A Full Churchyard

by Nicholas Rhea

  ‘Wired up?’

  ‘Yes, I could conceal a miniature voice recorder about my person so we can get everything he says on tape without me spoiling things by openly taking notes.’

  ‘All right, if he is being devious then so can we. I agree to your plan, Wayne, at a time to suit you. And don’t forget – there’s nothing proven against him and so your interview might eliminate him, and his organization, from our enquiries. We’d then have to reappraise our cold-case review. Furthermore, if we do establish that he’s a confidence trickster or someone operating under a false identity, it doesn’t mean he’s a killer. Do bear all that in mind.’

  ‘I will and there’s no time like the present. I’ll start now. So was there anything else?’

  ‘I wondered whether you have been able to cast your eyes down the list of volunteers. As the main detective on the ground, one who is out-and-about in Crickledale, you might have more local knowledge of those people than I.’

  ‘I do know some of them, and among them are those whom I would not trust one inch let alone with my cherished belongings. Eileen Baker, for example, was a chambermaid at Crickledale Manor Hotel and I happen to know she was asked to leave because, on more than one occasion, guests reported things missing from their rooms when she was on duty. I was called in on one occasion but because there was no proof against her, she was asked to resign – which she did. She was never prosecuted. I couldn’t prove the case against her. And, of course, Fiona Grainger was suspected of stealing Mr Lindsey’s gold watch but no one was interviewed about that. To be honest, I doubt if any of the carers have snowy white characters. We’ve all got secrets, sir.’

  ‘Except Mrs Pluke,’ interjected Mrs Plumpton.

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Wayne. ‘I hadn’t forgotten about interviewing her, but the opportunity hasn’t arisen. It’s not going to be easy. . . .’

  ‘If anyone can do it, it’s you, Wayne!’ smiled Pluke. ‘As soon as possible.’

  ‘I’ll cope, but right now, I’m more interested in Furnival. If the barrel full of apples is rotten right to the top, it would seem a good idea to have someone within the organization who is pure and unsullied, like Mrs Pluke. Her presence as a volunteer carer must provide an air of confidence to the people of Crickledale. You’d think the behaviour of dodgy ones would have been noticed, wouldn’t you? Mrs Pluke might have done so and now be bearing a mighty burden of knowledge she daren’t reveal.’

  ‘She could always discuss things with me, Wayne.’

  ‘No she can’t, you’re the town’s senior detective. If there was a criminal operating within the carers, she would realize you would be duty bound to expose him or her, at the cost of massive publicity. And we can’t overlook the possibility that she was recruited to give the whole organization an air of respectability.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting the entire CVC is corrupt, are you?’ asked Pluke.

  ‘Such things do happen. All you need is one charming rogue at the top and the entire system will begin to creak. A rogue boss will be operating so that he gains all the benefits from his work, often in cash or bonuses, even if that is not immediately obvious to his underlings. So it wouldn’t surprise me if our very efficient and charming Mr Furnival has a dark and secret past.’

  ‘You’ll get to the truth of this?’

  ‘I’ll do my best and I can start immediately. He should be in his office because his staff will be out and about the town, doing their stuff. And, remember, we did get permission to speak to his volunteers but haven’t done so yet. When we start on them, might they be interrogations rather than cosy chats?’

  ‘In view of these new circumstances, Wayne, we should first find out more about Mr Furnival. Are we suggesting he might be running a kind of illegal operation that Dickens’ Fagin would have been proud of? Using others to do his dirty work? That’s what we need to find out fairly urgently, Wayne. You can talk to Mrs Pluke afterwards, you might find her shopping in town. And don’t forget Dr Simpson!’

  ‘Leave it with me. This is most intriguing. It’s developing into something that could be very serious. We need to talk to all the volunteers to find out exactly what they know and perhaps a chat with some lucid patients. We’ve a lot of secretive work ahead. Suddenly, Crickledale CID has become very busy.’

