‘I know, Wayne, but if he had an accomplice throughout all this, who was it? We need to know that, and to know it quickly. The accomplice might be the killer, don’t forget. And don’t forget, too, that somebody has killed Winton. Was that done because Winton knew too much, got himself into this far too deeply perhaps? If Winton was killed for that reason, then he might not be the last of the killer’s victims. This makes me wonder who else is involved and what, precisely, they are involved in. Has Winton’s criminal record any bearing on this? And we need to find out what’s behind the use of empty houses for making porn films. Perhaps the whole range of factors are intertwined, Wayne?’
‘I’ll do my best,’ said Wayne, yawning long and loud.
In the police station yard, Wayne Wain parked carefully and locked the car, as Montague Pluke returned to the Incident Room.
‘Go home and get some sleep, Wayne,’ was his parting order. And so he did.
It was now four o’clock and some of the officers had broken off to have a cup of tea and a sandwich; those engaged on house-to-house duties had come in to the office to file their latest reports, while those working beyond easy access to the station would make their own arrangements for a tea-break. There was a lull in the activity but not in the conversation, for the officers on the case persisted in chatting about it even during their break periods.
When Pluke entered the Plukedom, he apprised those present about the car on the moors, stressing that it had belonged to the dead girl, but that the person who had torched it remained a mystery.
He asked them to bear the car in mind when making their enquiries. Details would be formally circulated in due course but what was desperately needed was a witness to describe anyone seen driving or being carried in the little red car in and around Crickledale since Saturday, with special emphasis on sightings since Wednesday.
One of the positive results of the house-to-house enquiries was that the detectives discovered another occasion where a private house had been used for making videos while the owners had been in America. It was an old-fashioned detached cottage at the west end of the town; the owners had returned unexpectedly to find their house-sitters — a man and a woman — engaged in film-making, using the house as a studio. That was about eighteen months ago, the detectives were told. As nothing illegal appeared to have happened, the house-sitters were told to leave, along with the film crew, and nothing more had been thought about it until the current investigation. It was not known whether the film had been pornographic or whether the completed film had been distributed. In view of the current enquiry, Montague’s detective now questioned the house-owners, a Mr Tim and Mrs Catherine Moore, and they confirmed that the house-sitters had been found through a mutual friend.
They had not been hired through a known agency. Apart from their use of the house as a film set, the Moores did not have any other complaint — the sitters had tended the garden, cut the lawn, watered the flowers, and fed the cat. On top of that they had left the house in a clean and tidy condition.
The Moores had not seen the film in either its complete or incomplete stages, but were now very concerned that their nice home could have been used for purposes which were abhorrent. Efforts would be made by the detectives to trace the couple concerned.
It was during these discussions over tea that the telephone rang and a voice called to Montague, ‘It’s for you, sir.’
‘Who is it?’ he asked.
‘Doctor Taylor, sir, about the PM result.’
‘I’ll take it in my office,’ said Pluke. There were times when the precise cause of death had to be kept from the staff, just in case they inadvertently let the press know, when the police wished to keep that knowledge to themselves. Accordingly, Detective Inspector Pluke adjourned to his tiny office and the call was put through.
‘Good afternoon, Doctor Taylor,’ greeted Pluke.
‘Detective Inspector Pluke, nice to talk. You sent me a real puzzler here, you know.’
‘Did I?’ cried Pluke. ‘In what way?’
‘She was a young woman whose only medical problems were due to asthma. She was otherwise fit and healthy. An examination of her organs has not produced any indications of any toxins of any kind. She was not poisoned. She was not choked or asphyxiated in any way, and I have found no internal injuries of any kind either. There was no drugs dependency, no needle marks on her body, she’s not had injections, and she was not an epileptic. There is no sign of embolism, no water in the lungs, although there are slight signs of soap or shampoo beneath her nails… very clean she was. That she died in the bath is a distinct possibility, Mr Pluke, as I believe you have already suggested. Just like your Mr Meredith, I cannot find any suspicious cause of death, Mr Pluke. There was no rape, no pregnancy, although she was not a virgin. However, I did find that her lungs were over-distended and she had thickened bronchial walls with some blockages of the small air passages by viscous mucus. That looks rather like the white of an egg, Mr Pluke. And asthmatics can die suddenly, Mr Pluke, from a violent shock or even excitement. So in my opinion that is the cause of her death. In other words, she died naturally, but there is no sign of heart disease nor any indication of a blockage or circulatory problems. A rare cause of death, Mr Pluke. She just stopped living, Mr Pluke; she died of natural causes.’
‘Natural causes?’ Pluke shouted. ‘But that’s impossible… I mean, Mr Taylor, the finding of the body where it was, and in such circumstances, nude, hidden, and now her car burnt out… and the shooting of the man who found her body… someone has done this to her, Mr Taylor. It cannot be natural causes. Surely, she was killed?’
