Superstitious Death (6 page)

‘We want to trace all the machines currently on hire from Mr Burholme,’ said Pluke. ‘And we’d like our officers to examine them. Was yours damaged in any way when you took delivery of it? That was on Saturday morning, I believe? A part missing perhaps? Something like a bolt or a spindle?’

‘Took delivery? I collected it myself on Saturday morning, early on. Half-seven or thereabouts. But no, I checked it over before I towed it away. There was nowt wrong with it, no damage, nowt missing.’

‘Did you notice anyone else around the premises? Apart from Eric Burholme?’

‘No, never saw a soul, Mr Pluke.’

‘Thank you. Now, can we have a look at your machine?’ asked Pluke. 

‘Aye, if you like. Follow me. It’s a fairish walk.’

In spite of wearing such a heavy and cumbersome coat, Montague Pluke enjoyed the rapid walk down the fields of Hollins Farm, although it caused Wayne Wain to pant rather more than he would have wished. The open fields provided an extensive view of the moors behind Crickledale, and in time, having discovered that a fairish walk in Yorkshire was a long walk by most other standards, the three men entered a field where a tractor was moving slowly through the long grass. Preston hailed the tractor driver who halted and awaited the arrival of the three oncomers.

‘Hang fire a bit, Harry,’ said Preston. ‘These chaps want a look at your harvester.’

Under the farmer’s guidance, Pluke examined the machine and decided nothing was missing – it wouldn’t have functioned with a part missing – but because the working parts were smothered with chopped grass and other vegetation, it was impossible to see whether any of them bore signs of blood or skin or minor damage.

‘It was clean when you collected it, you said?’ Pluke confirmed.

‘Not immaculate, not like a new machine,’ said Preston. ‘You can’t expect that when you’ve a machine which is doing this kind of mucky work. There’s nowt worse than fresh grass for darting up forage harvesters. Just think of a lawnmower. But it was as clean as I’d expect, and in good working order.’

‘Right, well, thank you very much for your help,’ said Pluke, wondering whether a forensic scientist would be able to locate blood or skin on any part of such a used machine. ‘I’m sorry to have caused a break in your work.’

‘Think nowt of it, Mr Pluke. Mind you, you’d have a job to get trapped in one of these, but nowt’s impossible. I just hope you catch the bloke responsible. Right, Harry, back to it. We can’t stand around all day when there’s work to be done.’

And so the forage harvester resumed its silage making while Pluke, Wain and Farmer Preston walked back to the farm buildings.

‘If you can think of anyone who might have used the quarry, or who the blonde girl might be, give us a call, would you?’ asked Wayne Wain.

‘Sure,’ said the farmer, waving them off.

After a long, lingering look at the magnificent series of horse troughs, Pluke fastened his seat belt and said, To the office now, Wayne, if you please. I wonder if our pathologist has produced any surprises?’

When Pluke returned to the police station, his first task, after crossing the threshold with his right foot first, was to visit the control room where he asked Sergeant Cockfield pronounced Cofield if there had been any messages.

Wayne Wain waited at his side.

‘Yes, sir, Mr Meredith rang, from the path lab. Could you call him back?’

‘I will indeed. Now, is the incident room being established? If so, where?’

‘Yes, sir, in the parade room. Detective Inspector Horsley of Headquarters CID is in charge as usual, and he’s already got the furnishings, telephones and computers organised. He’s put out calls to draft in thirty detectives from across the force area.’

‘Then I must pay him a visit. I shall proceed immediately to the incident room, sergeant, and I shall be there for a while. If anyone from the press rings, tell them I shall issue a statement very shortly. Have there been any press calls, sergeant?’

‘Not yet, sir.’

‘Good, I need to present them with accurate information – I may need their help to get this victim identified.’

As they moved through the corridors to the room normally used by the town’s constables for parading on duty, Pluke turned to Wayne and said, ‘Wayne, call the force press officer at Headquarters. I’d like him to join the team in the incident room, as soon as he can arrive.’