  ‘Don’t be too heavy-handed at this stage, Wayne, we don’t want to alarm the whole town, but depending upon what you learn, we could talk to the other carers. Meanwhile, Mrs Plumpton and I shall undertake essential research of our own records and CVC members. I’m beginning to feel we have barely scratched the surface.’

  ‘I like the idea of doing more research, Mr Pluke, it sounds exciting!’ beamed Mrs Plumpton. ‘But if you’re thinking of talking to a CVC patient or client, you could do worse than Joe Knowles of Hawkswell Street. He’s listed as a client.’

  ‘So what’s the different between a client and a patient?’

  ‘I think a client is someone who needs help with their daily routine but does not require medical care; a patient needs rather more personal attention, even to bathing and being helped to eat their food. But that’s just my own rough guide!’

  ‘Do you know anything about Mr Knowles?’ Wayne asked her.

  ‘He’s got a locally famous collection of antiques, all kept in his house. I know that through being a local lass. He’s always pleased to show them off and luckily, he knows the local rogues and conmen so he can keep them at bay. Now, sadly, he is a very old man and sometimes not very lucid.’

  ‘Well I’ve heard of his collection but never seen it,’ admitted Pluke. ‘But thank you, he sounds like an important contact so I’ll make sure we chat to him. Is that another job for you, Wayne?’

  ‘I’ll see to him, I like being busy and I’m getting my claws into this investigation. Leave it to me. I’ll talk to Mrs Pluke, Dr Simpson and Mr Knowles.’

  And so Wayne left, but first returned to his own office to collect a miniature voice recorder before heading for the offices of Crickledale Volunteer Carers. He was determined to hear Mr Furnival’s life story from the man’s own lips.

  ‘Have you enough to keep you busy?’ Pluke asked Mrs Plumpton, only now realizing the provocative words he had uttered.

  ‘I would love to keep myself busy with you, Mr Pluke,’ and she rippled her massive chest as she rose from the chair. It reminded him of an oncoming tsunami about to break its advance wave on shore. ‘But I have yet more files to go through, checking for matches between the Control Room’s records and our CID files that name the clients of CVC.’

  ‘Good, well whilst you and Detective Sergeant Wain are usefully occupied, I shall pay a visit to the Town Hall. I want to speak to the Town Clerk.’

  ‘It’s always a good idea to check whether he is in his office and able to see you, Mr Pluke. Mr Ridgeway is a very busy man.’

  ‘Very good thinking, Mrs Plumpton. I was getting carried away with the enthusiasm of working on my cold-case review. So can you call him and ask if it is convenient this afternoon? Tell him it is a confidential chat that I wish to have with him.’

  But at that moment, Pluke’s phone rang.

  ‘Detective Inspector Pluke speaking.’

  ‘Ah, glad I caught you, Mr Pluke. It’s Wilkinson from the Gazette.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Wilkinson, what can I do for you?’

  ‘I’ve heard rumours you are investigating a suspicious death in town, Mr Pluke. Can you confirm that?’

  ‘I have been conducting enquiries on behalf of the Home Office, Mr Wilkinson. They wish to reduce the time we spend in dealing with sudden deaths that occur from natural causes. I fear your contact is mistaken.’

  ‘But that is not what I heard. . . .’

  ‘Then you heard wrong, Mr Wilkinson. I have nothing further to say because there is nothing further to say, except for this quote: “We are facing Government cuts like every other p
ublic service and we need to make sure our time is well spent. We are discussing the actions that follow a report of a sudden death to determine whether we can save both time and money by altering our procedures.” That is all. Good-bye.’

  And as Pluke put down his telephone, Mrs Plumpton picked it up immediately to avoid the return call and rang the Town Hall. She spoke to Mr Ridgeway’s secretary who checked with him and said it would be fine. He could accommodate Detective Inspector Pluke at 3pm.

  ‘I fear the press may have discovered our activities, Mrs Plumpton, so do not make any comments if they call while I am out. You heard what I said to that man, and so that will have to do for the time being.’

