A Full Churchyard

by Nicholas Rhea

  ‘I never know precisely what they are looking for, although beliefs about weddings are always popular – all brides worry about what they should wear at their wedding to ensure good luck. They never wear green, for example, but grooms don’t appear to be concerned about such things.’

  ‘So we are still a superstitious nation? Well thank you once again. I’m sure I’ll return.’

  He returned to his office, his head buzzing with ideas and theories. As he passed the ever-open doorway of the Control Room, he poked his head around the door to address Sergeant Cockfield-pronounced-Cofield,

  ‘Any developments, Sergeant?’

  ‘No messages, sir, except that Detective Sergeant Wain has gone out. He asked me to let you know. He has gone to the Registrar’s Office in connection with your current investigation and suggested you join him.’

  ‘Didn’t he give any other reason? A specific area of enquiry perhaps?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘All right, Sergeant, I’ll join him. You can always contact me there if an emergency arises. Then I’ll come back to my office.’

  He told Mrs Plumpton where he was heading, explaining it was part of his cold-case review. Crickledale’s office of the Registrar of Births, Deaths and Marriages was within the Town Hall, a five-minute walk away.

  He was greeted in reception by a pleasant young woman, whose name-badge said she was Miss Joy Colman, the Assistant Registrar. She was a smartly dressed with dark hair, dark eyes and a smile full of white teeth. It seemed Miss Ledger, the registrar, was away.

  ‘You must be Detective Inspector Pluke,’ her warm greeting produced a glow of contentment within Pluke’s system. Pretty women had that effect upon him but he had never met Miss Colman before. He deduced she must be a new member of staff.

  ‘Yes, I’m Detective Inspector Pluke and I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Colman. You’re new here?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been here six months, it’s a nice place to work. One meets someone from almost every family in the town, it’s an ideal way of making friends.’

  ‘I am sure it is. Now, I’m seeking Detective Sergeant Wain.’

  ‘Yes, he’s waiting in the small conference room whilst doing some research for a survey requested by the Home Office. He said you would probably join him. If it’s Mrs Ledger you wish to speak to, then I’m afraid she is at a meeting in York. She is not expected back this afternoon.’

  ‘I am here merely because my sergeant is expecting me.’

  ‘Thank you, so if you go through that green door, you’ll find him.’

  And so he did. They did not begin discussions about the purpose of their visit partly because Pluke had little idea why his sergeant had decided to come here but also because the reason for their visit might be very confidential. He liked Wayne’s explanation that it was for a survey being requested by the Home Office. Even though the registrar’s work was confidential and invariably of a highly personal nature, they would always co-operate with a police investigation.

  ‘So what brings you here, Wayne?’ Pluke took a seat. The room was quiet and discreet as one would expect.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about those peculiar deaths, sir. I didn’t want to spark off a wave of alarm nor did I want newspaper reporters discovering what we’re up to. That would happen if we started quizzing folks in Crickledale or poking around in local newspaper files. So I came here where our initial enquiries can be confidential.’

  ‘What initial enquiries? Exactly what are you trying to find out?’

  ‘I want a list of everyone who has died in Crickledale during the past ten years. I want to establish whether there’s a pattern or trend of any kind. I’ll need very little information to start with – names, ages, addresses, next-of-kin, date of death, cause of death and date of funeral. Oh, and whether they were buried or cremated here or elsewhere. Most importantly I want to know which deaths were reported to the coroner.’

  ‘You need to establish whether or not the police were involved at any stage and which deaths attracted a post mortem or an inquest. That information can be obtained from our files, Wayne. We would have investigated all suspicious deaths. You know that.’

  ‘Yes but we haven’t investigated those where there was no official suspicion. That’s the point I’m making. I told Miss Colman that the Home Office is having an audit on all sudden deaths that have been reported to the police. I said I needed to find out how long we took to investigate each case, that’s a good way of highlighting the depth of our enquiries. I added I was anxious to check our figures against those officially listed here. Every death in town is recorded here, suspicious or otherwise. It’s a useful back-up to our own system and important if some deaths occurred in peculiar circumstances but were not reported to the police or coroner.’

  ‘You could stir up nasty rumours so be very careful, Wayne. Have you found anything yet?’

  ‘I haven’t checked the statistics that show the average number of deaths in Crickledale in any year or even any month – that’s for later but what has already emerged is that there have been more deaths in Crickledale during the last nine months than in the same period last year.’

  ‘It could be due to the mild winter, Wayne. As I’ve already reminded you, it’s well known that a green winter heralds a full churchyard.’

  ‘With due respect to you, sir, I don’t place much reliability on folklore theories but I do believe the number of recorded deaths gives cause for concern.’

  ‘But suspicious deaths reported to the police haven’t increased, have they Wayne?’

  ‘No they haven’t. That’s exactly the point I’m making. I need a print-out of this information so we can compare it with our files. I’m increasingly convinced we should examine the backgrounds of all recent Crickledale deaths.’

