Superstitious Death

by Nicholas Rhea

‘Two things must be highlighted at this news conference,’ Pluke told him. ‘One is the sighting of the deceased at five o’clock on Friday afternoon as she was walking on Mill Hill. That is midway between Crickledale and Barughdale, as you know, and she was heading towards Barughdale which she called Barrowdale. She was alone too. We need to find anyone else who saw her on that road, inspector. Lots of local cars do use that stretch of road, so let’s concentrate on the local papers, radio and TV programmes. Following that appeal, it’s important we discover whether she was seen anywhere in this district on Saturday – to date, no one has reported seeing her at all on Saturday. That is most peculiar. Saturday is a total blank in our investigation, so link those two appeals, will you? The second thing is the missing garden spade. There is a description in the file – you might even find an identical one in a local shop or catalogue. It might be useful to have a picture of it, in colour preferably. So can you persuade your journalistic friends to highlight those two stories?’

  ‘No problem, sir. Now, one or two have asked if you could make yourself available for a picture or even an interview.’

  ‘Yes, as the officer in charge of the investigation, that is my responsibility. Acquaint me with your requirements, inspector, and I shall do my best to accommodate you and your friends from the press.’

  As Pluke was discussing the news conference, Wayne Wain returned from Barughdale and waited for the opportunity to discuss the results with him. Satisfied that Inspector Russell could cope with the press, Pluke dismissed him to go about those duties while he admitted Wain to his office.

  ‘Ah, Wayne. You’ve completed your enquiries in Barughdale?’

  ‘Yes, sir, thanks to the teams already there. I was able to confer with them which considerably shortened my visit. I did not want to go over the same ground as them, although I did visit a few houses and premises which they had not yet crossed off their lists. And I called at the few farms, garages, cottages and inns which can be found on the road between Harman’s Farm and Barughdale.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Nothing, sir. No one in Barughdale is expecting a visit from the deceased. It’s a tiny place, as you know. There are only two bed-and-breakfast establishments and one pub with rooms to let, but none had a prior booking by a single girl nor a phone call on Friday to ask about vacancies. No one knew her, the description did not mean anything and, so far as we know, she has never been to Barughdale on a previous occasion. She was not expected there and did not arrive on Friday or Saturday.’

  ‘And there are no further sightings of her walking towards Barughdale on Friday?’

  ‘The teams are continuing to explore that angle, sir. Some of the people who drive that road from Crickledale to Barughdale around five o’clock are office and shop workers. The teams are waiting for them to come home tonight, when they’ll be questioned. I was unable to talk to them this afternoon. People who did drive along the road earlier have been interviewed – shoppers, shift workers and so on – but we’ve got nothing from them. In my view, sir, it supports a belief that she never reached Barughdale.’

  ‘And, Wayne, it might even suggest she never intended to reach Barughdale.’

  ‘You are inclined to the notion that her intended destination was Harman’s Farm, aren’t you, sir?’

  ‘I am, Wayne, I am indeed,’ and he provided Wayne with a brief account of the outcome of his visit with Detective Constable Helston, after which he said, ‘A very nice girl, Wayne, a very nice girl indeed, and very bright. She has the makings of a good detective.’

  ‘I might try to get to know her better, sir,’ offered Wayne. ‘So you think the victim came to visit Mr Burholme at Harman’s Farm and that he knows much more than he’s revealing to us?’

  ‘I’m convinced of it, Wayne, but I do not know why he is being so secretive, nor do I know why the girl wanted to visit him. That is a very important question and for an answer, we must await her identification. Someone who knew her might enlighten us. I am confident we shall get her identified, though. You are aware of the development at Newcastle?’

  ‘Newcastle? No, sir!’

  ‘Or my discussions with Headquarters about the security aspects of our Mr Burholme?’

  ‘No, sir. Good heavens, you have been busy in my absence!’ grinned Wayne Wain.