  ‘I understand,’ she smiled as Pluke left.

  As Pluke walked into the town centre, now fairly quiet because it was Wednesday afternoon and half-day closing, with several shops continuing that old fashioned custom although such shops did open all day Saturday. He had made time to stroll through the graveyard, checking whether any crows were perching on tombstones and noting that Mrs Langneb’s grave now had vases of flowers upon it.

  That small but very open token of respect for a woman who had in life been so alone, pleased him immensely. One reason for his walk away from the confines of his office was that he wanted to make use of yet another rather devious topic of conversation in his efforts to learn more about John Furnival. He didn’t think his well-tried tale about the need for cuts in the way the police conducted themselves was feasible in this case but he did have a neat idea.

  When he arrived at the Town Hall, the receptionist recognized him and asked him to wait in the ante-room whilst she checked that Mr Ridgeway was free. He was.

  ‘Up the stairs, Mr Pluke, first left and his office is on your left. You can’t miss it, his name is on the door.’

  He knocked and a man’s voice called, ‘Come in, Montague.’

  With his hat in hand, Montague Pluke entered this rather plain office and accepted the invitation to be seated. He knew Alwyn Ridgeway quite well; from time to time they both attended the same meetings and conferences and Pluke liked the Town Clerk. In his middle fifties, he was a plain-spoken Yorkshireman with a sharp brain, a head of silver-grey hair, blue eyes and a lively sense of humour.

  ‘So, Montague, what brings you here at short notice?’

  ‘A rather peculiar mission,’ smiled Pluke. ‘I don’t quite know how to tackle a matter that has dropped into my lap from Police Headquarters, via the Home Office I might add. Then I thought of you and your expertise on matters relating to this little town of ours.’

  ‘You flatter me, Montague, but fire away. If I can help, I will.’

  ‘What I am going to mention now is highly confidential, Alwyn, not to be repeated outside these four walls.’ He referred to Alwyn by his Christian name because he and Millicent had once been invited to the Ridgeways’ home for dinner.

  Pluke could almost classify him as a friend but even friends could not be told the entire truth in very delicate police investigations.

  He went on. ‘I’m referring to the drastic cuts that are facing ourselves, your council and all the public services. We all know they will cause a lot of hurt and distress, even though they are very necessary, but the Home Office Police Department has floated an idea that it believes will help us all.

  ‘One area of concern for us, as police officers, is that we are frequently called to deal with matters that are not within our range of duties – domestic disputes, for example; sudden deaths where there is no suspicion of crime and where a doctor is prepared to certify the cause of death; rescuing cats from trees or rooftops; dealing with lost and found property; people wanting us to attend events on private property such as garden parties or weddings, looking after car parking or security for example . . . there are many unofficial tasks we are expected to undertake and the Home Office is trying to encourage us not to involve ourselves in such work.’

  ‘I can sympathize with you, Montague. We’re in a similar situation with some people expecting the town council to sort out their own private problems. So how can I help? It seems to me that it is a question of educating the people as to where your boundaries lie. The role of the police has changed dramatically over the last half century or so.’

  ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself, Alwyn. Under normal circumstances we always do our best to answer any call-out and deal with any problem, whether official police duty or not. But with cuts in manpower and finance, we may have to refuse to deal with some things, however distressful our response might be to the public.’

  ‘You’re echoing my own thoughts, Montague.’

  ‘One of the Home Office boffins has come up with an idea that we should recruit a person, known to the community, who can span the gap between police and public. I think the idea is that people wanting help and advice that may not necessarily be within the realm of police duty could contact this person – or someone in his office – whereupon he or she would decide whether or not to call the police, ring the hospital, call a doctor or whatever needs to be done. He or she would be a type of go-between, but it would have to be a voluntary post, Alwyn – to save time and money.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’re not considering me for that job, Montague! I’ve enough on my plate right now.’

  ‘No, you’ve no need to worry about that! As I said, this is very much a theory at the moment without any of the necessary groundwork being undertaken. Certainly there has not been a feasibility study but we are being asked for our initial opinions, along with the name of possible candidates.’