‘Perhaps someone thinks he has killed her, Mr Pluke, and then was panicked into disposing of the body in that way. Tell me what you know about the girl.’
Pluke obliged with an outline of her modelling activities and the pathologist listened intently.
When Pluke had finished, the pathologist said, ‘I think she was in the bath, for reasons best known to herself, with water in it too I might add. Perhaps a man was with her and perhaps he did, or was about to do, something exciting to her or with her, with her consent. Maybe she was violently excited, or maybe she just panicked, Mr Pluke. Whatever happened might have been part of the filming or maybe it was something else, but I think she died at that point. She did not drown, I can tell you that, there was no water in her lungs, but I cannot help further, except to say the brown fibre found in her toe nail is consistent with those found on domestic blankets. I cannot be more specific. All I can say is that you do not have a murder enquiry on your hands, Mr Pluke. A mystery perhaps, but not a murder. It cannot be murder. She died naturally. That is my conclusion and I might add that, because of the difficulty in establishing the cause of death, it is supported by two of my colleagues.’
‘I’m sure there were two people involved…’ began Pluke.
‘Involved in what, Mr Pluke? If she died naturally, there is no crime, is there? No reason for your investigation?’
Pluke paused for a long time to ponder that remark, then said, ‘You’ll be letting me have your usual written report?’
‘I will, Mr Pluke. Good evening.’ And the telephone died. Pluke sat and looked at it for a moment, trying to come to terms with what he had heard, but found it hard to believe. Surely the pathologists were wrong? This death had all the elements of a murder, a crime passionnel perhaps, but murder nonetheless, so how could any pathologist, in spite of the findings, suggest there had been no offence?
There was a knock on the door and Inspector Horsley walked in. ‘They said it was the path lab calling.’ He stood before Pluke, eager to know the result of the examination. ‘Any joy, Montague?’
‘Sit down, Mr Horsley.’
Horsley sat.
‘You’re not going to believe this,’ began Pluke when Horsley was comfortable.
‘Try me,’ invited Horsley.
After a pause, Pluke said, ‘It’s no crime.’
‘No crime?’ puzzled Horsle
y. ‘What do you mean?’
‘She died of natural causes,’ said Pluke. ‘Taylor, supported by two of his colleagues, confirms she died of natural causes, the cause of her death being linked to her asthmatic condition.’
‘I don’t believe that!’ cried Horsley. ‘And that pathologist knows the circumstances of the discovery of her body? Naked? In that fake burial chamber?’
‘He knows everything, Mr Horsley, but he did say it was a fairly rare cause of death. He has tried all the tests — no drugs or poisons have been traced in her body. She died a natural death; that’s all there is to it. Sudden and shocking perhaps, but completely natural due to her asthmatic condition.’
‘Well, in my view, she died in very unnatural circumstances, Montague. What we need is a second opinion.’
‘He was the second opinion, Mr Horsley, and he got two supporting opinions from his colleagues. Imagine trying to prosecute someone for murder if four pathologists state the death was from natural causes!’
‘So, what do we do now?’ asked Horsley, deflated by the news.
‘I’ll have to report to Jack Hart. He’ll wind up the enquiry.’
‘There’s no time like the present,’ said Horsley.
Montague lifted the handset to call his boss, Detective Superintendent Jack Hart, at Force Headquarters.
He was still in his office and listened with interest. ‘Fine, great news, Montague,’ he oozed. ‘End of enquiry, eh? No murder, therefore no murder enquiry. The Chief’ll be delighted — that’s one less major enquiry to run away with his precious funds and no undetected murders to fret about in the annual statistics. Close down, Montague, terminate the enquiry, disband the detectives and close the Incident Room. Organise a press conference for tomorrow morning to tell the public and start wrapping everything up.’
‘But there’s that other death, sir, in Fossford, it was a murder…’
‘That’s not your problem, Montague. Pass any files you have collected to Boddy and Sole and let them sort it out.’
‘But we were getting close to a possible ring of pornographic-film-makers, sir, our enquiries were beginning to bear fruit…’
‘That’s not the sort of enquiry that demands a full murder Incident Room and teams of detectives, Montague. That’s for the Porn Squad. Tell them what you have discovered, let them see the files and get them to sort it out.’
‘But the body, sir, the girl who was found in the Druids’ Circle, she did not die a natural death…’
‘I thought the forensic pathologist said she had?’
‘Well, it was a natural death, sir, but in very unnatural circumstances.’
‘That doesn’t make it murder, Montague. The death itself was natural, irrespective of what happened to the body afterwards. What we might be left with is a minor offence under the Burial Laws or something similar. Tell the duty inspector about that aspect of things, then have a word with the coroner about these findings and get him to authorise burial. And that’s it, Montague. It’s over. No murder. That’s good news for our crime stats.’ And Hart replaced the telephone.
