Superstitious Death (21 page)

‘With what purpose, Mr Burholme?’

‘To ensure that I cannot be connected in any way to this incident. It happened on my land – that is all. That can happen to any owner of land. I have told you the truth. But the official version will be along the lines that the girl was paying me a chance visit because of my long association with her convent. It will be stated that she was missing when I returned from Harrogate. My movements in Harrogate can be checked and her time of death can be established with some accuracy. I remember her clothing was wet because of the storm, Mr Pluke, and I saw the rain had washed a little blood down the side of her face. I know enough about your forensic pathologists to realise they can pinpoint the time of her death to the time of the rainstorm. That means she died when I was thirty miles away at Harrogate; it also means I have an unshakeable alibi, Mr Pluke. I know that and you know that. That is my strength, my salvation, Mr Pluke. It means I cannot be a murder suspect and thus I need not be investigated. So, it is now necessary to produce a cover story which will fit the available facts. There are several possibilities. Might we say she interrupted a burglary at my home, for example, and died as a consequence? Perhaps not. Someone from Security will contact you for a digest of all the known evidence so that a suitable story can be produced. Once the official version has been agreed, it will appear that the girl was murdered, possibly for her money which has never been traced or possibly for sexual reasons, and probably by a travelling person from overseas who was carrying a tent. The story will say that I did not miss the girl on Saturday night because I returned home fairly late and thought she was in bed; clearly, I had no wish to disturb a nun in her bed! On Sunday morning I noticed she was missing and it was while looking for her that I found the wheelbarrow abandoned in one of my fields. Thinking it was the work of a joker, I replaced it in my shed, not realising what it had been used for. I did not, of course, visit the quarry. Your enquiries will suggest that her killer used the barrow to convey the body to the grave and the fact that my spade is missing will confirm that someone killed the girl – although exactly where has never been determined – and conveyed her body to the quarry for burial. The report will assume that my spade was used to dig the grave but that will never be proved. The murder weapon will never be found either. Should anyone try to match the arrow on that weather-vane with the wound in her head, they will find that the arrow up there is far wider than her wound, Mr Pluke. And of course, the paint it bears will not match the paint particles which adhered to her wound – I saw them, remember, Mr Pluke. They were black; that arrow is now dark blue even if it looks black from this distance. But that is speculation, Mr Pluke, because I am sure the “murder” weapon will never be identified. You were most astute to find the cause of her injury. When the authorities contact you, you may find that the press would be interested to know that a European youth on a camping tour of this country is suspected. I believe you have already instituted enquiries through Interpol and with ferry operators? The mirror will have little relevance to other investigators, Mr Pluke; it belonged to her in any case and must surely have fallen from her clothing into the grave, don’t you think? If the evidence cannot support the theory that she was attacked by a burglar, might it be better to concentrate on the hitch-hiker idea? Let’s say it was someone who met Miriam while she was hitch-hiking. She was rather naive, being a nun, and so when he invited her into his tent in my quarry for a lager or two on Saturday evening, she agreed. After all, she was alone in that huge house, and on holiday. A nice friendly man would be a wonderful diversion. But he expected more; she refused him sex and, in his anger, he killed her. That might be the better story. To support it, there are tent peg holes in the quarry, Mr Pluke, and camp fires to prove someone has used the site. That person either killed her or caused her to die from a wound, the source of which will never be determined. The killer has gone back to his own country and will never be found; your suspect will never be identified. There are several alternative stories from which can be produced a set of circumstances which will fit the available evidence. Already you have kindly eliminated any suspicion from my many agricultural machines. Maybe, to add support to the official version, my controller will arrange for an anonymous letter to come to your office from overseas – anywhere but Sweden, in fact – which you can show your coroner? It could be a letter admitting everything suggested by the evidence, albeit with regret? You could then close your books, Mr Pluke, and keep your crime detection record intact. I think it was your William Shakespeare who said that, to do a great right, one had to do a little wrong. Remember, I am still not entirely sure why that young lady wanted to visit me – I did not have the opportunity to fully question her. I hope she was genuine but I may never know. There is more work for me to do in that respect, work I need not worry you about, but I fear you will have a murder investigation on your files.’

‘We can’t have this, sir!’ cried Wayne Wain. ‘It is not right, not justice –’

‘Sergeant,’ said Eric Burholme, ‘I am afraid that is what will happen. You are now privy to what might be termed state security, rather than rural policing. There is much at stake, even half a century after the end of the war, and those politics must take priority. My own superiors will contact you, Mr Pluke, perhaps personally or perhaps through your Chief Constable, to debate the available evidence. You are a member of a disciplined organisation, Mr Pluke, which means you must obey orders.’

‘That is true, Mr Burholme.’

‘Then I see no future problem.’

‘But, Mr Burholme, if you had reported the accident for what it was, it would have been dealt with very speedily… after all, it was an accident, nothing more. There was nothing to fear. You would not have been at risk in any shape or form.’

‘I would have been at risk, Mr Pluke, which means others would also have been put at risk. For such an unlikely accident and the peculiar set of accompanying circumstances, the press might have begun to delve, my past might have been investigated. It is easy to find out I am a naturalised Swede. That would be sufficient for some to dig deeper. They have many sources; 1 could not risk any publicity. After all, the evidence shows I am a Nazi war criminal who is still being hunted! Furthermore, I would be associated with enquiries into Miriam’s background and certain things would be revealed such as her mother’s insistence that I was her father… For all kinds of reasons, including those basic ones, I could not risk the tiniest part of my background being discovered and investigated, Mr Pluke. So, very hastily and knowing I had an unshakeable alibi for the “crime”, I had to produce something at which I used to be very good – a cover-up.’

‘I have no power to sanction this, Mr Burholme.’

‘I am aware of that, Mr Pluke. That will be dealt with by your superiors, and the convent will be consulted about their part in all this. Now, as a final gesture, I want you to ensure Miriam has a proper burial. With a full Catholic service.’

‘I will ensure that,’ Pluke assured him.

‘Let me know when and where it will be, and I will send a maiden’s garland.’

‘What’s a maiden’s garland?’ asked Wayne Wain.

‘It is a tribute to an unmarried woman of unblemished reputation, Wayne,’ Pluke told him. ‘A white garland of flowers or even linen, sometimes with a white glove in the centre, and adorned with white ribbons and rosettes. It is carried before the coffin to indicate the status of the deceased, Wayne. Very fitting for Sister Bega.’

‘But not for politics, sir?’

‘No, Wayne. Not for politics.’

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