In his memoirs ("Fabian of the Yard"), ex-Chief Inspector Robert Fabian devotes five pages to this unsolved case; he had been delegated to give it a shot after local efforts failed. Here's a bit:
Once a black dog came running down Meon Hill, and a moment later a farm lad followed. "Looking for that dog, son?" I said.
He went pale. "Dog, mister?"
"A black dog." But without further word he stumbled off in his heavy earth-clogged farm boots.
While I stared at him, Superintendent Spooner said quietly: "There's a local legend of a man who saw a black dog on this hill. It turned into a headless woman who rustled past him in a black silk dress - and next day his sister died!"
"Who was he?" I said wonderingly.
"His name was Charles Walton!"
That afternoon a police car ran over a dog. Next day another heifer died in a ditch. And when Albert Webb and I walked into the village pub that evening silence fell like a physical blow. Cottage doors were shut in our faces, and even the most innocent witnesses seemed unable to meet our eyes. Some became ill after we spoke to them.
We persevered, took 4,000 statements, traced tinkers and gypsies. We sent twenty-nine samples of clothing, hair, etc., of various suspects to Birmingham laboratories for analysis. I had tramps detained in Somerset, boot-repairers questioned in Salisbury...but the murder remained unsolved. And one night, when we had waited all day to question one man who might have aided us, I said: "I'm inquiring about the late Charles Walton..." He interrupted me gruffly.
"He's been dead and buried a month now - what are you worrying about?" Then he shut his door.
