‘Now that’s summat I do not know. She’s definitely not from Crickledale, that’s for sure. But before May left for Majorca, she told us her niece was coming to live in, to house-sit. She never gave us a name or said where the lass was coming from.’
‘She was definitely May’s niece, then? Not Cyril’s?’
‘Aye, her sister’s lass, she said. May’s youngest sister is called June — her elder one’s called April, daft, eh? April, May and June… Anyroad, before May went off, she said we shouldn’t have to worry about putting lights on and taking in parcels and things because June’s lass was coming to live in. She had some work to do in these parts, so May said, a summer job.’
‘So if the girl hadn’t come, you would normally have looked after the house?’
‘Aye, me and Ada allus do that, Mr Pluke, look after each other’s houses, water the plants, take parcels in, that sort of thing, put lights on, draw curtains at night… We’ve a set of keys for the bungalow, for when they’re away.’
‘But surely she must have mentioned a name for the girl? A Christian name?’
‘Nay, Mr Pluke, she never did, not to me or our Ada.’
‘When she left the house in her mini on Tuesday, was she alone?’ pressed Pluke.
‘I think other folks came and went while she was here; there was a lot of partying and things, cars and vans coming and going at night, but personally speaking, I never noticed anybody else with her on Tuesday.’ He thought hard. ‘Nope, Mr Pluke, I reckon she was alone. Chugging off somewhere alone that Tuesday, she was. I said to Ada afterwards that I thought her car needed its plugs cleaning, it was chucking out a fair bit of smoke and one plug was misfiring, you know, making plopping noises… I told Ada I would offer to put it right for the lass, but Ada said it was nowt to do with me and I had to mind my own business.’
‘You’ve been a great help, Mr Dunwoody.’ Montague thanked him and nodded to the mortuary attendant who began to close the drawer and conceal the body until it was next required. ‘At least we know she had links with the Crowthers.’
‘Sorry about the name. I can ask our Ada…’
‘I will ask her when we return,’ countered Pluke.
Wayne Wain wondered what time he was going to finish duty tonight. Once Pluke found himself hot on the trail, he would work all night. Wain had memories of the great stolen gnome case some two years ago. Pluke had worked all one night but, to give him due credit, he had traced the culprit and had found him in a garden shed full of stolen gnomes.
But on their return to No 11a, Pluke, while standing at the door, questioned Ada without receiving any further help. George was at her side as Ada said she had seen the lovely blonde girl coming and going, dashing off in her mini and returning with plastic bags full of supermarket groceries and drinks. Sometimes the girl had waved at Ada as she’d peered through the kitchen window, but they had never spoken. The Dunwoodys’ overall impression was that May’s niece lived respectably even though she had had lots of young people in from time to time. A party of some kind, Ada thought. The Dunwoodys said they had no complaints about loud music or noise.
‘Not yet, anyroad, touch wood!’ George grinned, reaching for the frame of his doorway. ‘They’ve not caused us any bother!’
Pluke established that Cyril and May had left in the early hours to drive to the airport in their own car and the girl had arrived the same day, which was last Saturday. Ada confirmed the timing. The girl had arrived in the middle of the afternoon and had unloaded her belongings while clad in a red T-shirt with wide sleeves and a neckline down to her knees.
Her white shorts had left nothing to George’s imagination. His lawn-mowing that afternoon had taken three times longer than normal and he had commented about the gummed-up plugs of her car, even offering to sandblast them for her. She had declined with a smile that compelled George to offer to test his dip stick in her sump but she said the man at the garage had done that this morning.
‘Which garage?’ asked Pluke.
‘She never said, Mr Pluke. She never said where she had come from and I never asked,’ admitted George, thinking that if he had been forty years younger he would have had her name, address, and telephone number within moments of his first meeting.
‘She said not a word about where she’d come from and May didn’t either, Mr Pluke,’ confirmed Mrs Dunwoody. ‘And I never asked. I’m not nosy, you see; I don’t poke my nose into other folks’ business. Not like some I could name — like her at No 14, the Peat woman. Right nosy, she is. You should hear some of the things she comes out with at the Coffee Club; you ask your Millicent, Mr Pluke.’
