It's time for an outing for my police hero, Hazlitt, the only forensic archaeologist in thrillerdom. I am presenting it as a TV script, to make it easier for later transition to the screen.

 Exterior, a lonely moorland road, along which a solitary car is driving. Interior of the car. Inspector Whitstable is driving. Sergeant Bollard is at his side.
Bollard: Pretty bleak scenery, sir. Where exactly are we?
Whitstable: Well, Bollard, we're just coming up to the Yorkshire/Lancashire border. And it was up here, about thirty years ago, that they staged the first Pennine Marathon. Three hundred hopeful runners set off into the mist and rain…
Bollard: Sir, can I ask if this is background briefing for a crime, or just general waffle to establish how well-read and informed you are?
Whitstable: Oh, no waffle. No Stephen Fry-type performance. It's all strictly relevant to the case.
Bollard: In that case, I'll concentrate and listen.
Whitstable: I believe it was the first time they had tried to establish a serious North of England marathon. Of course, they already had a pretty tough fell-running tradition up north, but it was always going to be easier to get sponsorship for marathons. And so in 1971 three hundred and twenty-one runners set off on the first Leeds Lamb 'n' Leek Pie Pennine Marathon.
Bollard: Lamb 'n' leek pies?
Whitstable: They were the first sponsors. They were all they could find.
Bollard: Right.
The car stops. The two men get out into the thick mist.
Whitstable: And so three hundred and twenty-one runners vanished into the driving mist. But only three hundred and twenty re-emerged three hours later. One was missing!
Bollard: Maybe he just hadn't finished, sir. Some people are so stubborn about marathons. Maybe he's still staggering around there in the mist somewhere, in his little tin foil space suit.
Whitstable: Maybe, Bollard. Except that this was thirty years ago. And except that we know who he was. His name was Walter Skilton. They know he started the race. They know he didn't finish. And he has never been seen again since!
Bollard: Bloody heck. So why are they reopening the case now?
Whitstable: Because athletics has had a lot of bad publicity recently with all the drugs stuff, and they thought that a soft, gentle murder case might take off some of the pressure.
Bollard: Murder? They think this bloke Skilton was murdered? But how on earth are we going to open an inquiry on something that happened thirty years ago?
Whitstable: That's easy. We send for our forensic archaeologist, Hazlitt.
Suddenly Bollard clasps at Whitstable's arm and points through the gloom. A ghastly figure is approaching, holding what looks like a scythe.
Bollard: My God, sir! What's that? Is it… Death?
Whitstable: That's crazy. Why would Death want to go to Leeds ?
Bollard: To get some Leeds United shareholders, maybe?
The figure comes closer. It is only a man carrying a spade.
Whitstable: Ah, Hazlitt, it's you!
Hazlitt: Sorry if I'm a bit late. I came across some wonderful Viking remains just down the road. Had to have a poke around.
Whitstable: What was wonderful about them?
Hazlitt: Well, I didn't know the Vikings had corner shops.
Whitstable: What makes you think it was a Viking corner shop?
Hazlitt: This fossilised snack.
He shows them an ancient pasty-shaped stone.
Whitstable: That's not a fossil. It's a Leeds Lamb 'n' Leek Pie.
And it can't be more than a week old.
Hazlitt: But it's hard as a rock!
Whitstable: All right. Ten days old, then.
Bollard: Sir, is it possible that this corner shop isn't Viking at all, but actually dates from the Pennine Marathon on which our man Skilton was murdered? And was some kind of refreshment stall, or something?
Hazlitt: Yes, it's quite possible. Just give me a little time to dig around.
Whitstable: How long, Hazlitt, as if I didn't know?
Hazlitt: Three weeks should be quite enough.
Whitstable: All right, three weeks. But you'd better come up with something amazing.

Will Forensic Archaelogist Hazlitt comes up with something amazing ? Will he solve the riddle of Walter Skilton, who set out to run the first Pennine Marathon in 1971, did not finish the race, and has never been seen since. Was he murdered during the race? Did he take a wrong turn? Did the Beast of Bothwell Moor attack him? Now read on…

The scene is a lonely moorland road in the Pennines. In the distance is a motorway along which huge lorries go one way taking TV dinners and crisps to Yorkshire supermarkets, and the other way taking TV dinners and crisps to superstores in Lancashire. Yes, what a privilege it is for us to live in a developed country. But here on the small road there is only Inspector Whitstable and Sergeant Bollard, mooching around in the cold, swirling mist.
Bollard: I thought you said that Mr Hazlitt would be here.
Whitstable: He'll be here. He always comes up with the goods. He's just a bit eccentric, that's all.
At that moment a small van pulls up and Hazlitt, the forensic archaeologist, gets out.
Whitstable: Hazlitt! Well done! Had any luck? You've been digging around for a fortnight. You must have found something by now.
Hazlitt: I certainly have. Five miles down the road from here I've located the site of the Battle of Bothwell Pike, a Civil War encounter. Nobody has ever known who won it, so with any luck we'll be able to find out.
Whitstable: How will you know?
Hazlitt: By finding out which way the dead are facing. The losers are generally those heading away from the battlefield.
Whitstable: Hmmmm… And what about our case? Any news of our missing runner?
Hazlitt: Ah, yes. I found something else. A small pit at the crest of the run. Only a trained eye would have noticed it. I dug it up and found inside it a bundle of running clothes. And running shoes. And this number plate. Number 94. Which was Walter Skilton's number in the race!
Whitstable: My God. So they murdered him and buried him.
Hazlitt: Well, there's no sign of a body. Just his stuff. But it's in an interesting place, in the grounds of a tranport cafe. And the cafe is run by a bloke who I think can tell us some more…
Mix to the transport caff. Hazlitt and Whitstable are asking the boss some questions.
Boss: Yeah, I've been here for years and years. Since the 1970s. I did think of expanding once, set up a chain of caffs, but I'm glad I didn't. One place is enough. We're licensed to do weddings here, you know. We're very busy.
Whitstable: Were you here at the time of the very first Pennine Marathon ?
Boss: Yes, just about. Why?
Whitstable: Because in your grounds we have discovered the remains of Walter Skilton, who vanished during that race, and we have reason to believe that you murdered him. Therefore I am arresting…
Hazlitt: Alex! You've got hold of the wrong end of the bloody stick, haven't you! This guy didn't murder Walter Skilton! He IS Walter Skilton!
Whitstable: You WHAT?
Hazlitt: When you find people's clothes buried, it's usually because they're adopting new identities. My hunch is that Skilton "vanished" during the marathon, got rid of his running gear into a hole in the ground and took over his role at this transport caff. A marathon is the easiest place in the world to vanish in. Hundreds of people, all wearing underwear and looking alike. You wouldn't miss one till it was too late.
Whitstable: Is this true ?
Boss: Spot on. I used the marathon as a chance to get out of my old life and into a new one.
Whitstable: In that case, I arrest you on a charge of…
Hazlitt: Alex. You can't arrest him. He's done nothing. It isn't a crime to stop running. Or to bury your clothes.
Whitstable: So, that's it, then. Case closed. No arrest.
Hazlitt: No, there is one other thing.
Boss: What's that ?
Hazlitt: When I was wandering round your lorry park, I couldn't help noticing you've got the remains of a wonderful old Viking privy out the back, there. Do you mind if I. . . ?
Boss: Not at all. Give us a shout if you want any paper.
Hazlitt: No, I don't want to… Well, never mind…
Another Hazlitt adventure coming soon

Independent - Nov 3 03