A Full Churchyard (13 page)

‘We need to be careful with our phraseology,' suggested Wayne Wain. ‘I'm sure Jacob doesn't believe there's a murderer at large in the town. So, Jacob, if we think someone
has
helped Miss Croucher to die in peace, can you tell me whether similar occurrences have come to your notice?'

‘On and off over t'years, yes. Mrs Langneb was found lying on her floor, Dr Simpson told me that. And with doors and window open. There was talk she'd taken a tumble but Dr Simpson found nowt wrong with her, except she was dead.'

‘Any more similar cases?'

‘There was a few but I can't remember t'details. Anyroad, I wouldn't want you chaps digging up my past customers to have their remains examined by forensic scientists,' protested Mr Carpenter. ‘That
would
set t'alarm bells ringing.'

‘I don't think that will ever happen,' Pluke tried to reassure him. ‘If the causes of death of some of our recently deceased Crickledonians were considered natural by doctors and other experts, then it is doubtful whether such causes would be revealed in post mortems carried out after exhumation. To all intents and purposes, these deaths were all from natural causes. And that's the official result.'

‘Well if they do decide to have exhumations, somebody would have to re-bury 'em all, Mr Pluke. I might earn myself a few good jobs, paid for by the Home Office. I wouldn't complain about that and publicity is always good for business.'

‘Very true indeed, but back to my question, Jacob. So the outcome of our chat is that we think other Crickledale residents have been helped into their graves?'

‘There's no doubt about it, Mr Pluke. Folks of Crickledale are a caring lot, they never want friends or loved ones to die in pain or mental agony or merely spend a long time dying when things can be made easier or speeded up a bit. But if you're going to ask me who those folks were, those who did the helping, then I can't tell you that because I've no way of knowing. And I can't remember.'

‘I realize that. . .'

‘I'm not privy to confidential knowledge among families or officials. It's not my job to pry into things once t'professionals have given t'all-clear for a burial. I just let things be as I get on with my job.'

‘But you do visit the interiors of many homes where people have died, don't you?' pointed out Wayne.

‘I do, Sergeant Wain, yes I do. And I've seen windows open and mirrors turned to face the wall and such like, but that doesn't mean the deceased was helped to die. Such things happen
after
death which is when I turn up.'

‘That is a good point, Jacob,' smiled Pluke. ‘You're part of the process that follows death, you seldom precede it. Well, I think we have taken up too much of your time. It has been a pleasure talking and you've been most helpful.'

‘Right but think on this, Mr Pluke. Don't go round suggesting there's murderers at large in Crickledale, 'cos there isn't. This is a kindly place, not given to cruelty and so on. Helping a friend to die is a kindness, Mr Pluke, never forget that.' He rose and left them. Sipping their cold tea, they watched him leave.

‘He bears out what I've been thinking, Wayne. Someone – a person working alone or perhaps as a member of a team – is helping to despatch the good people of Crickledale into the hereafter. It's done as an act of kindness, so it would seem, but I believe that is a clever cover story. Say what you like, and in spite of what Mr Carpenter thinks, I'm convinced we have a killer or killers in town, Wayne. As I've pointed out already, I doubt if they are doing it out of kindness, so we must look into the question of missing property. And as we say in major incidents, there is already a large body-count.'

‘I agree with all you've said,' nodded Wayne. ‘So where do we go from here? We seem to be going around in circles.'

‘It's vital that we establish links with all these deaths, Wayne. Common factors we can identify – and we must establish the motives surrounding all the assisted deaths. Stealing from the deceased, for example, promising to ensure treasured items accompany them to the grave whereas they never get there . . . there is ample scope for crimes here, Wayne.'

‘So it's back to our files?'

‘It is, but before we go, we should make our presence known to the vicar – she's new here – and I think we should have words with any members of Mrs Langneb's family who have come to bid her farewell.'

‘Why, sir? We were not friends of Mrs Langneb?'

‘No but polite and considerate behaviour will be expected of senior police officers in such circumstances.'

