Superstitious Death

by Nicholas Rhea

  During that half-hour, he learned that the house-to-house visits in Crickledale and district had not produced any positive sightings of the victim. Even those along the Crickledale to Barughdale road had not produced any further sightings of the walking girl although she had been spotted at a garage. On the edge of the town, just before ordered suburbia became dramatic countryside, there stood a petrol service station with a shop attached – it was one of those garages where it was difficult to obtain a sparking plug or distributor cap for the car but very easy to buy a bunch of flowers, tin of biscuits or bar of chocolate. Sometime around four thirty on Friday afternoon, the lady cashier, Mrs Rafferton, had noticed the arrival of the hiking blonde; she’d approached the garage forecourt where she had attracted the attention of Mrs Rafferton because she had no motor vehicle with her. Then she had entered the shop, bought a bar of chocolate and a carton of blackcurrant drink, paid cash and departed. She had been alone at the time and no one had waited outside for her. She had spoken nicely with no discernible accent. When shown the photographs of the deceased, Mrs Rafferton was able to confirm it was the same woman. Half an hour later, she’d been seen walking at Mill Hill – the timings supported the theory that she had walked all the way. But there was no other sighting of her at this stage, either in Crickledale or beyond.

  The next negative return followed the scrupulous examination of dozens of differing types of farm machinery by the massed ranks of officers of the Task Force and some from Fluke’s incident room. They had scrutinised a bewildering variety of agricultural machines throughout the district and their examination had included all those currently laid up, whether for servicing or use later in the year. Pluke discovered that every machine had been checked for signs of damage, blood or missing parts of the kind which would have caused the deceased’s head injury but nothing suspicious had been found. Pluke did accept that it was virtually impossible to be one hundred per cent sure that no small part from any of these monsters had been involved in the death but he had to concede that it did begin to appear that the victim’s head injuries had not come from a component part of any of Mr Burholme’s machines nor indeed those belonging to any other person.

  A similar exercise at the town’s Camping and Outdoor Activities Shop had also produced a negative result. Detectives had been shown a bewildering array of tent pegs, tent poles and other curious camping, mountaineering or rock-climbing aids, all with pointed ends but made from metal, wood or plastic. Some nine-inch spiked tent pegs made from metal did appear to have similarities to the wound in the girl’s head but when these were examined by Mr Meredith, the pathologist, the pegs were shown to be too large. Something slightly more slender had killed the girl.

  A search of other likely objects in the shop failed to find anything which could have produced that particular wound. Pluke reminded them that craft shops should be examined, along with those premises occupied by sculptors, farriers, blacksmiths, stone masons, wood workers, tool makers and repairers, garden centres and any other place which might sell or make use of sharp pointed objects of the requisite dimensions. It was indicated to Pluke, however, by one of the detectives, that if a foreign visitor to this country had used such an implement on the girl, then it might not boast the same measurements as something of British manufacture. A peg or pole for use with a foreign tent might be of a completely different size. Pluke said he would bear that possibility in mind, and it then occurred to him that a person who carved the words on ornamental gravestones and memorials of various kinds might have the sort of tool that would cause such an injury. And such a person, if he was employed in the burial business, might have grave-digging expertise too, or even a spade. He suggested a detective visited Crumble and Smirch, Undertakers, Embalmers, Funeral Carriage Masters and Ornamental Stone Masons of Crickledale, to see whether anyone had removed such a tool from the premises, or whether anyone had encountered the blonde victim. They might even enquire whether any member of staff had dug the woman’s grave or had loaned or hired a spade in recent days.

  More specifically, the absentee blonde Dutch au pair Marijka de Jong, had been traced to a new employer in Norwich where she was alive and well; similarly, the current blonde girlfriend of Mr Hebden, the Romeo show-attender from Pasture House Farm, had been found alive and well, as were other women from his recent relationships. None of Mr Burholme’s other customers appeared to have unsavoury romantic secrets and their blonde wives and girlfriends were ail accounted for.

