Millicent was looking forward to the Friday Society this morning. She could explain to her friends how Montague had appeared on television about the girl in the Druids’ Circle, and then there was all that unresolved business at May’s and Cyril’s bungalow. Mrs Peat had seen Montague there, she’d said, but Montague would say nothing about it… but surely there was no connection, was there? Between May and Cyril, and that dead girl in the Circle? She wasn’t May’s niece after all, even though May had said she was, so it was all very curious. Or had someone got the girls mixed up? Maybe the ladies of the Friday Society would know something?
Chapter Twelve
Montague Pluke and Wayne Wain stood in shocked and surprised silence as they looked upon the body of the man they knew as Stephen Winton. He was dressed only in green boxer shorts, the rest of his body being completely naked. Even his feet were bare. He lay on his back, spreadeagled across the covers with some dried blood showing near the left side of his head. It had stained the duvet, the dark red showing against the tan-coloured fabric. Pluke, with the file of Winton’s photographs in his hand and taking great care not to touch anything, stooped to examine the source of the blood and gently touched the flesh of the chest. It was cold and stiff, the feel of a corpse. That he was dead was a certainty.
‘It’s a bullet wound, Wayne, in the temple. Small-calibre weapon, I should say. Point two-two by the look of it.’
‘He is dead, is he, sir? Definitely, I mean?’
‘Yes, Wayne, he is quite dead. What a blessing I managed to get a statement from him before this happened That means we must call the local police as we are outside our divisional boundaries, but before we do so, I need to examine this room. After all, we do have an interest in this man’s death.’
‘This will not be our case, sir,’ pointed out Wayne Wain. ‘Perhaps we should leave things alone?’
‘Normally I would, but surely the motive for this man’s death is linked to his discovery of our corpse? I am sure the two deaths need to be considered together, so for the moment I am going to ignore the inter-force courtesies and politics. Now, let us carefully examine this flat. I want a few moments before the local police arrive but first we must search the premises in case the suspect is hiding.’
That was important in every such case — the police searched the premises to see if the killer was still hiding there — in the attic, the wardrobe or anywhere else. But they drew a blank. Satisfied that there was no immediate urgency to this case, Montague Pluke took his personal camera from his pocket, checked that the flash batteries were charged and that there was a film in place. He next positioned himself beside the bed, not moving an inch, as he committed to memory the appearance of the scene of Stephen’s death. It was murder this time; of that there was no doubt because there was no firearm near the body, on the floor, or beneath the bed. Suicide could be ruled out; Winton had not shot himself.
‘See, Wayne, the mirror on his dresser?’
It was draped with one of Winton’s sweaters.
‘Hung out to air, sir?’
‘Like those mirrors at No 15 Padgett Grove? Another link, surely?’
‘Who’d do that, sir? I’d say the sweater was airing, there’s nothing more sinister than that. You can’t think it’s anything to do with an MO, can you? Surely the victims hung those things over the mirrors, not the killer. All we have to do is prove that the tea towels or sweaters or whatever else was used belonged to the victim, logic would then say the items were placed there by them. I cannot see how those actions can convince anyone that the same person killed both the girl and this photographer.’
‘What alternative is there, Wayne? It might be difficult to regard those signs as hard evidence or even an MO — it might be said that Winton himself hung the sweater there to air as you have suggested, but I would suspect something more interesting. However, that is a question for the local police and I shall pursue my enquiries on the grounds that the same person is responsible for both deaths.’
‘It means Winton did not kill the girl, surely, sir? He was innocent.’
‘Not entirely, Wayne. Not entirely. I feel he must have been involved.’
‘His involvement was finding the body, but why kill him for that?’
‘I do not think he “merely” found Tracy’s body, Wayne. I think he was involved in her death, although to what extent I am not sure at this stage. I think he knew why she died and how she died and I think he helped remove the body to the Druids’ Circle once she was dead.’
