2. An Unfinished Pub Crawl

If you’re back then you’re interested! Thank you! Here’s the basics of the case from quickly skimming the front sheets.

Dr Gideon Buckland, aged 32, disappeared on a Saturday evening way back in the autumn of 1998. A geology lecturer at St Peter’s College, he was expected back home by his wife late at night. Saturday was his regular night at the pub, sort of out of the lads (more on this later). He frequently ended up sleeping over at one of his mate’s houses, whichever end of Oxford he finished up at around kicking-out time. So the wife wasn’t too surprised when he didn’t show and disturb her in the middle of the night with clattering as he drunkenly stacked his muddy bike in the front porch and staggered up stairs. Come hell or high water, all the lads, complete with hangovers, would head out on their bicycles on Sunday morning to Brill or the Cotswolds and return in the afternoon sweaty and still reeking of beer and cigarette smoke from the night before. In this day and age it’s strange to remember that that was a time when most people didn’t carry a mobile phone with them. Especially true of a group of Oxford lecturers who, despite their age and the cycling, seemed happy to settle quickly into the large meals, port, brandies, cigars and leather armchairs kind of life. So Mrs Buckland, although probably a bit miffed, wasn’t concerned when the good doctor still hadn’t arrived by Sunday evening. A Missing Person call was finally logged at St Aldates Police Station at 8.37am on the Monday morning, after she had already called the College, Geology department and the four  “usual suspects” of his close friends.

So who was Gideon Buckland? Gid or Giddy to his friends, standard Oxford material, sickeningly bright with a glowing CV. Born and raised in East Devon, only child of well-to-do parents, dad a lawyer and mum a head mistress. Went to the local Church of England school (the one the mum was head of), straight “A” student, decided he wanted to study geology after a school camping trip near Cheddar Gorge. Could have done medicine, veterinary science, whatever, but was more interested in what was under his feet. Promptly went up to Magdalen College, Oxford, where he studied (READ, Lewis! The ghost of Morse ever in my head) Earth Sciences and met future wife Kate (Philosophy and Theology, originally from Bath). Straight on to a PhD (DPhil, Lewis!) where he spent four years mostly cycling with the Oxford University Cycling Club and going to beer festivals but easily managed to turn in a thesis on “Chromium isotopic anomalies in K-T boundary sediments”.  Secured a junior research fellowship at St Peter’s, bought a house with Kate in New Marston, married in Magdalen chapel the same year. Active member of the local Campaign for Real Ale committee (margin notes by Morse become increasingly positive from this point on), rising steadily through the pecking order in the college hierarchy. Research work continued in the geology of mass-extinction events. All to do with asteroids wiping everything out, apparently. Friendly and said to be well-liked with the same circle of drinking and cycling buddies, all in various post-doc positions, that he’d shared his student days with. Lapsed Anglican, wife not so lapsed but didn’t drag him to church more than a few times a year – usually Easter, Christmas and Remembrance Sunday.

The standard interviews of wife, family and friends in the days after his disappearance and the profiling didn’t show any particular “stressors”, but he’d been a bit under the weather mood-wise . No particular money worries (Kate worked at the University Press), no kids, no other troubles. Father and mother both well at the time and heard from him once a week. No indication of anything unusual from them. Friends and students noticed him happily settling into the eccentric don stereotype with increasingly elaborate metaphors, dusty rock samples scattered throughout his college rooms and, because he was an expert in mass extinction, a catchphrase of “we’re all doomed anyway”, which he’d announce in the face of either any minor problem or apparent triumph, often to a huge roar of laughter from his friends.

These friends – as I said, 4 main ones. All cyclists and ale lovers and friends since undergrad days. 2 Jameses – 1 always James, the other always Jim. James was also at Magdalen and a physicist, Best Man at Gid and Kate’s wedding. Now a tutor at Univ. Jim had been the secretary of the cycling club and studied medicine at Queen’s College. At the time of the disappearance was a surgical registrar at the Radcliffe. Third was Phil, chemist from St Peter’s. May have put words in the right ears when Gid was interviewed for the research post. May also have made a pass at Kate when they were undergrads but apparently water totally under the bridge. Finally Andy, dour Scotsman and the most serious cyclist. Regarded as the “lightweight” of the drinking group but probably because he was more interested in cycling without a bad head. Engineering science at Magdalen, still there as Junior Dean.

Nothing obvious to me from the start. I can’t see any glaring suspects or motives to bump off poor Giddy. Although it seems he’d been a bit down recently he normally seems happy enough too so no clear reason to disappear or do away with himself.

Anyway, I’m off to read about this really weird drinking game or pub crawl that the guys used to get up to. Morse has made quite a lot of notes on this, for him. But it was after one of these crawls that Gideon Buckland disappeared…