  As Pluke gathered the available intelligence, it became very evident that it consisted entirely of negative news, other than the positive sighting in the garage shop. Even that welcome incident did little to further the investigation, other than to support the theory that the girl had walked from Crickledale towards Barughdale and Harman’s Farm. In a sense, it confirmed the Mill Hill sighting by providing further evidence that the same girl had been spotted and that she was indeed the quarry victim.

  From this, Pluke drew the conclusion that the girl had hitchhiked alone from Newcastle-upon-Tyne via the A19 on Friday, arriving safely in Crickledale in mid-afternoon where she had spoken to Mrs Cholmondeley. She’d wanted to know the way to Barughdale, by service bus if possible, and upon leaving Mrs Cholmondeley’s had gone to the bus station, on foot in all probability. There, she’d enquired about bus times to Barughdale, using an Ordnance Survey map to clarify her request because her pronunciation of Barughdale had confused local folk, and once she had learned there was no bus in the next couple of hours, she’d decided to walk. Before setting off, she had opted for a snack in the bus station cafeteria. Once on the road, she’d been seen at the garage shop, and later at Mill Hill – then nothing. She had not arrived in Barughdale, only two miles away from Mill Hill, and was not known there, nor was she expected there. It was quite likely that Barughdale had never been her intended destination.

  And she had turned up a day and a half later, dead in a grave in a roadside quarry. There was a possibility she had travelled to this country by ferry from Sweden, for Pluke was convinced, because of the mirror in the grave, that either she was of Swedish nationality or the person who had buried her was Swedish.

  Pluke knew that such an attractive girl could not disappear from the face of the earth without someone noticing her presence when alive – if she had been on that road after five o’clock on Friday, then someone must have seen her. If no one had seen her, then it suggested she had not walked much further. As he contemplated this scenario, he wondered whether, instead of walking to Harman’s Farm through the main gate and via the road across the fields, she might have taken the footpath over the stile and through the field of red cows. That path did lead towards the quarry and onwards to Harman’s Farm. Being a public footpath, it would be shown on an Ordnance Survey map from which she would have been able to see that it provided a modest short cut to the farm. Pluke now realised he had not, in his TV appearance or his radio and newspaper interviews, specifically asked ramblers, hikers and campers to report sightings of her. But surely they would contact the police if they had viewed his other appeals?

  He could only wait until his general appeal was broadcast in tonight’s television programmes and tomorrow’s daily papers. But the more he analysed the situation, the more he concluded that the answer to all his riddles lay within Harman’s Farm and possibly the quarry. His enquiries had placed the victim on the road which ran past the farm entrance – she’d not been seen alive anywhere else apart from those known locations in Crickledale.

  Although he dearly wished to interview Eric Burholme, he had to steel himself to wait until the girl’s name was known, along with her reason for coming to the Crickledale area or Harman’s Farm in particular. If Burholme was taking active steps to conceal his past and perhaps some of his more recent behaviour, then Pluke needed as much information as possible before questioning him as a key suspect. He would not let Detective Superintendent Bromley of the Yard realise Burholme was being questioned as a suspect, of course; if challe
nged, Pluke would say the interrogation was that of a witness, not a suspect.

  Pluke turned his attention to the map which adorned the wall of the incident room. It was an inch-to-the-mile Ordnance Survey map of the locality, one used extensively by the teams, and although Pluke had made use of the map during this investigation, he had never studied in detail the footpaths around the quarry. He now saw that if the girl had had this edition of the map – the most recently published – then she would indeed have noticed that the path across the red cow field would provide a short cut.

  Pluke went closer to study the map. He found the Crickledale to Barughdale road and with his finger traced its direct route across the moors. He found Mill Hill, named after a derelict mill which had long since been demolished. And then he saw another footpath; it left the road near Mill Hill and led towards the quarry. This was not the one he’d used yesterday. Pluke had not noticed any footpath signs along the road near Mill Hill but that did not detract from the fact that the path existed.