‘You think this is going to be a runner, sir?’

‘It has all the hallmarks of a long-lasting investigation, Wayne. Consider the facts – there is a most curious injury which is likely to have caused death, a distinct and thought-provoking lack of clues at the scene except for a pink hand mirror, no ready identification of the victim, no obvious motive, a well-dug grave at an isolated location with no witnesses… The ingredients are all there, Wayne. A mystery for us to solve/.’

‘A mystery, sir? Not a murder?’

‘Not necessarily, Wayne. But thinking of our crime figures and detection statistics, we do not want an undetected murder on our books although that worry does not colour my judgement in this case. I continue to have a very open mind.’

‘I understand. Right, sir, I’ll call the press officer immediately. It’s a new man, by the way – an Inspector Russell, Paul Russell,’ and Wayne Wain headed upstairs to make the calls from his own office.

As Fluke entered the parade room, littered with unplaced desks, filing cabinets, telephone engineers and administrative personnel, all of which or whom were required for the creation of an incident room, someone picked up a phone which was already ringing and said, ‘Detective Inspector Pluke, it’s for you.’

He accepted the instrument and identified himself.

‘Hart, Headquarters,’ came the brusque reply. ‘What the hell’s going on in Crickledale, Pluke?’

‘Barughdale, sir, to be precise.’

‘Stop being pedantic, Pluke. It’s within Crickledale sub-division. I have a garbled message here at Headquarters to say you’ve requested Horsley to set up an incident room in Crickledale.’

‘Yes, sir –’

‘Now the force is involved in a cost-cutting exercise and we want no unnecessary expenditure… so is this murder or not?’

‘I am treating it as murder, sir.’

‘I don’t care how you are treating it, Pluke, I want facts, not your bizarre theories. Is it murder or isn’t it? That’s all I want to know. It’s a simple question which requires a very simple answer – yes or no. And while I am talking to you, I must say that you’re not exactly in the top league of operational detectives, Pluke – your record of dealing with murders is pretty thin to say the least and your record of solving them is even thinner. I’m not sure you are the man to deal with an extended investigation, murder or otherwise, and it wouldn’t surprise me if you didn’t know a murder from a bit of malarkey –’ 

This is a highly suspicious death, sir,’ Pluke interrupted this flow of venom as he tried to reason with Detective Superintendent Jack Hart. ‘The woman was found in a shallow grave with head injuries –’

‘All sorts can cause head injuries, Pluke. Falling off a bike can cause head injuries, banging your head against a brick wall can cause head injuries… I do it all the time!’

‘This one looks like a puncture wound, sir. The pathologist is examining the victim at this moment. I don’t think it was a self-inflicted wound, it was far too deep, consequently I am awaiting his judgement.’

‘But is it murder, Pluke? That’s all I want to know.’

‘I must be honest and say I am not sure at this stage, sir. The injury is in her right temple, a deep hole in the head to be rather crude, a puncture wound by an object yet to be identified.’

‘She fell on something, maybe?’

‘I had not ignored that possibility, sir. Furthermore, she was buried in a disused quarry and found by a hiker. And her identity is not known. It all suggests something highly suspicious.’

‘Go on, Pluke.’

‘Well, sir, those circumstances compel me to treat the death as a possible murder. I should know the pathologist’s opinion very soon, and this will assist me to determine the matter. Meanwhile I am conducting a murder-type investigation. I do need that kind of commitment from my officers if I am to bring this case to a satisfactory conclusion.’

‘Well, if it’s not murder we can’t go to the expense of running an incident room and all the costly trappings that go with it, Pluke. Dozens of detectives on overtime, high telephone bills and all that. We have a budget for serious crime, remember. We can’t go spending money as if we’ve won the lottery.’

‘I am very aware of the financial restraints, sir, but I am also anxious that justice is done. The administration of justice should not depend upon the limitations of provincial police budgets, sir, with all due respect.’