‘I saw no clues that would lead us to that conclusion, with all due respect, sir.’
‘There are two things to consider, Wayne. When Winton found the corpse, it was not his first visit to the Druids’ Circle. It is my suspicion that it was at least his third visit, not his second as he tried to make me believe. He admitted calling there as a young man, youth hostelling, he told us, and you can be sure he explored the place at that time and discovered the underground chamber. It’s there for everyone to see. I’d guarantee that every visitor pokes his or her head into that chamber before leaving the Circle. That was his first visit, the one to which he referred. He told us he had never returned until yesterday, but I fear he was lying. He did call there again, at some stage before he found Tracy.’
‘That is not mentioned in his statement, sir. He clearly stated it was his first visit since his youth hostelling days and that he had been sent there on a photographic commission. How can you assume he visited the site before finding the body?’
‘I can accept the story of the commission, Wayne, although the precise arrangements for that will have to be checked. But it is clear from his photographs.’ And Pluke slipped his own camera back into his pocket for a moment, then opened the file in his hands. ‘Examine these, Wayne. Winton took these pictures yesterday morning; he told us that he took them just before he “found” the body. They are shots of the Druids’ Circle, taken around 11am — a useful alibi perhaps. He said he arrived around 11am, took some pictures and then found the corpse. I have no reason to disbelieve him so far as that timing is concerned.’
‘Yes, I remember him telling us that.’
‘But when I examined the prints that we developed from his film, the prints I have with me now, it is very evident they were taken on different occasions or at a different time. The first ones on the roll were taken during the mid-afternoon, I would suggest, or later, perhaps around tea-time. I re-examined these on the way here in the car and confirmed my original belief.’
‘He can’t have taken them yesterday afternoon, sir, that was impossible! We had that film in our custody at that time. There is only the one film, isn’t there?’
‘Yes, one roll of film with thirty-six exposures. That means he had been to the Druids’ Circle on a previous occasion, during an afternoon, with his camera — I would suggest the day before he found the body.’
‘But how do you know that, sir?’
‘Look at the shadows cast by the sun, Wayne. See, these are the more recent photographs, taken around 11am yesterday.’ And Pluke showed a selection to his sergeant. ‘The sun would be almost due south, casting shadows of that altar and phallic symbol; the shadows show to the right of the objects in question as we enter the Circle from the Eastern Gate. He took the pictures from that vantage point. That means the shadows point towards the North, away from the sun. Also, there are shadows on the left of the pictures, they’re from the overhanging trees — those shadows point to the right, that’s to the north of the Circle too. So those pictures were taken yesterday, shortly before our arrival.’
‘I understand, sir.’
‘And these prints are from one reel of film, Wayne. He was unable to separate the earlier pictures from the more recent, although I would suggest he had no idea of the messages they would provide.’
‘Go on, sir.’
‘But some of those other pictures, Wayne, show the same locations — the altar and phallic symbol — with shadows pointing towards the Eastern Gate. That suggests th
e sun was in the West when the pictures were taken, Wayne, and we know it doesn’t reach that point of the sky until late afternoon at this time of year.’
‘So it means Winton was at the Circle, taking photos late one afternoon. You’re right, sir.’
‘Precisely, Wayne. It might even be possible to calculate precisely what time he was taking those pictures — that phallic symbol acts very like the gnomon of a sundial which means we might be able to calculate the exact time he was there. But more important — it also means he lied to me when I questioned him. That is why I wanted to talk to him again. In any murder investigation, liars become suspects. We cannot say with any certainty which day or at what time he was there on that earlier occasion, but if the pictures are on the same reel of film, one may assume that they were taken very soon before the others on the same film. Professional photographers go through reels of film as if they are worthless. Another point, Wayne, is that if he was taking photographs for a magazine feature, he would surely have rediscovered the cavern he’d first known about as a youth — the cavern is not concealed in any way. He would have rediscovered it during that afternoon visit, whatever day it was.’
