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The man was tall. He was in his late forties had to be but
looked as if he was still fit and well. He was grey at the
temples, his hair thinning a little and receding. His face was
lined and slightly softer, rounder. Sarah had seen him only a
month ago, yet he was now nearly twenty years older.
The Doctor grabbed his hand and wrenched it up and down
before enfolding him in a bear hug. 'Harry Sullivan now isn't
this a pleasant surprise!'
Paul Campbell lived on the outskirts of Glenlake village.
From his house it was only ten minutes walk to the edge of the
woods. Campbell liked to think he was fit despite his age, and
if he was it was mainly down to Jasper's exercise routine. They
each covered about six miles a day, at varying speeds
depending on the weather, Jasper's mood and how many
cigarettes Campbell had choked on the night before.
Each day they took a different path through the woods. By
now they knew all the tracks and most of the clearings, so it
was a surprise and something of a delight to happen upon an
area they had not been to before.
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'Will you look at that, Jasper,' Campbell gasped, patting his
pockets in the hope of finding the packet of Benson and
Hedges he knew was on the sideboard. It looked to his tired
old eyes as if there was a small clearing ahead, and he walked
closer to examine it. He did not get very far before Jasper's
straining weight at the other end of the lead held him back.
'What's wrong with you?' He yanked on the lead, but Jasper
would have none of it. So Campbell screwed up his eyes and
managed to make out the fuzzy shape of a fence between
himself and the clearing. 'You're probably right, boy,'
Campbell conceded. 'MOD, I shouldn't wonder,' he muttered
as they moved off, 'putting up fences, spoiling the landscape.
They'll be shooting at things next. What's wrong now, boy?'
But the high-pitched whine he could just make out was not
coming from the dog. It got louder and louder, and Jasper
dragged Campbell back into the wood, trying to run from the
noise. Campbell would have been more than happy to be
dragged along, but the sudden down-draught which pulled at
his coat and blew dust and loose debris from the ground into
his eyes and his face was slowing him down. He wrapped the
lead once more round his wrist to be sure Jasper could not
break loose, and crouched in the slight shelter of a horse
chestnut tree.
The whining noise reached a peak, joined by the rushing
sound of the wind through the woodland and a lower, rumbling
sound like the jet engines of a fighter plane. Then, suddenly it
stopped.
Jasper was calm again, his fur ruffled by the breeze but his
eyes back to their usual dullness. Campbell was out of breath.
'MOD morons, don't know nothing about keeping the peace
round here,' he grunted as he tried to push his few wispy grey
hairs back into place. He and Jasper were about to set off for
home when he realized they were being watched.
The man came from just behind Campbell, from the same
direction as the fence. From the same direction as the noise. As
the man approached, grew clearer, Campbell could see that he
was perhaps in his early forties, tall and thin with narrow,
pinched facial features. He wore a dark business suit which
55
contrasted with his pale skin even his lips were thin and
bloodless.
'You hear that racket?' Campbell asked. 'Sodding military I
shall report it.'
The man was close to him now, so close Campbell took a
step back and Jasper growled in his usual tentative manner
which fooled nobody.
'Report it?' The man smiled faintly, one side of his mouth
twitching upwards, the other remaining set. 'I don't think so.'
'Oh don't you, then?' Campbell turned to go. 'Well, you'll
see. Come on Jasper.' He flicked the lead in encouragement,
and felt a tick in his back as he did probably muscles playing
up again, he thought.
But it was a long, thin steel knife thrusting into his spinal
cord.
Stabfield picked up the body, taking care not to get blood on
his tie. He hefted it easily over his shoulder, and broke the
dog's neck with a single kick. Then he untied the lead from the
man's hand and wrist. Nobody would miss the dog, but the
man's body would need to be moved elsewhere. Stabfield
wanted it found, not hunted for. And he wanted it found miles
from where his shuttle was moored.
The appearance of the body would tie up police resources
and computer-time in the area, which was a small enhancement
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