‘Well, it does depend upon precisely that,’ snapped Hart. ‘And I have to work within that budget, like it or not. So keep me informed, call me the minute you have the pathologist’s report. If this is not murder, then I can’t approve an expensive long-running investigation of murder-type proportions, can I?’

‘No, sir.’

‘And I should not have to remind you that unauthorised or unconventional burial isn’t necessarily an indication of murder, Pluke, especially if it’s preceded by accidental death… People who hide secrets are not always murderers,’ and he slammed down his handset.

Smarting from Hart’s vitriol, Montague Pluke sought Detective Inspector Horsley, his colleague from headquarters CID and the man whose job it would be to administer the incident room. He would also allocate actions to the detectives when they assembled. Running an incident room was the equivalent of being in charge of the operational enquiries in a case of murder, hence the equal ranks.

‘Ah, Detective Inspector Horsley,’ beamed Montague. ‘Glad you could make it.’

‘Has Hart been on to you?’ was Horsley’s first question.

‘Just now,’ said Pluke. ‘A very rude man, if I may say so, very lacking in courtesy, a sad thing for a man at the height of his professional career.’

‘He’s under pressure from the Chief Constable. Budgets, the low detection rate, the increase in recorded crime… you name it, poor old Jack Hart’s got worries about it. So we are treating this as murder, Montague?’

Montague Pluke never referred to other officers by their Christian names, especially in the presence of subordinates and particularly those with whom he was not on close friendly terms. He said, ‘There are sufficient very good reasons for this death to be investigated with all the vigour of a murder enquiry.’

‘Fair enough, it’s your decision, you are the operational detective in charge of this sub-division. So what are your plans?’

‘I understand you have called out thirty detectives? I shall address everyone in the incident room at six o’clock this evening. The most immediate and important task is to get the victim identified. Very soon, I should have the result of the pathologist’s examination, and we shall then know the cause of death. Our teams need to be thoroughly updated, so you will have the incident room fully operational by six o’clock?’

‘I will,’ said Horsley. ‘You seem to have made a good start – that’s if it is murder! If not, you’ll have to send them all home again.’

‘Monday is not a bad day to begin a new enterprise,’ Pluke told him in all seriousness, and then the telephone rang again. Pluke answered it.

‘It’s Meredith here from the pathology department.’

Chapter Five

‘I was going to ring you,’ beamed Pluke. ‘So what is your news?’

‘A fascinating case, Mr Pluke,’ began Meredith. ‘First, the girl’s physical appearance, you’ll need this if you’re to get her identified. White skin, five feet six inches tall, that’s 165 centimetres; taller than average. Well built, thirty-six inch bust and hips, twenty-eight inch waist. Not slim by any means. Very good physical condition, no operation scars and every indication of being well cared for – nails in good condition, nicely manicured without any varnish, good natural teeth and hair all in first-class condition. The hair is thick and blonde, bobbed to just below the ears, not a fashionable or very expensive cut, Mr Pluke, not according to my secretary anyway. She has blue eyes, no spectacles or contact lenses. No ear-rings and her ears are not pierced. No lipstick or discernible perfume, no rings on her fingers – in fact no jewellery of any kind. Somewhat unexpectedly, she is a virgin, unusual for a woman of her age, if I may be so bold. There is no sign of any sexual attack, nor was she raped. That fact alone raises a question about the motive. Now to the injury, Mr Pluke. It is most peculiar. Some rigid object has penetrated her right temple and skull; it penetrated to a depth of at least three inches, even three and a quarter, that’s eight centimetres or so. Beyond doubt, that – and the associated shock – killed her. The object was removed before burial and I did not find it in the grave. Death would have been swift but not necessarily instantaneous – I would not place an estimate on how long it would have taken her to die, however. An hour might be too extreme – it could have taken mere minutes – but I think she would have been unconscious from the moment of injury until the time of death. There is bruising around the entrance to the wound as one might expect and other bruises about her head and shoulders, some with broken skin. If we find the object which caused the puncture wound, we might find it is attached to something else which made those cuts and bruises. Obviously, if the object is traced, I can make a match – but an agricultural machine might be what we are seeking. There are also minor lacerations to both her hands, rather as if she had fallen to the ground and tried to protect herself.’