  ‘You’re echoing my own worries and concerns, Wayne. Suppose, for a start, we examine reports of deaths in Crickledale over just one year? Last year in fact. Would that provide an accurate picture?’

  ‘It’s a good starting point but we’d need more information and it’s doubtful whether a single year would produce an accurate picture. You’ve already indicated your own suspicions based on recent deaths. So shall I continue here and bring the result to your office? Or do we let sleeping dogs lie?’

  ‘We do not let sleeping dogs lie, Wayne, we are dedicated police officers determined to find the truth. All right, go back ten years and in the meantime I’ll return to my office to begin research into our own files.’

  ‘Do you know something you’re not telling me, sir?’

  ‘I don’t want to plant ideas in your head, Wayne, or influence your research. What we need are facts, not theories.’

  ‘Shall I speak to the town’s undertakers? They enter houses in the course of their work and may have noticed some inconsistencies, like the one who thought Miss Croucher’s death was odd in some way.’

  ‘You were going to talk to him, weren’t you? You’ve not followed up that line of enquiry, have you?’

  ‘No, but I haven’t forgotten. It would be useful if other undertakers expressed their opinion before I quiz him.’

  ‘By all means speak to them, Wayne, but make it an informal chat rather than an official enquiry. We need to keep the lid on all this at the moment. Remember if someone is killing vulnerable people, it could be an undertaker – after all, they have a lot to gain from death. Death provides their living, Wayne.’

  ‘Including the gravedigger and his side-kick?’ put in Wayne.

  ‘We should include everyone associated with deaths and funerals, including the doctors. Exercise the same caution throughout and make sure you include the carers. Any one of those people could have a motive and lots will have had an opportunity to expedite a death.’

  ‘Mrs Pluke is a carer. Might she be able to help discreetly?’

  ‘I don’t relish the idea
that my wife may be a suspect in a case of multiple murder, Wayne, but she might prove to be a good witness. However, as a reputable police officer, I have to put my personal feelings aside as I investigate this matter without fear or favour. Remember we are treating everyone as witnesses at this early stage, not suspects.’

  ‘So at the moment we have no known murder victims and no official crimes, but lots of suspects?’ Wayne smiled at the thought.

  ‘Witnesses, Wayne. Witnesses, not suspects. We must clearly identify cases where the deaths could be the result of murder and then we might interview suspects, hopefully without exhumations.’

  ‘We’ve set ourselves a major task and in the meantime I’m looking for a common factor but haven’t found anything apart from the apparent involvement of Crickledale Carers. That’s one mighty common factor to conjure with!’

  ‘It is indeed, and I must say the name of Dr Simpson is cropping up regularly too. I must say the entire matter weighs heavily on my shoulders. I hate to think that a serial killer could have been at work in Crickledale over several years without raising the tiniest hint of suspicion.’

  ‘If there is someone at work, we’ll find him or her or them.’

  ‘So do you need me here, Wayne, or can you cope alone?’

  ‘I’ll be fine, working alone.’

  ‘Exactly what sort of common factor are you looking for, Wayne? I doubt if things like open windows or deaths on cold floors will be recorded in registry files.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m looking for until I find it. Serial killers work in odd ways.’

  ‘Then I shall leave you to your research, Wayne, and go back in my office. If you can give me a print-out of all these official records over ten years, I’ll go through them as well, just to see if I can find some common factors.’

  ‘No sooner said than done, sir. I’ve already printed a duplicate set. You can take them with you now. I haven’t examined them but I hope you come across something!’

  ‘Thanks, Wayne. We do seem to be going around in rather tight circles right now, we need a breakthrough if we’re to make any progress.’ Pluke reached out to touch the wood of the desk upon which Wayne was working. ‘Touch wood,’ he smiled. ‘That’s a really good means of obtaining good fortune and great success, Wayne. You should try it.’

  And with his mind full of new information, Pluke left.

  Chapter 6

  Mrs Plumpton heard Detective Inspector Pluke settling down at his desk and allowed him a few moments to compose himself. Walking in with her arms full of files, she smiled and stooped low to place them before him.

  ‘Whilst you were out, Mr Pluke, and in view of your decision to carry out a cold-case review, I’ve checked via our computer all our CID crime files over the past year to see if there are any major undetected cases of serious crime. I’ve also included minor crimes dealt with by the uniform branch but which remain undetected.’

  ‘That’s very commendable, let’s hope your initiative leads to a breakthrough. So have you found anything of interest?’

  ‘I agree that our CID office has no unsolved major crimes,’ she beamed. ‘That’s an enviable record. However, there are many minor reported crimes that are more of a matter of record without having precious time spent on them as fruitless investigations. Inspector Horsley considered the matters too minor to involve expensive police investigations. As we are aware, some small crimes are reported merely to obtain a crime number so that the loser’s insurance companies will compensate the loss; those are also listed as undetected.’

  ‘Surely those are the concern of the town duty inspector, not me?’

  ‘Of course but among all those unsolved minor crimes, I’ve found one of considerable interest!’