And so they moved from their seats and joined the small group of mourners standing around with plates of food in their hands. Pluke headed for the vicar who seemed to be temporarily alone. He knew her name from chats at home with Millicent although he had never met her. She was a recent arrival and would not know details of past deaths or funerals.

‘Ah, Ms Williams. So nice to meet you at last.'

‘You must be Detective Inspector Pluke?' she had a winning smile, he decided. Warm and friendly but business-like. A woman in her mid-fifties, he estimated, with well-tended fair hair and a good skin. ‘I am Susan Williams.'

‘And I am Detective Inspector Pluke. This is my deputy, Detective Sergeant Wain.'

As they shook hands, Wayne managed to produce his most charming smile as he gazed into the blue eyes of the vicar, and she in turn thought he was wonderful . . . if only she'd been younger. . . .

‘It's good of you to come to Mrs Langneb's funeral,' she said. ‘She has few relations and most of her close friends have died but I know she was never alone. In the short time I've been here, I've grown to learn that Crickledale has an enviable reputation for caring for its elderly and ailing.'

‘That's why we're here,' smiled Pluke. ‘As the two most senior detectives in Crickledale, we feel it is our duty to be part of a caring society. After all, we are public servants with a great responsibility to the community. But work calls, Miss Williams. We must return to the office.'

‘It's good of you to make yourself known.'

‘That is our pleasure. I just wanted to ask if you knew whether any of Mrs Langneb's relations are here?'

‘No, Mr Pluke. She has a nephew and a niece, both of whom live in the south of England, but they called me to say they are not able to attend her funeral.'

‘Oh dear, such a pity.'

‘I think they were hugely disappointed she did not leave her cottage to them in her will. Their absence is a protest, I feel, Mr Pluke, but Mrs Langneb did tell me, during one of my visits to her, that they had never been to visit her in her entire life. Not even following the death of her husband.'

‘It's a bit early to be thinking of wills and legacies, surely?'

‘It is, Mr Pluke, but I am sure you, as a policeman, know what some people are like. For some, that is their only thought after the death of a member of the family.'

‘So who has inherited her house? Do we know?'

‘Not yet and I have no idea who might be, Mr Pluke. If that's all her family can think about, it makes me very sad.'

‘I think it is true that the love of money is the root of all evil. Please excuse us leaving now but we must hurry back to our office, Ms Williams, we have work to do.'

And so they left.

As always, when Pluke entered the police station with his right foot first, he checked with Sergeant Cockfield-pronounced-Cofield of the Control Room to see whether his presence was needed at any major crime, but there was nothing.

‘It remains the quietest time I have ever known, sir,' confirmed the Sergeant. ‘Something usually happens even if it's only a small crime or a tiny incident of some kind but right now there's nothing happening, absolutely nothing! I fear it might be the calm before the storm. Mrs Plumpton has left a message to say she has returned to her office after the funeral, and that she told me she would take any of your calls in your absence. But there have not been any.'

‘Thank you. So if that storm does come, we shall be in our offices, Sergeant.'

Once in his office, Pluke invited Wayne to join him but at that moment, Mrs Plumpton burst in.

‘I left the funeral before you,' she oozed. ‘I thought you both would like a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit. Funerals are always so testing. Shall I make one?'

‘Yes please, Mrs Plumpton,' smiled Pluke. ‘Then come and join us with your own tea and biscuit. We shall discuss the usefulness or otherwise of our presence at Mrs Langneb's funeral to see what valuable information we have gleaned.'

‘Oh, good,' beamed Mrs Plumpton. ‘I was going to suggest a meeting as soon as possible because I have something very interesting to tell you both.'

Chapter 10

‘I
t was so
exciting, being a real detective, Mr Pluke. After years of working in your office, I've discovered I'd like to become a dedicated solver of crimes. It's so fascinating listening to people tell their stories and then following up with enquiries that provide answers. . . .'

‘That's one of the great appeals of our work,' agreed Pluke.

‘And such important work it is too. So necessary for the good of our entire society. . . .'