‘Fallen?’ queried Pluke.

‘It’s one possibility, Mr Pluke, and it could fit your accidental falling-into-an-agricultural machine theory. Got herself impaled on a spike which was among some other metal sections perhaps? Fell on to iron railings even? Those with spikes? But that’s not a positive theory, Mr Pluke – to be honest, I have no idea what the object could be.’

‘There are no iron railings with spikes at Harman’s Farm, they’re all wooden ones.’

‘Whatever caused the wound, I think it was made of metal, it was heavy in weight and solidly constructed, and I think that the pointed section which produced the wound was painted black. There are minute traces of black metal paint in the wound. The spiked object has a diameter of four-tenths of an inch, that is nine millimetres, and it has a sharp point.’

‘It does sound like something from an agricultural machine, Mr Meredith.’

‘We must not let ourselves be persuaded by what we saw near the grave, Mr Pluke. That missile, whatever it was, could have come from anywhere or anything. It wasn’t a bolt from a humane killer, though – they have hollow tips and this weapon was pointed. I would add that considerable force would be required to drive it into her head. In trying to guess what the object might be, beyond a fall on to something spiked, I must confess to being baffled.’

‘So either she fell into it, was knocked into it, or it knocked her over, or someone used it to knock her over… My men will conduct a very meticulous search of the locality, including the machinery and the places in which it is stored, Mr Meredith. Rest assured you will be the first to know if we find anything likely to have caused that injury.’

‘Good. Now, Mr Pluke, I sought deposits on her body and clothes and found some items of relevant interest. For example, there were tiny pieces of gravel in the lacerations on her hands, consistent with her putting out her hands to save herself as she fell on to a hard surface. Similar gravel was found in the fabric of her jeans, on the left side, again consistent with falling on to that side. Her clothing was damp too but that might have been due to her lying in the moist earth of the grave – or, of course, she might have been caught in one of Saturday’s thunderstorms. The soil samples I took from the grave were remarkably dry, Mr Pluke – the rain had not penetrated that far down – and the soil was not the same consistency as the pieces of gravel in her hands and clothing. I think that she might have got wet in the rain and that she was alive at the time of the shower.’

‘So the question which faces me, Mr Meredith, is whether this is an accidental death or murder. That is what I must establish if I am to be allowed to continue this investigation.’

‘There is every indication it is murder, Mr Pluke. The absence of the instrument of death, the force required to kill her with it, and the circumstances of her burial all add up to a murder. It is difficult to envisage how such an injury could have been caused accidentally.’

‘I must state that I believe she could have fallen and impaled herself on something,’ said Pluke. ‘There is some evidence to suggest that. The gravel in her hands and clothes, and the accompanying minor wounds.’

‘Then where is the object which caused that fatal wound, Mr Pluke? Indeed, what is it? And why did no one call in the emergency services to give her medical aid? Why hide the body, why bury it in an isolated quarry without notifying the authorities?’ asked Meredith. ‘All those factors indicate murder, Mr Pluke.’

‘Then if my supervisory officers try to prevent me carrying out my investigation, you will support me by agreeing that this is a murder hunt?’

‘I will indeed, Mr Pluke. I am as intrigued as yourself.’

‘Fine, although privately, I must say that I have doubts. But if we can treat it as murder, it means I can avail myself of professional expertise in order to determine how she died. Now, the time of death, Mr Meredith? Can you give me any indication of that?’