  ‘Certain aspects of the enquiry are really moving at a rapid pace, Wayne,’ agreed Pluke, ‘but it has something of a circular aspect to it in that I am going around in rings and getting nowhere very fast. But I must admit I am increasingly concerned about the part played by our Mr Burholme and I shall pursue the matter until I learn the truth. I think he is a devious and very cunning person, Wayne, one we must not underestimate. Charming certainly, kindly without doubt, but very clever.’

  ‘Are you saying it is time we had him in for interview, sir?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Wayne. Not yet. I do not want to interview him until I have more evidence, until I know more about the girl, or even until I have news about the wheelbarrow, Wayne.’

  ‘The wheelbarrow, sir?’

  ‘Oh, didn’t I mention that?’

  Pluke had omitted to refer to the wheelbarrow theory, so he then acquainted Wayne Wain with all that had transpired since Wayne had driven over to Barughdale. Wayne listened intently, showing a keen interest in Detective Constable Helston’s wheelbarrow theory and the lack of any sightings of the victim since Friday tea-time.

  ‘I am positive she did not visit any house or establishment on Friday evening to seek accommodation, sir,’ said Wayne. ‘Either she slept out of doors –’

  ‘In the quarry?’ asked Pluke.

  ‘Yes, she might have slept out of doors in the quarry on Friday night, sir – not Saturday, the day she died – or she might have obtained accommodation at the only available place along that stretch of road.’

  ‘Which is Harman’s Farm,’ said Pluke.

  ‘Yes, sir, which means she sheltered there either with or without the knowledge or consent of Mr Burholme – on Friday night.’

  ‘She could have used one of his outbuildings to sleep in, that is what you are implying, Wayne?’

  ‘Yes, or if she did go to the farm to ask for his permission to use an outbuilding, he might have taken pity on her and invited her in. Or he might have allowed her to camp in the quarry… even providing her with a tent. She had no tent or sleeping bag of her own, we know that.’

  ‘Or he might have allowed her to use one of his spare bedrooms?’ said Pluke. ‘He does have seven bedrooms, he told us that.’

  ‘You don’t think he tried to sleep with her, do you, sir?’ asked Wayne. ‘Murder and rape are often the consequences of a girl refusing to allow a man to have sex.’

  ‘He is eighty years old, Wayne! Besides, there is no evidence of a sexual attack and she was a virgin, remember. That’s another odd aspect of this case.’

  ‘Have we considered the possibility that she did not arrive at the farm by accident, sir? Is it feasible she might have been heading specifically for Harman’s Farm? That she was in the area in order to visit Mr Burholme?’

  ‘I am increasingly drawn to that argument, Wayne, but Burholme claims he does not know her and was not expecting such a visitor. He has seen a photograph too, and says he does not recognise her.’

  ‘Which is exactly what he would say if he wished to disassociate himself from her.’

  ‘I appreciate that, Wayne, but there is a chance that Burholme was speaking the truth. I did detect some emotion as he examined her photograph in death. Nonetheless, it is feasible that he did not know her and that he was not expecting her.’

  ‘You mean she was coming anyway but intended to surprise him?’

  ‘It is always a possibility. Let us consider that he has something to hide, Wayne. I am sure he has – and I am sure he has strong Swedish connections. I am now inclined to believe he is the Swedish link, not the girl. Let us consider that she might be a journalist or an investigator of some kind and that she uncovere
d a nasty truth about his past, then decided to pay him a visit to either question him or photograph him or merely to embarrass him… without him knowing of her plans or her visit in advance.’

  ‘Would he murder her if she had uncovered his secret? Is that what you are suggesting, sir?’

  ‘It’s possible if his secret was of such a serious nature,’ said Pluke. ‘And whether or not he killed her deliberately, it is possible he buried her to conceal his past. That is my theory.’

  ‘And you have some grounds for that theory, sir?’

  ‘I have indeed, Wayne,’ smiled Detective Inspector Pluke. ‘The evidence is all around for those with eyes to see!’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘So what is the basis of your theory, sir? Are you going to enlighten me?’ asked Wayne Wain.

  ‘Indeed I shall, Wayne. Now this is how I see things. I drew my well-considered conclusions from a wide range of clues but the first intimation I received was –’

  But before he could complete that sentence, there was a knock on Pluke’s office door. ‘Come in,’ he called.

