He'd had a problem with his van and was several hours late as it was. Soon after passing the church, he saw something in the middle of the road. To use his own words, he said that it looked like a bundle of old rags lost off a dustman's cart. But he slowed, because there wasn't sufficient room to pass on either side, and he was wary about driving straight over the rags. He'd served as a driver in the war and was accustomed to watching out for unexploded ordnance in his path. By that time his headlamps had reached the bundle and he could see it more clearly. He realized it was someone lying in the road, and he stopped to see if it was a drunkard or if the man had been struck by another vehicle.

"He got out of his van, and walked over to what lay in the road, getting in the way of his own headlamps and having to step aside. Now he had no doubt the man was dead. His eyes were open, and there was a great deal of blood around his neck. At first Black believed that the man had cut his own throat. Unwilling to leave him there, Black finally decided to protect his body by leaving the van in the road, and he walked back into Eastfield to find the police station."

He turned to Constable Walker. "Have I got that right, Constable?"

"Yes, sir. It's exactly what he'd written in the statement he signed."

"Then perhaps you'd like to take up the account at this point."

"I sometimes sleep on a cot in the room above the station, Mr. Rutledge, my wife being dead for some years. I heard Mr. Black banging on the door, as I had only just gone to bed. I opened the window and called out to him, asking what the problem might be. He told me he'd just discovered a dead man in the road and would I come at once? I asked if he was certain the man was dead.