‘Taking everything into account – weather, temperature of the body, burial, the rain, the lack of advanced decomposition – I’d say she has not been dead more than two days. If you ask me to be more precise, I’d say probably she died sometime on Saturday, later in the day rather than earlier. I’d support my earlier estimate of around tea-time. Her damp clothing might be a factor, too, and I think the blood of her wound was exposed to rain. Maybe she lived and died in the rain.’

‘There was a new moon early on Saturday morning.’ Pluke spoke softly, almost to himself. ‘A Saturday new moon is never a good omen, Mr Meredith, it heralds bad weather, heavy rain, storms at sea and bad fortune in general.’

‘In her case, she did have some appalling bad luck, didn’t she?’ There was a tone of dismissiveness in Meredith’s voice.

‘We should not mock or ignore such omens, Mr Meredith. So often do they prove to be accurate.’ Pluke now paused to reflect upon the information which had been passed to him, then asked, ‘So, Mr Meredith, in your expert opinion, shall I launch a widespread search for a component part of an agricultural machine?’

‘You can’t ignore that likelihood, Mr Pluke. I cannot be more positive than that, but remember a highly polished or oily part was not responsible. The part you seek is covered with black paint, and it has a sharp point. I’ve already said I believe it was not a humane killer. To do the damage it did, I think it would be fairly heavy and applied with extraordinary force. That doesn’t sound like a bolt or a spindle from a piece of machinery – and I think it was part of something heavier and rather complex in its construction. Remember her other cuts and bruises.’

‘We can have photographs of those, can we?’ asked Pluke. To help match the object when we find it?’

‘By all means,’ agreed Meredith.

‘What we do need here, Mr Meredith, is some very imaginative thinking. I’ll work on that. In the meantime, what about her clothing? Is there anything else you can tell me?’

‘I feel sure she was wearing it when she was injured – there were some tiny tears in her blouse which match the bruises I mentioned earlier. Don’t overlook the gravel particles either: I can match those with control samples if you find the place she fell. Because she was wearing those clothes when she died, you can publicise details – someone might recognise the clothing or may have noticed her wearing it. That is something you may wish to stress when you issue a description to your officers. And your officers might wish to trace the source of her clothing, Mr Pluke, although there is nothing which adds greatly to our knowledge. All her clothing, and her underwear, are of mass market manufacture, easily obtainable in department stores and high street shops. Modest in price, not fashionable items. The only thing in the pockets of her jeans was a single small white handkerchief – no money, make-up, combs. Nothing.’

‘Nothing that would lead to her identification?’ asked Pluke.

‘No, I’m sorry, nothing. You’ll want to take her fingerprints, I suppose?’

‘Yes, I have already asked Detective Sergeant Tabler to arrange that,’ Pluke said. ‘He will contact you to arrange a time.’

‘You have informed the coroner?’

‘Yes, but the inquest cannot be opened until we have an identification, and that might take time. And we’d like a photograph for showing to the public during our enquiries, that’s if we can get one which doesn’t make her look as if she’s dead.’

‘I am sure all that can be arranged. She will remain in our refrigerated unit until the body is required again,’ said Meredith. ‘So, Mr Pluke, I don’t envy you as you search for the device that killed her even though it might be fairly close at hand. Do remember that people get impaled on railings and spikes of all kinds, while bolts and other pieces of machinery can fly out under pressure, rather like the bolt from a crossbow. Lethal things, bolts from crossbows. You might consider that, Mr Fluke – a crossbow bolt, I mean.’

Pluke pondered on this, then said, ‘If it was a mere accident, it might have been in abnormal circumstances which caused her to be buried secretly.’

‘Like being a man’s mistress, you mean? She sustained her accident on his premises while his wife was away… Someone who’s trying to urgently and desperately cover up his tracks and his deception?’

‘Something along those lines, Mr Meredith. Someone with a big secret to maintain.’

‘But accidental death followed by unauthorised burial of a corpse is hardly the crime of the century, Mr Pluke!’

