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30

A sandstone arch marked the entrance to Oxmarket Woods.  The narrow access road, flanked by trees, lead to a small car park, a dead end.  This was where I met DI Silver; his car was parked amongst the fallen leaves.

          Thirty yards from the car park was a signpost pointing out several walking trails.  The red trail takes an hour and covered approximately two miles. The purple trail is shorter but it took in an Iron Age fort.

          Fallen leaves were piled like snowdrifts along the ditches and the breeze had shaken droplets from the branches.  This was ancient woodland and I could smell the damp earth, rotting boles and mould: a cavalcade of smells.  Occasionally, between the trees I glimpsed a railing fence that marked the boundary.  Above and beyond it there were roofs of houses.

        &n

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