  Inspector Russell appeared in the doorway and said, ‘Sir, the news conference is over but I have received several requests for you to appear before the cameras. Regional TV for starters, sir, and also newspapers. They want you to appear in person to highlight your search for that spade. I have obtained an identical spade, by the way, on loan from a shop in town; it’s for you to show the viewers. The TV people need the pictures urgently, so they can be processed for this evening’s regional news programmes.’

  ‘Then I shall not keep them waiting, Inspector Russell. Where am I required to go?’

  ‘Without exception, sir, they have requested a shot from the graveside, if that can be arranged. Grave and spade shots. They will carry a lot of impact, you see, the viewers and indeed the newspaper readers will relate to pictures of that kind…’

  For just a second, Pluke wondered about the ill fortune that might befall him if he walked on the grave or even on the ground immediately surrounding the grave, but rapidly decided that the hole in the quarry floor was no longer a grave. It did not qualify because it did not contain the remains of a dead person and in any case, it was not an official grave. It had not been created in consecrated ground nor had it been dug in any other approved place. It was that thought which reminded him once again about the burial of Mrs Burholme – he could now dimly recall she had not been buried in a consecrated grave. That was something he must check.

  From the point of view of encouraging bad luck, however, there seemed to be no problem. Smiling, he therefore agreed to the proposals.

  ‘I shall drive you to the scene,’ said Inspector Russell before Wayne Wain could offer his services. ‘And will it be in order for the TV reporter to join us in the car? He can discuss his requirements with you during the journey, that will save both his time and yours.’

  ‘By all means,’ consented Detective Inspector Pluke.

  And so, leaving Wayne Wain to ponder the nature of his boss’s enlightenment and to log the outcome of his afternoon’s visit to Barughdale, Pluke dressed himself in his voluminous old coat and panama hat with its blue band, checked that his four-leaved clover was still thriving in its pot on his desk, then joined Inspector Russell. With him was a tubby but youthful TV reporter called Jonathan Kipling. They strode towards Inspector Russell’s car and within minutes were heading once again towards Harman’s Farm with the TV crew vehicle immediately behind. As they progressed along the road towards Barughdale, Kipling was outlining his plans.

  ‘I was thinking, Mr Pluke, that we might get a shot of Mill Hill as well, with you explaining how the girl was seen there on Friday. You could explain to camera that you want viewers to contact you with any other sightings of her, especially those which might have occurred later on Friday evening and all day Saturday. Those shots will take only a few minutes, once we get the equipment in position, and then we could visit the quarry and do a sequence with you at the graveside. I think the shot we need is one of you holding the look-alike spade and talking to camera, asking for the public to look out for similar spades which might have been thrown away or sold in car boot sales or whatever. I am really pleased you have agreed to this because our viewers do appreciate being able to examine the actual scene of a murder, Mr Pluke. It carries such great impact and our news editor does like to incorporate realism in our programmes.’

  The outcome was that Montague Pluke, in his oddly distinctive overcoat, panama hat and spats, stood on the roadside at Mill Hill and made an appeal for viewers to report any further sightings of the deceased. When the item eventually appeared on the TV screens, it would be accompanied by an artist’s impression of the girl, complete with white anorak and black haversack, a drawing based on official photographs and descriptions provided by witnesses.

  Newspaper cameramen who had also wanted pictures of Pluke at Mill Hill and the graveside had followed the TV car and thus they achieved their objective too. The Pluke motorcade then headed for the quarry, with Inspector Russell depositing Pluke and Kipling while he went off to notify Eric Burholme of their presence. That was a small courtesy insisted upon by Pluke. Pluke was then asked by Jonathan Kipling to stand close to the hole in the ground with the spade in his hand. He explained that the camera would look across the open grave which, when on screen, would appear directly before Pluke. It would present a dark and empty oblong hole almost at his feet. A very emotive picture, they all felt, a telling illustration of the emptiness and futility of death, particularly when the grave had contained the mortal remains of one so young and beautiful.