‘The girl’s home can’t be very far away if she arrived in, say, half a day. If she’d called at a garage to have her oil checked and tank filled, then driven here to arrive by mid-afternoon, she can’t have come all that far,’ observed Pluke. ‘I’d guess she’s come from the North, somewhere between the Humber and the Tweed, maybe.’
‘Come to think of it, I think she did have a Durham twang when she spoke,’ recalled George. ‘Not quite Geordie, nicer than the Middlesbrough sound. County Durham, I’d say, judging by the way she said stuffed.’
‘Then we must make sure all the papers, radio stations and television news bulletins provide a description. Now, I fear we must examine the house,’ announced Pluke. ‘I have reason to believe she met her untimely death in No 15.’
‘Oh, my God,’ murmured Mrs Dunwoody. ‘Not on May’s best carpet — she just had it cleaned a fortnight ago… such a nice young man came with his chemicals and wafted scent all over afterwards.’
‘You’d think we’d have heard something, Mr Pluke,’ said George. ‘Or seen him taking her out… I mean, you can’t shift dead bodies without somebody seeing something. I should know all about that, I’ve shifted plenty.’
‘Precisely, Mr Dunwoody.’ Pluke beamed. ‘Somebody, somewhere, must have seen something or heard something or know something. There are other neighbours we must talk to, for it is our job to find that person. Now, I believe you have a key to the bungalow?’
‘I’ll get it, it’s for the kitchen door, but shouldn’t we ask the Crowthers first?’ asked George.
‘Don’t be silly, George!’ snapped his wife. ‘They’re in Majorca!’
‘They might not be; they might be dead too, in this very house.’ Pluke decided to shock them into silence and submission. ‘I have reason to believe that a suspicious death has occurred within this house and must therefore examine the property to ascertain whether or not that is the case. We are permitted, by law, to enter the premises in such circumstances, Mrs Dunwoody. Rest assured we shall leave the house as we find it.’
When George produced the mortice key on a plastic keyring depicting Mickey Mouse, Montague asked the Dunwoody pair to remain in their own premises, saying that if murder had been done inside, there would be masses of evidence which had to be preserved from the feet of neighbours and incomers. Only he and Detective Sergeant Wain would enter.
At this stage, the summer night was growing darker and it was necessary to switch on the house lights as they entered the kitchen door. The two detectives stood side by side in the kitchen, their trained observational powers absorbing every detail down to the unwashed mugs and plates in the sink, the half-consumed pan of spaghetti Bolognese on the cold oven ring, the opened cans of Coke on the table, things Pluke had not been able to see from the outside during his earlier visit.
‘She’s obviously had company, Wayne, one or two persons.’ Pluke pointed to three empty plates on the draining board, each bearing the remains of a meal of spaghetti Bolognese. ‘Three plates, three forks. Someone who doesn’t like washing up. So, other than those party-goers, who has been here with her, I ask myself?’
‘We might discover more, sir. The neighbours said she’d had visitors.’
‘We will need to preserve those Coke cans, dishes, and other items for fingerprinting.’
Without touching anything in the kitchen, they p
assed through and entered the passage which ran towards the front door, turning left and left again into the lounge, switching on the light. This room overlooked the street and the garden, and it was here that Pluke had earlier noticed the covered mirror.
‘I think somebody hung that tea towel up to dry, sir.’ Wayne Wain smiled. ‘A strange place to put it, if you ask me.’
‘Very strange and very interesting indeed,’ commented Montague Pluke.
The mirror was hanging above the mantelpiece which in turn was above the gas fire and it seemed, at first glance, that someone had indeed suspended the tea towel over the mirror so that it would gain from the waves of heat rising from the gas fire. Portions of the mirror that could be seen revealed a sturdy wood-framed looking glass of oval shape suspended on chains from a hook in the wall. It was positioned lengthways and the wooden oak frame was dark with age, its vintage probably being pre-World War Two. The tea towel, depicting scenes from the North York Moors, was draped between the two points where the chain was attached to each end of the mirror and almost covered the entire glass face.