  ‘So who have you in mind? Am I allowed to ask?’

  ‘Yes, it’s the reason I’m here. I was thinking of John Furnival, the chairman of Crickledale Volunteer Carers. He seems to have got that organization up and running in a most remarkable way. He gives the appearance of a real go-getter, he keeps in touch with his clients and his staff, he’s well-known around the town and on top of all that, he seems to be very decent sort of fellow, approachable and helpful.’

  ‘He is all those things, Montague, and I’m pleased to hear your comments because I appointed him.’

  ‘So where did he come from?’

  ‘He’s a former senior fire officer, Montague. He served mainly in Suffolk and Lincolnshire with a short spell in Leeds City, winning promotion through the ranks and he left to take his pension about five years ago. That was when we appointed him. He told us he had done lots of charitable work whilst in the fire service – fire officers are known for their hard work for charities and the needy – and he felt that being chairman of CVC would provide him with all the stimulus he needed to keep busy in retirement, whilst his CVC salary – which is not very large – would help to eke out his pension.’

  ‘Did he provide references?’ asked Pluke.

  ‘Oh yes, we don’t make such important appointments without references. I’ll get his file, Montague, then I can show you them along with his application form. This is confidential of course, but you and I are on the same side, aren’t we? I must say he was by far the best out of the five candidates, and we are very happy with his work. Whether he has the time to take on additional commitments of the sort you envisage is something I cannot answer – he could, I suppose, do it through a member of my staff – but certainly he is in regular contact with the sort of people who might require help or advice from the police, or indeed any other of the public services. But I wouldn’t want you to poach him from us, Montague!’

  ‘I don’t see any likelihood of that happening, Alwyn.’

  He pressed his intercom and spoke to his secretary/PA. ‘Jane, can you bring me Mr Furnival’s file please. He’s with Crickledale CVC. Thank you.’

  It arrived a few moments later and as his secretary left the room, Alwyn Ridgeway opened it on his desk.

  ‘Here we are, Montague. His application form complete with references. Take a look. You can see wh
at a real catch he was for us. I know you’ll be discreet.’

  Alwyn turned the file around so that Pluke could examine the rather meagre contents but it did contain the all-important information about the life of John Clement Furnival. Pluke found his date and place of birth – fifty two years ago in Bermondsey, London; he was not married and never had been, and for a time had served in the Merchant Navy, working on cruise ships. Anxious to secure an occupation on shore, he had joined the Fire Service in Suffolk and after six years had transferred to Lincolnshire on promotion. He had risen through the ranks to become a Senior Divisional Officer in Leeds City Fire Service, compulsorily retiring on pension upon reaching the age of 50.

  Attached to his application form were certificates of service and references from the Fire Services in which he had served along with more references from influential organizations with which he had been involved. All praised him for his strength of character, organizational abilities and his ability to plan ahead. One reference went so far as to say that Mr John Furnival would make a success of any enterprise for which he was responsible. The file also contained Furnival’s previous home address and his current one which was a village outside Crickledale. Pluke felt he was now getting somewhere with his cold-case review.

  ‘I can’t let you have photocopies, Montague, but you can see we managed to catch a good’un, as they say.’

  ‘It all looks very impressive,’ conceded Pluke, without informing Alwyn of the several errors he had already noticed, especially in the details of Furnival’s personal career. He decided not to alert Alwyn at this early stage. ‘So is it your policy to check references; we always do so in the police. Always.’

  ‘Not with a senior post such as this one, Montague. It would be most insulting if we did not believe the word of a man who has achieved so much. Mr Furnival’s career is self-explanatory as you can see for yourself. I think he could be a very sound candidate for your new post. . . .’

  ‘That’s if it ever happens!’ cautioned Pluke. ‘You know as well as I, that many of these ambitious Government plans never reach fruition. All we can do is go along with the flow and do as we are told when the time comes.’