Pluke was now sitting at his desk with Wayne at his side whilst Mrs Plumpton settled opposite. Her black and frothy funereal dress was a shade more modest than most of her working outfits, but it did reveal lots of curious wobbles and chesty flesh.

‘So what have you discovered that makes you so excited?' Montague asked her, before immediately wishing he'd never used that phrase.

‘You'd be surprised,' was her anticipated response at which Wayne grinned widely. ‘But it was something to do with your cold-case review.'

‘I can't wait, Mrs Plumpton. It seems your detective acumen has been very well exercised.'

‘I think it has, definitely. Now, you'll recall that when you decided to look for suitable subjects for your cold-case reviews, I found all those files in the uniform branch's cabinets. They related to minor crimes in the town and included all our undetected crimes, some having been committed long ago.'

‘I remember it well, Mrs Plumpton. After all, it was only yesterday afternoon but I must confess I have not yet had an opportunity to examine them in detail.'

‘Well, Mr Pluke, this is the interesting bit. One of them relates to a theft from an old gentleman's house, his gold watch.'

‘An interesting case but sadly undetected. That's surprising because it was recorded in both the Lost Property Register as well as a Crime Report. Surely there can be little doubt the old man had mislaid it . . . we don't really want lost objects being recorded as stolen, it distorts the crime figures. If we did that with every item of lost property, our crime figures would rise to alarming proportions . . . I must speak to the town inspector about this. Inspector Horsley must be made aware of the implications of such actions.'

‘Oh, it wasn't lost, Mr Pluke,' and Mrs Plumpton was quite strong in her rejection of his assessment of the case. ‘It was definitely stolen. That's what I learned today.'

‘Really? And who provided that information?'

‘Mrs Frankland, she was next-door neighbour of Mr Lindsey, the old man whose watch was stolen. He was 89 years old and his son, Stephen, reported the crime. Mrs Frankland has always kept in touch with Stephen Lindsey who lives in the south now. . . .'

‘The watch disappeared and the old man couldn't remember where he'd put it so when Stephen became aware of the loss he reported it stolen . . . am I right?'

‘Yes, and he told Mrs Frankland what he'd done, just in case the watch turned up. He felt she should know about it, being his next-door neighbour and a regular visitor to his home.'

‘So they were good friends?'

‘Yes, and she was always on hand in case he needed anything day and night.'

‘Where would the old folks be without good neighbours, Mrs Plumpton, we owe such a lot to them. And to the carers . . . we should not be afraid of growing old in Crickledale, should we?'

‘You're absolutely right, Mr Pluke. Anyway, as I was saying, Mr Lindsey's watch was definitely stolen. It wasn't the case of an old man not remembering where he'd put it. He never took it off his wrist, according to Mrs Frankland. It was waterproof, shock proof and self-winding . . . the very best, a present for his 75th birthday. There was no need to remove it from his wrist so he never did so. That's what she told me today. Apart from that, old Mr Lindsey never went out of the house alone, he couldn't walk or pop into town to do his shopping, there was nowhere he could lose his watch except in the house or garden and both were very carefully searched by his son, Mrs Frankland, and the police. If it had been lost, there it would have been found. And, of course, after Mr Lindsey died, the house was sold – the watch was never found when the house was cleared after the funeral.'

‘Well done, Mrs Plumpton. I think I should send a memo to the duty inspector downstairs and instruct him to delete references to that watch from our lost property register. In view of what you say, it was properly recorded as a crime – and if it was taken from his house, then the crime should be burglary, not simple theft. Perhaps you could draft a memo for my signature?'

‘Yes, of course, Mr Pluke. But there is something else.'

‘Really, you have been busy! I must say I am impressed and grateful. There is no doubt you are a very good detective, Mrs Plumpton. We must use your talents again. So what else did you discover?'

‘Mr Lindsey is one of those people whose deaths you are investigating,' she said quietly.

‘Is he? I haven't reached his file yet. . . .'

‘It's in my office,' chipped in Wayne. ‘I'll fetch it. Give me a minute.'