‘Whatever happened, Mr Meredith, someone knows all about it. Someone took the trouble to bury her secretly and to remove or conceal the instrument of death… and I shall find that person or persons.’

‘Then consider yourself with a major enquiry on your hands, Mr Pluke. I wish you good luck.’

‘To help me, I shall establish a four-leaved clover in my office just as soon as I can find one,’ Pluke told him, and replaced the telephone.

While Pluke left the office to obtain a four-leaved clover from a nearby field in which he knew they could be found, Detective Inspector Horsley completed the preliminaries for the incident room. By five thirty, it was ready to receive the thirty detectives and the civilian staff who would add their clerical expertise to the enquiry and as six o’clock approached, they began to filter into the premises. Inevitably, it became known as the Plukedom.

When everyone was present and recorded on the duty sheets, Pluke, with Wayne Wain at his side, strode into the room, called for silence and stood upon a chair to address his teams. After introducing himself and his senior officers, he provided a detailed outline of the discovery and of the work currently under way at the scene, then continued:

‘To all intents and purposes, this is a murder investigation and as usual in such an enquiry, I require two detectives per team. Detective Inspector Horsley will allocate your actions, but there are certain priorities. First and foremost, we need to identify the victim. Make yourselves familiar with her appearance and dress. Who is she? Where is she from? How did she travel to the quarry? Was she dead upon arrival at the quarry or did she die there? We need to trace her movements during the latter days of last week, Saturday in particular. Who was she with? Where is her family, who are her friends… you know the sort of things we must establish. Check all missing persons lists, local and national. Her fingerprints and a photograph of her will be available shortly, they might help, she might have a conviction of some kind. She is a virgin but that does not rule her out from being a prostitute. Prostitutes provide services other than normal sexual intercourse. Find out who has been using the quarry and question them closely to establish reasons and times – campers, picnickers, hikers, people dumping household litter, courting couples. They might have seen the blonde on a previous visit, or they might even have seen her over the recent weekend, alone or with someone. A camper might have arrived with her and left without her after some skylarking in the machinery sheds or elsewhere. She might have been sheltering, her clothes were wet. And there were particles of gravel in lacerations on her hands and in the leg of her jeans, these suggesting a fall. If she fell, where did it happen? What did she fall on to? There are no metal railings with spikes at Harman’s Farm.

‘Next, we need to find the weapon which caused her injuries. Mr Horsley will allocate teams to that task, to examine all the agricultural machines on Burholme’s premises, and indeed any others that might be in the district. In particular, we need to trace any component part which could have caused her injury. But the object could come from anywhere else. Think about that as you go about your enquiries – think of large bodkins, tent pegs or some other camping or hiking device, a bolt from a crossbow, an awl of some kind, a stone or metal punch – this is a rural area full of craftsmen and craftswomen, so consider a craft tool of some kind, one for making deep holes. Try to envisage such a device which could be part of some larger fabrication, then try and work out what it might be. It might bear traces of blood although that will not be easy to find, and it will be covered with black paint. It is likely to be made of metal with a sharp point, nine millimetres wide, and capable of penetrating to a depth of at least three and a quarter inches, which equals eight centimetres. How did such a large object manage to penetrate her skull? It would require great force. Mr Meredith, the forensic pathologist, will examine anything you discover and once we identify the object responsible, we might be able to trace its recent movements and those of the people who have had access to it. Mr Burholme, the owner of the quarry where she was discovered, hires a wide range of machinery to local farmers. We have a list of his customers – each must be visited in an attempt to identify the deceased. Is she a girlfriend of one of them? She’s a virgin, so she’s hardly likely to be a wife… but she could be a girlfriend who likes to say no. Is that a motive for murder, perhaps? So, ladies and gentlemen, we have a lot to be going on with. We can make a start this evening. We shall work from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. daily until further notice, and overtime will be paid. It means we have fewer than three hours’ work left this evening but even that could produce a wealth of information. Now, any questions so far?’