After Pluke had scrutinised the towel without removing it, he said, ‘I need that towel to be photographed in situ, Wayne. I regard it as very important.’
‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Wayne Wain. ‘Nothing will be moved, that is the normal situation with an enquiry of this kind. Move nothing, photograph everything.’
‘Precisely.’
Their inspection of the lounge, achieved by standing at each doorway without touching anything, revealed nothing else of a suspicious nature in that room, so they adjourned to the bedroom. And there, in the master bedroom, the mirror on the dressing-table was covered with a white sheet, although the littered dressing-table was not.
It contained the usual complement of perfumes and make-up, but Pluke noticed the inhaler beside some lipstick.
‘An inhaler, Wayne. Note that. It confirms what our pathologist thought. He mentioned asthma. Have that photographed in due course. Neither of the Crowthers used one.’
‘Very good, sir.’
The bed was tidy and fully covered, although it did appear to have been used since the Crowthers’ departure. The covers were crumpled and one of the bedside mats was crooked; May always made sure everything was smooth and symmetrical. In the second bedroom, the mirror of the small dressing-table was covered with a pink bath towel but the single bed was unmade. The sheets and pillows were rumpled, while the duvet was lying partially on the floor and partially on the foot of the bed; the single wardrobe door was standing open and, from their vantage point, Pluke and Wain noticed it contained the clothing of a young woman. The deceased’s clothing, surely? All of it? That kind of clothing did not belong to May Crowther.
‘If and when we trace her relatives, Wayne, we must find out which items of her clothing are missing. Did the killer strip her here and are her clothes therefore in this wardrobe?’
‘I’ll check as soon as I am able, sir,’ said Wayne Wain.
The bathroom contained some make-up, toiletries, and recently washed underwear comprising two black bras and two pairs of black knickers, all hanging from a line suspended over the bath.
The bath was empty although Pluke did discern the faintest of tide marks around the inside at high water level. Somebody who had bathed here had not cleaned out the bath afterwards, just as they had not washed the pots used for their meal. But here, in the bathroom, the mirror was also covered, this time with a smaller towel which had been tucked behind the glass to hold it in place as the length of it draped across the glass.
‘So, Wayne,’ said Detective Inspector Montague Pluke. ‘What do you deduce from all this?’
‘There is little doubt,’ the sergeant said, after a moment’s thought, ‘that the young woman lying dead in the mortuary is the same person who has been living in this house. It appears she was here with the permission of the householders. That has yet to be confirmed by them, however. It seems she has not been alone either. She has had visitors or a visitor. That other person or persons must be our prime suspect, probably being the last person or persons to see her alive. It seems that all or most of her clothes are here too. It suggests she was killed, or died, in this house, and that her body was removed to the Druids’ Circle for concealment.’
‘My conclusion precisely, Wayne. A good deduction. So we need to have the entire place meticulously examined by our forensic experts and Scenes of Crime officers, do we not? Fingerprints must be taken for comparison with those of our growing list of suspects as and when they are brought to our notice. And if this bungalow is the scene of her death, it needs to be photographed and examined in meticulous detail. Bedding checked, sample fibres retained for forensic. Attics, dustbins, garden, and every nook and cranny must be searched for evidence. We need to take the place apart, Wayne, we need to identify the owners of any fingerprints we find, not just those of any suspects.’
‘Had we better inform Mr and Mrs Crowther, sir?’ asked Wayne.
‘I fear we must, Wayne. That time has come — besides, they need to be eliminated from our enquiries, but we must break the sad news of the death of their niece, plus the awful fact she might have met her death in this bungalow. And we must obtain details of the girl’s name, address and next of kin from the Crowthers, so that is an action for this evening, Wayne. Trace, interview, and eliminate the Crowthers, identify the deceased. The Crowthers must also rank as suspects until we can prove they were out of the country at the time of the girl’s death. Might I suggest we start with the travel agent?’