  After one or two spade-waving takes with Pluke explaining the urgent need to trace the identical spade which had dug this grave, the crew expressed their satisfaction with the TV recording session whereupon the newspaper journalists did likewise. In that modem manner, therefore, Detective Inspector Pluke managed to put across his vital messages. He felt sure lots of people would respond to his appeal and contact the incident room with sightings of the girl; likewise, he believed that lots of others might wonder where they had seen that spade. Perhaps they would wonder why the spade they had bought at that car boot sale had been such a bargain…

  Everyone having expressed their satisfaction with the photographic sessions, the news men departed to process the results of their work. It was while Pluke and Russell were preparing for their return to the incident room that they noticed the tall, slim figure of Eric Burholme watching from a distance. He made no effort to approach Pluke or any of the camera teams, and when they all departed, Burholme quietly retreated towards his massive house.

  Pluke watched him and said to Inspector Russell, That’s Eric Burholme, inspector, the owner of this farm and the quarry. I mention that so that you are familiar with one of the leading players in our Crickledale drama.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Pluke, I know. I’d never met him until a few minutes ago. I told him we were on his land, filming. He’s a suspect, isn’t he? We’ve got him in the frame, in the incident room, even though he’s not been formally interviewed.’

  ‘Really? In the frame? Then I must ask that his name be removed from the frame, inspector,’ said Pluke without giving his reason. ‘Suspect he might be; a candidate for our racecourse-type frame he most definitely is not.’

  ‘But, Mr Pluke, it’s part of our tradition, the tradition of all incident rooms which deal with murders. When I was in CID, it was a long-standing custom that the names of all murder suspects were placed in a frame –’

  ‘Who said anything about Mr Burholme being a murder suspect, inspector?’ asked Pluke. ‘I have not confirmed the death as a murder; it has always been described as a suspicious death, no more than that, and I regard our investigation as a murder-type enquiry. I do realise that others persist in calling it a murder and am happy for that to continue in order to maintain its high profile. I trust Mr Burholme will, in due course, be eliminated from any suspicion of murder.’

  ‘Oh, I see. I th
ought he was under intense investigation.’

  ‘Investigation, yes, Inspector Russell. But investigation is not necessarily suspicion. So please do not consider him as being in the frame. And I trust you will ensure your newshound friends never refer to him as a suspect.’

  ‘I’ll see to that, of course. Will you remove the name from the frame?’

  ‘I will indeed,’ said Pluke as their car left the quarry and returned to Crickledale Police Station.

  It was around this same time that detectives returned to the incident room for a brief break. They relaxed and refreshed themselves with a mug of tea and a biscuit or two before continuing work until 9 p.m.; it was a useful break when experiences were discussed, yarns exchanged and a good deal of very pertinent information gained. Pluke enjoyed this rather informal system.

  ‘I am going to join my officers over a welcome mug of tea,’ he told Wayne Wain. ‘I need to learn what they have discovered during the first part of their day’s activities. Will you join us?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ enthused Wayne Wain, still anxious to know what had caused Pluke to come to his secretive conclusions about Eric Burholme. But such delicate and confidential matters could not be discussed within ear-shot of a crowd of intelligence-gathering, ear-wigging detectives. In police stations across the country, walls have more ears than most normal walls, and secrets can easily be revealed, so Wayne Wain was prepared to wait. Pluke would explain in due course.

  Not every operational detective returned to the incident room for this afternoon tea-break; a few were quite simply too far away at the time, or involved in such intense questioning that a break would interrupt their train of thought and not be conducive to good CID work. But where possible, the majority did try to reach base for a hectic half-hour or so of swapping yarns, drinking tea, munching biscuits and trying to persuade the female civilian staff to join them for drinks in the pub when the day’s work ended. Wayne Wain was especially to the forefront in the latter schemes. Pluke took this same opportunity to meet and chat somewhat informally with his officers. It was a relaxed ‘meet-the-staff’ exercise, or a periodic general human resources co-ordinated consultation, as it might be termed in these enlightened times. Circulating with a mug and a biscuit in his hands, Pluke wandered among the detectives, chatting to them and listening to accounts of their activities.