Death By Curiosity

'I remember' are two words I use on a regular basis, mostly when I'm about to tell you a tale that happened many years ago.

As I don't want to disappoint anyone by deviating from a tried and tested method ...

... I remember ...

that many years back I was questioned by the police.

A uniformed policeman called at my door at about lunch time.

"I believe you used to own a firearm" he said as I ushered him in and towards the sofa.

"Not me" I answered.

"We have statements from your neighbours to the contrary" he said smugly.  "They say you used to own a weapon very similar to a shotgun and that you used to fire it over on the school playing fields at weekends".

"Never owned one or ever wanted one" I said, wondering where all this was going.

Then he changed tack and began to query my whereabouts between the hours of 8 pm and 10 pm the previous evening.

That was easy.  I was on a plane flying back from Germany.  I said so and he demanded proof, so I showed my plane tickets and my train ticket from London to Newcastle.

Without explanation, after writing down my ticket numbers, he excused himself and left.

I tried several times to find out what his questions were all about, but without success.

He left without saying a word.

That evening as I watched the news on TV, I was amazed at the headlines.

A young boy of three or four years old had been found dead.  His body was found on grassland along what used to be the local rail track.  He died of head injuries after having been shot at fairly close range by a shotgun.

The penny dropped.

Apparently, for a short while, I had been on the list of suspects.

For a further week the world and I watched as news bulletin after news bulletin merely said that investigations were continuing.

I knew I was in the clear, but someone out there had done it and the village was crawling with police trying to solve the case.

Then came the startling revelation that shocked not only the family of the dead boy, but the entire north east of England, if not the country.

The youngster had been killed by two relatives, both youngsters themselves, in order to 'see what it looked like'.

My home town was in shock and the only talk in cafe's, pubs, clubs and on the street was of the two boys that had killed a young relative (a cousin,  I think) and then told a pack of intricate lies to cover it up.

I returned to Germany just a day or two after their arrest and quickly put the whole affair behind me.

That is until today.

It all came back to me this morning as I was walking the dogs in the freezing cold.  It happened thirty years ago, but for some reason it very clear in my mind as if it had only recently occurred.