  Even if the sign had fallen down or been vandalised, the path was clearly shown and it led diagonally from the road towards the woodland near Harman’s Quarry. Not far from Harman’s Quarry, it joined the major path which Pluke had used, and which Michael Wardle had been using before he’d found the body. By using that path from Mill Hill, the journey to the farm was reduced by at least a mile. So, Montague reasoned, if the girl had been heading for Harman’s Farm on foot and making full use of the map in her possession, then she would surely have taken this route? And if she had taken that route soon after five o’clock, it would explain why no one had seen her on the road beyond that point. She’d have left the road by the time the office workers had travelled this way. He decided to wait until his appeals had been broadcast and the officers had completed today’s enquiries before further considering the importance of this unsigned path – but its presence did mean that more hikers, ramblers and campers would have to be sought and interviewed.

  At that point he remembered that a team had gone to interview Michael Wardle in depth. He remained a prime suspect because he had found the body and he had not yet been eliminated. Pluke went over to Inspector Horsley.

  ‘Mr Horsley,’ he said. ‘The man who found the body, Wardle. Have we had any report from the team who were sent to interview him?’

  ‘Just a preliminary report, sir, to say that when they arrived at his house this morning, just before noon that was, he was not at home. The teams asked my authority to await his return rather than make a second journey all the way to Portrack-on-Tees. Enquiries from the neighbours did not reveal his whereabouts.’

  ‘He had no idea our officers were en route?’

  ‘Oh, no, they wanted to surprise him. He has no job, so he’s probably out walking. Or shopping.’

  ‘It was a genuine address then?’ Pluke asked with just a hint of apprehension.

  ‘Oh, yes, he gave us his correct name and address when we interviewed him at the scene.’

  ‘So we await the outcome of their enquiries?’

  ‘We do, Montague. Why, he’s not really a suspect, is he?’

  Pluke then explained his discovery of the unsigned footpath and suggested that any ramblers, hikers and campers using the path on Friday might have seen the girl. He did not lose sight of the fact, however, that few could be expected on that path during a weekday out of the holiday season. Weekends were the busy time for such routes – Wardle had been hiking on a Sunday. But if the girl had been observed on that path, then it was surely an indication she had been making specifically for Harman’s Farm rather than the village of Barughdale.

  Having listened to his detectives, Pluke now returned to his own office as the men began to drift outside, refreshed and keen to get on with the remainder of their enquiries. Before settling down, however, he pressed the intercom and asked Horsley to come in and see him.

  ‘Ah, Mr Horsley,’ he said when the detective inspector came into his office. ‘Out there we have Eric Burholme high in the frame, as a suspect, that is.’

  ‘That’s right, Montague. It’s logical, the body was found on his land.’

  ‘I have to ask you to remove his name, at least for the time being,’ said Montague. ‘Please don’t ask me why – I am not allowed to say, except I will tell you that the order has come from somewhere on high. Very high, in fact.’

  ‘But you will be interviewing him, surely?’

  ‘I will, Mr Horsley, you can be sure about that. But if anyone asks – anyone on high, that is – then you may tell them I am treating him as a witness, not a suspect.’

  ‘But I don’t understand, Montague, neither will our teams. In fact, I’ll tell you this. They’ve put money on him, he’s five-to-one at the moment. Favourite in fact, with Wardle at ten-to-one and all others at a hundred.’

  ‘Favourite for what, Mr Horsley?’

  ‘Being arrested for murder, Montague.’

  ‘You must be aware that I have doubts whether or not this is murder, Mr Horsley, consequently I am describing it merely as a suspicious death which is being investigated in a murder-type manner. I do not categorise it as murder.’

  ‘Well, you know what detectives are. They think they know best. But I will remove Burholme’s name from the frame. I think I will allow the bets to stand.’

