.”
    Darrington smiled but didn’t reply. He would be good company, he knew he would. He had been taught by an expert to imprison life’s horrors to be dealt with at another time. It was an accomplishment he had perfected over the years but never could decide if it were a good or bad practise. For the first time in many years he thought of Leon Bauerman, the doctor who had certainly saved his sanity, but had also taught him how to lock away the darkness in his life — to stand firmly on the trapdoor where the demons of his past urged to be let out.

Chapter Five
    The Oak Hathern cross-country race was held every year at 11am on the 31st of December and David had an excellent chance of winning it for the third year in a row, an unequalled record. Sarah had pleaded with Max to take just one day off especially as it was his birthday and he had finally agreed.
    Over the years the race had become as much a social event for the spectators as a competition for the runners. In fair weather or foul, almost the entire population of the village and many outsiders crowded the green to watch. The Mothers’ Union served hot chocolate in paper cups and the crowds milled about stamping cold feet and chatting to friends and neighbours.
    From the starting point, Max’s cousin, the Reverend Clive Longfield, waved to him and then after looking steadily at his watch for a few seconds, fired the starting pistol into the air. A cheer went up and the runners, bunched together and exhaling steamy breath at the starting line, sped off on the five-mile circuit around the outskirts of the village and back to the green. Sarah clutched David’s tracksuit certain he would win and happy that, for once, his father would witness his achievement.
    Clive and his wife Carol came to wish Max a happy birthday and were not the first to jokingly remark on his unusual appearance at a