‘I’ll set things in motion, sir.’
‘We will set things in motion, Wayne. I shall accompany you to the home address of Mr Holliday of Holliday Holidays. I know where he lives. He will trace the Crowthers for us and we must ask them to put a name to that girl, Wayne. Then we have the awful job of asking her parents to come to Crickledale formally to identify her.’
‘Yes, sir, but shall we emphasise to the Crowthers that there is no urgency for their return? I am thinking of our work in their house, sir, it’ll be far easier in their absence.’
‘A good idea, Wayne. They will not be able to use their home for a few days anyway, not while our men are searching it for evidence. We must be careful to break the sad news gently, Wayne, a dreadful matter for someone enjoying a Holliday holiday in the sunshine.’
After studying the interior, the garage, and the exterior in silence for a few minutes, Pluke decided it was time to leave. He told the Dunwoody couple that he was impounding their key to No 15 Padgett Grove, that the house was sealed and that he was now going to contact the Crowthers in Majorca. Meanwhile, a policeman would be ordered to guard the property until the teams of forensic scientists and Scenes of Crime officers arrived. Pluke radioed for an officer and determined to await his arrival. Having briefed him, Pluke decided to leave.
‘Goodnight, Mr and Mrs Dunwoody,’ said Montague Pluke. He raised his panama in farewell to Mrs Dunwoody, ‘And thank you very much for your valued assistance. I shall be in touch when I have some further news.’
On their way to the Holliday abode in Wayne Wain’s car, Pluke asked his sergeant, ‘Do you regard George Dunwoody as a suspect, Wayne?’
‘Well, sir, he has to be eliminated, like anyone else.’
‘Yes of course, but what I mean is, Wayne, is he in the frame, as we say? A positive suspect, one worthy of closer examination?’
‘You clearly do not think so, sir, you took him into your confidence, telling him it was a murder when we haven’t had the official confirmation.’
‘I wanted to test his reaction if he thought we were treating it as murder.’
‘And?’
‘I am still judging his response, Wayne; I asked him to respect the confidentiality of that information. Officially we have not yet confirmed it is a murder enquiry. I want to see how things develop.’
‘So you do suspect him?’
‘He is one of many suspects, Wayne, do you not think?’
‘Consider it anew then, Wayne. Here we have a neighbour who, by his own admission, is accustomed to handling dead bodies in difficult places. Naked dead bodies. Lifting them about, moving them from place to place… it’s something he’s quite proud of. And he had a key to the bungalow. And he took a shine to that girl, according to Mrs Dunwoody.’
‘There was no indication he might be guilty, sir, was there?’ Wayne interrupted.
‘Let us suppose that he went into the house to attempt a seduction of the girl and things went wrong. He could say he saw her leave the premises when in fact she would be lying dead until he had the time and opportunity to move the body in secret. And he is a taxi driver, Wayne, working for a firm in town, out and about at all times with access to vehicles and no questions asked. And, note, he did not mention operating a taxi from that party at No 15, although cars and taxis were seen there. Was he afraid for us to know he was somehow involved?’
‘I can’t see that such negative things are important, sir. Besides, there was no sign of a struggle. I’ll agree the bed looked crumpled but not as a battlefield might.’
‘And her clothes were in the wardrobe, not thrown away as we first thought. She might have been nude while in the house, Wayne.’
‘Nude, sir? When she was killed? Doesn’t that imply she consented to something?’
‘Not if she was in the bath, Wayne. And remember that body in the Druids’ Circle was very clean, was it not? And there was a tide mark around the bath, indicating it had been used since the Crowthers left — May would never leave the bath in that state.’
‘Am I right in thinking we need to know more about George Dunwoody, sir?’
‘I am sure that is a wise decision, Wayne. That is a task for our teams tomorrow. Now, let us talk to Mr Holliday of Holliday Holidays.’
Omens of Death (The Montague Pluke Cases Book 1) Page 10