‘And he would recall it when the question of disposal of the body arose?’
‘Exactly, Wayne. Imagine that he was present when the girl died — irrespective of whether someone else killed her — and I think he was present when disposal of the remains became necessary. He remembered the burial chamber at the Circle. So she was taken there and left naked on that shelf of rock…’
‘How, sir? How was she taken there? We examined Winton’s car and it bore no traces of her presence.’
‘How about her own car, Wayne? Where is it? Where has it gone? Suppose someone placed the body in her own car, covered on the back seat as if she was resting, or even asleep, and then drove her to the Circle for disposal? After that, the perpetrator or perpetrators could get rid of her mini. It is quite common for cars to be disposed of in these forests, burnt out by thieves for example. I hope our press appeal leads us to it, but I suggest the Task Force might rake the forests for signs of burnt-out cars.’
‘We found no tyre marks on the track, sir, nothing to say her car had been here.’
‘It had rained overnight, Wayne, gentle but persistent rain will soon obliterate tyre marks from earthen tracks. It suggests she was driven there before the rain came.’
‘So you believe that Stephen Winton was present when Tracy was killed — with a possibility that he might have killed her — and that he therefore knew too much? And you are also saying he disposed of, or helped to dispose of, her remains, then later called the police to say he had discovered her body, hoping that would remove suspicion from him.’
‘Yes, I think that is a fairly accurate assessment, Wayne, but once we established our enquiries, we began to uncover something more sinister than we realised and Winton had to be silenced. And so he was. That is my view.’
‘Sinister, sir? Like what?’
‘It could be associated with the use of those houses by supposed house-sitters for making pornographic films. That kind of filming is big business, Wayne, with rich profits. We might have uncovered the proverbial nest of vipers.’
‘Are you saying this photographer was involved in that kind of film-making, sir?’
‘It is quite likely. A search of his car and flat might reveal something along those lines, Wayne, but I am now convinced he was present at the death of Tracy Bretton whether by accident or on purpose. And he has paid with his life. Clearly, someone thought he knew too much or would talk too much.’
Replacing the photographs in the file, Pluke retrieved his pocket camera and began to take a selection of pictures of the interior of the flat, showing the body, the state of the bedroom, the contents of the dressing-table, the sweater draped over the mirror and other general scenes. He then photographed the kitchen with the remains of its meal, along with more general views, and he achieved all this without touching anything. He valued the need for an uncontaminated scene of crime and would allow the incoming officers that privilege.
When he had finished, he said, ‘Now, Wayne, it is time to call the local police. I shall not disturb the flat. But I would like some pictures of his car too. I can take those while awaiting their arrival. In the meantime, could you telephone the Fossford CID? Don’t use the instrument in this flat — it will be necessary to trace the last calls made from Winton’s phone. Perhaps the landlady downstairs will oblige?’
‘I’ll do it right away, sir.’
‘Good. And while you are talking to her, you might question her about visitors to this flat and find out what she knows about the lifestyle of Stephen Winton.’
Temporarily alone with the body of Stephen Winton, Montague Pluke visually explored the flat, not touching anything and walking only along a route he would describe to the incoming detectives. He took his time too, working slowly around the interior of the flat.
The double bed was in a corner of the room and Winton’s body lay crosswise. His head was to the left of the pillow and his legs slightly apart, pointing towards the right of the foot of the bed. His right foot dangled over the side, not quite touching the floor. The shot was in his right temple, blood staining the duvet where it covered the pillow. There was no weapon either; again, he searched the floor and beneath the bed without moving anything and found no firearm. That ruled out suicide.