  ‘Really? I must hear this but do you think we should wait until Detective Sergeant Wain returns? I’d like him to hear what you have to say.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Mr Pluke,’ and there was a hint of disappointment on her face as she placed the file in his in-tray. She had expected more interest from him.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Plumpton. We will deal with it as soon as we can, I assure you. Right now I need you to retrieve all files dealing with sudden deaths that have been dealt with at this station during the past ten years. I need cases that have been subjected to normal “sudden death” enquiries by the uniform branch whether or not they were followed by a post mortem or an inquest. And of course, I need the files of any deaths that were investigated by CID officers on the grounds they were initially considered suspicious, even if they were later proved not to be so.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Mr Pluke,’ and she drifted from his office to carry out his instructions. She thought he was being very masterful at the moment but she was determined to explain her own successful detection work. She regarded it as important.

  Alone for a few minutes, Pluke flicked through the pile of forty or so files she had left in his in-tray. Although these cases appeared in the statistics of Crickledale Police Station, they had not been dealt with by CID officers – they included reports of thefts of sweets from shops, handbags and purses stolen from parks, gardens and supermarket trolleys, tools taken from open garden sheds, thefts from cars left unlocked while parked, thefts of garden gnomes – all minor crimes that would be recorded but not necessarily investigated.

  However, the additional file that Mrs Plumpton had left had been highlighted by her. He picked it up to read. It concerned a reported theft from a dwelling house. He was surprised that this had not been recorded as burglary although a quick glance through the papers showed some official uncertainty about its category. The stolen object was a gent’s gold watch on a gold bracelet, and the victim was Mr Edgar Lindsey who, at the time of the crime, had been 89 years old. He lived alone, his wife having died some years earlier.

  His son had reported the crime because his father’s watch had vanished from the house but the precise time and manner of its disappearance could not be ascertained due to the old man’s poor memory and delicate state of mind. There was a possibility he had lost it in his garden or perhaps whilst pottering around town or doing his shopping. The report had been dealt with some eight months ago during the summer – last June in fact – when the old man might have spent some time out of doors. The town’s uniform branch had made enquiries and the disappearance of the watch had been recorded as a crime in case it reappeared in a car-boot sale, flea-market or antique dealer’s shop. An entry had also been made in the Lost Property Register in case the watch was found in the street or elsewhere, and handed in at a police station. Pluke was somewhat amazed that this should be recorded as a crime when to all intents and purposes it was a watch that had been lost or misplaced by its elderly owner.

  No doubt the town inspector had had his reason for recording it as a crime rather than lost property. Pluke was angry as he realized this was why the crime figures appeared to be so high – most of the alleged ‘stolen’ property actually consisted of lost items. He was fully aware of the desirability to record lost objects as ‘stolen’ because they were then allocated a crime reference number so that claims could be made from insurance companies. On the other hand, stolen goods that were recorded as lost property meant the crime statistics were maintained at a reduced level and that made the police look efficient.

  But why did Mrs Plumpton think he would be particularly interested in this case? She hadn’t explained so he put it on one side. He’d discuss it later. Before doing anything else, Pluke settled down to take another closer look at the file on the death of Miss Adelaide Croucher.

  It contained transcripts of the original messages but no sound recordings or computer print-outs. He read them carefully. The initial alarm had not been raised via a 999 emergency call, he noted. The caller had used Miss Croucher’s own household telephone. The transcript read:

  ‘Hello, this is Rachel West from Weaver’s Cottage, that’s in March Street, c
an you come quickly, please, my neighbour has been attacked. I’m calling from her house.’

  ‘How serious is the attack?’

  ‘The worst, she’s dead.’

  ‘Can you be sure of that?’

  ‘She’s stiff and cold and didn’t respond in any way. . . .’

  ‘Have you called the doctor?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t see the point. As I said, she’s dead.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘Where I found her, in her utility room. Lying on the floor in her nightdress. That’s Tiler’s Cottage in March Street. I live next door.’

  ‘You’re at the victim’s house now?’

  ‘Yes, I thought I should stay here, the doors are all open. I have a key but didn’t need to use it.’

  ‘All right. Don’t touch anything. I’ll have an officer with you within a very few minutes. PC Grant Carey is patrolling that area. Could you wait outside the front door to show him what you have found? Can he gain entry to the house? We need everything to be exactly as you found it and don’t let anyone else in.’

  ‘I haven’t touched anything but all the doors and window are open.’

  ‘So is there any indication of a forced entry?’

  ‘No, none.’

  ‘And signs of an intruder – drawers hauled out, smashed windows, wrecked property, any other damage, blood on the victim . . . that sort of thing?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. Nothing at all.’

  ‘So it may be a natural death? Perhaps she collapsed? We will call a doctor and we will attend within a very few minutes.’

  There was nothing more of interest in the file, but he spotted something in the background of the police photograph of her bedroom. A bath towel was hanging over the dressing table mirror, obscuring the glass. So had she placed it there to be convenient? Perhaps to dry it after washing her hair or face? He now scanned the other internal photographs of the house – and in the front lounge he saw that the mirror over the fireplace had been turned around to face the wall.