  ‘Yes, that will be acceptable. I should hate the Chief Constable or Detective Superintendent Hart from headquarters to come in and see Burholme’s name so prominently featured in our frame.’

  ‘Right, leave it with me. Now, while you were out, Inspector Binn from the Yard rang, from the Interpol office. It’s not urgent, he said he’d ring back.’

  ‘There was no message?’

  ‘No, none. Nothing important.’

  ‘I shall ring him,’ said Montague.

  ‘No, there’s no point, he said he had to pop out and would call back.’

  ‘Then I shall await his pleasure,’ smiled Montague.

  Horsley left to go about the business of running the incident room and, as he left, Wayne Wain entered.

  ‘Caught you on your own at last, sir,’ he beamed, closing the door and easing a chair forward. ‘So what’s all this about Burholme, sir? You have a theory?’

  ‘Well, Wayne, it is somewhat complicated, but this is how I see the situation –’

  And then the telephone rang.

  ‘It’s Binn from the Yard,’ said the voice when Montague responded.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Detective Inspector Pluke, Crickledale CID,’ Montague announced into the mouthpiece.

  ‘It’s Binn from the Yard, Mr Pluke,’ repeated the friendly voice from the Interpol office. ‘I have an update for you, although I’m sorry it’s negative. We’ve contacted the Swedish Embassy here in London as well as the police authorities in Sweden, and to their knowledge there are no missing Swedish women who fit the description of your dead woman. Rather like the British police, they don’t maintain records of all women who have left home; they list only those for whom there is special concern, or perhaps a criminal association. They don’t list those who have run away with another’s husband, for example. We have received copies of the photographs of your victim, and her fingerprints, thank you – E-mail is a wonderful device, is it not? – and we have sent copies to the Swedish authorities. But at the moment the simple message is that no girl of that description has been reported missing in Sweden. That’s all I can say.’

  ‘Would your office have lists of Swedish women who might have travelled to this country in recent weeks?’

  ‘If one fled the country while being sought for a serious crime – murder, robbery, drugs or whatever – then yes, we might be informed, otherwise, no. To trace the movements of a woman not suspected of involvement in any criminal activity, you’d have to contact the respective immigration and emigration offices.’

  ‘I realise that. Now, since my initial call to you, Inspector Binn, I have some reason to believe our victim came into this country by fer
ry from Gothenburg, arriving in Newcastle-upon-Tyne as recently as Friday. She appears to have hitch-hiked from there to Crickledale and it seems she was alone.’

  ‘Yes, your officers have been in touch with me, but if your woman arrived on Friday, presumably on a routine visit of some kind or a holiday, then she will hardly be considered missing at this early stage. Certainly, she would not feature upon our lists – unless, as I said, there was a criminal link of some kind.’

  ‘Thank you for your help, Inspector Binn. Am I to understand that you will register my continuing interest?’

  ‘Your enquiry will be logged and marked for regular updating, Mr Pluke, and if our computers later generate a response which is of interest to you, then of course I shall be in touch. I would also ask you to let me know her identity if and when it is established, Mr Pluke. We can then compare the name with our records – who knows what we might turn up?’

  ‘Yes indeed,’ responded Pluke, wondering if Interpol knew anything about the past life of Eric Burholme. ‘Thank you for your help.’

  After replacing his telephone, Pluke looked at Wayne Wain and said, ‘Well, Wayne, no luck with Interpol,’ and then explained the situation. ‘So it looks as if all depends upon our men in Newcastle.’

  ‘If you have grave suspicions about Eric Burholme, sir, surely it would be wise to bring him in for interview now?’

  ‘No, Wayne, not yet. That is my decision.’

  ‘I was thinking it needn’t be a very formal interview, sir, not the sort of grilling you’d give to a real suspect. We could get him to detail his movements on Friday and Saturday without delving too deeply into his background and I think we should search the farmhouse as well, for her fingerprints or any belongings.’