Bearing in mind the remains of the meal in the kitchen, and the state of undress of the body, plus the fact that a bedside table bore a wrist-watch showing the present time and a handkerchief, Pluke deduced Winton had been shot at bedtime. He had probably died while preparing for bed. The fact that he lay on top of the duvet suggested he had not actually got into bed before his visitor had shot him, nor had he climbed out to greet the intruder. The absence of any sign of a break-in suggested he had opened the door to his killer, but would he do that in a state of near undress? Pluke noticed some day clothes on a chair in a corner of the bedroom — a light-grey T-shirt and pair of jeans, with trainer shoes under the chair. The curtains were open, but the windows were covered with lace — so either Winton went to bed with his curtains open, or the killer had opened them before leaving.
Some intruders did that when they invaded houses at night — it prevented nosy people wondering why the curtains were closed in daylight and often gave a criminal a few more hours of grace before his deeds were discovered. The bedroom was fairly tidy, Pluke decided, although far from the meticulous standard demanded by Millicent, and the intruder did not appear to have searched it, or any other part of the flat, for any reason. All the drawers in the dressing-table were closed and Winton’s jeans, hanging over the back of the chair, did not appear to have been searched for money or credit cards. There was no sign of a fight either, no ruffled rugs, disturbed furnishings or indications of defence by Winton. Burglary, Pluke decided, could be ruled out, as could a battle with a burglar.
Whoever had come to this flat, Pluke decided, had come for no purpose other than to shoot Winton. And Winton had admitted him. Thus they knew one another. Apart from the remains of the meal on the table, there was little of interest to Montague in the kitchen, other than Winton’s camera which stood on a shelf above the eating area. There were films too, unused, and the other accoutrements of a professional photographer, all together so that they could be gathered quickly if an urgent mission arose. He would not inspect the camera to see what was contained on any film that might lie within — that job would be done by the incoming detectives.
The bathroom told a little — a solitary toothbrush lay near the taps of the washbasin with a squiggle of paste upon it. It seemed that Winton had been disturbed moments before cleaning his teeth as he prepared for bed.
Montague took photographs of the bathroom and kitchen, then became aware of heavy footsteps on the stairs. He went back into the kitchen and waited. Two large men in dark suits materialised in the doorway.
‘Who are you?’ de
manded the tallest, a six-foot-six-inches (two-metre) giant with shoulders like an ox. He had dark hair shorn close to his head and dark, staring eyes.
‘I might ask the same question,’ replied Pluke.
The big tall man looked at the panama-hatted figure in the untidy overcoat and spats and grimaced towards his smaller companion as he said, ‘We’ve a right one here, George.’
He redirected his attention towards Pluke. ‘I ask the questions. I am Detective Inspector Boddy of Fossford CID and this is Detective Sergeant Sole from the same department.’ And both showed their warrant cards. ‘And if you are thinking what I think you are thinking, it’s all been said before. We’ve heard the lot; we’ve heard all the jokes. Now, having established that, sir, who the hell are you and what are you doing with what I am told is a body in this flat?’
‘I am Detective Inspector Montague Pluke from Crickledale CID.’ Montague drew himself to his full height, an action which caused his trousers to rise like a flag on a flag-pole and his overcoat to tighten around his belly. ‘And my companion downstairs, the one who rang for you, is Detective Sergeant Wayne Wain.’ And Montague produced his own warrant card which the officers studied briefly.
‘So what the hell are you doing on my patch without my knowledge and with a dead body?’ demanded Boddy. ‘Control Room said nothing about any CID from anywhere being at the scene!’
Montague provided a succinct account of his purpose, at the same time expressing his belief that Tracy Bretton’s death was linked with this one, then led them into the bedroom to show them the body of Stephen Winton.
‘What have you touched?’ asked Boddy.
Montague explained precisely what he had done, whereupon Boddy said, ‘I shall need a very detailed statement from you, Mr Pluke. Being the person who found the body, you have made yourself a suspect and will need to be eliminated. Now, what’s in that packet you are carrying around as if it contains the Crown Jewels?’
Omens of Death (The Montague Pluke Cases Book 1) Page 15