‘What’s he say?’ demanded Horsley.
‘We’re to close down. He says I must tell the coroner and close down the enquiry because it’s no longer a murder investigation,’ said Montague with some sorrow.
‘What a shame, I was beginning to enjoy this, Montague. I thought we were on the trail of her killer…’
‘Somebody was involved in that death, Mr Horsley, and in my view it was totally unnatural; whatever happened to that girl was not natural, her body was hidden and her car destroyed.’
‘But if it’s not murder, our role is over, Montague.’
‘The town will not like it. This is a clean-living town full of decent people who wouldn’t want dirty films being made surreptitiously in their midst. If a girl dies like that within our boundaries, we should be able to track down those responsible, murder or no murder.’
‘The porn business can be dealt with by the Porn Squad,’ said Horsley. ‘The question of an unburied body at the Druids’ Circle can be left to the town sergeant, as can the problem of the unauthorised taking of the car and its firing. That’s assuming of course that the body was taken to the Druids’ Circle after death. We don’t know that for sure, do we, Montague? She might have died there, in the nude, without anyone else being present or involved. People do frolic nude in woods and glades, for reasons best known to themselves. And on top of that, the countryside is full of rubbish which includes burnt-out cars taken by joy-riders and the like; this one’s no different. But if there is no murder, we need not hang on to her body, which means the girl can have a decent burial once the coroner gives the go-ahead. She deserves that, at least.’
‘In isolation, those matters are each of relatively little importance, I will agree with you on that,’ said Montague. ‘But placed together they create something infinitely more sinister.’
‘Montague? You are not reading more into this sequence of events than necessary, are you? Look at it this way — let us say the girl died in the chamber of the Druids’ Circle. She went in there, lay down, and died, leaving her clothes in the car. Some yobbo comes along and nicks the car, as they do, used it for a joy ride and burnt it afterwards — like they do. Yobbo and death are not linked in any way. Nasty coincidences, no more than that. I agree it’s not very nice, but it is still not murder. She died from natural causes, Montague. That is beyond dispute.’
‘The man who found the body was murdered, let us not forget.’ Montague spoke solemnly.
‘Another nasty coincidence. We have no proof that his death is linked to hers, have we? If he hadn’t found the body, someone else would have done.’
‘I do feel there are links between the deaths. Certain similarities…’
‘Forget it, Montague, it’s over. I’m sorry if you were hoping to solve the crime of the century, but this is not the time. Shall I break the news to the teams?’
‘Yes. Call them in. I’ll explain.’ But Montague Pluke was unhappy about this development.
‘And you will explain to your sergeant?’
‘Yes, in due course. I have sent Detective Sergeant Wain home, he had a very exhausting night.’
‘So I understand!’ breathed Horsley who had heard of Wain’s exploits. He got up to leave the tiny office. ‘You know, Montague, I was looking forward to seeing this enquiry through to its conclusion. You were making a decent job of it.’
‘I have not finished yet,’ said Montague with determination.
‘Not finished. What do you mean?’
‘Any murder enquiry turns up a lot of dirt in any town or village; we discover the undercurrent of life, Mr Horsley, and our investigations to date have shown there is a filthy underbelly to Crickledale. Sordid things have clearly been going on right under our noses…’
‘But if we do not get complaints, then it does not concern us. And we have not had complaints, have we?’
‘As a law enforcement officer, I think it does matter and it does concern us.’
‘We are not the keepers of public morals, Montague,’ Horsley reminded him. ‘Sin and crime are not necessarily the same thing.’
‘Someone helped to remove that girl’s body from No 15 Padgett Grove in the belief she had been murdered, I am convinced of that,’ Montague said. ‘And if those persons believed they had murdered her, then, in my eyes, that is tantamount to murder. It was murder in their minds.’
‘Or accidental death followed by panic?’
‘The answer lies in Crickledale, Mr Horsley, and it is linked to the death of Stephen Winton who was involved in our case. I am going to find the answer, whether or not the Chief allows this investigation to proceed.’
‘I hope you find the answers you want, Montague,’ said Horsley, rising to his feet. ‘Right, I’ll set about recalling the officers. A briefing in, say, an hour?’
‘Yes, that will be very suitable,’ sighed Montague Pluke.
Detective Superinten
dent Jack Hart rang Detective Inspector Boddy at Fossford and said, ‘John, the woman in the Crickledale enquiry died naturally. So it’s no murder out here in the sticks. How’s that affect things at your end?’
‘Our only known link between Winton and the Crickledale death was his finding of the body. And if that body was not murdered, there might not be a connection between his death and the events at the Druids’ Circle.’
‘Can we dismiss any likely links then?’
‘Not according to your man Pluke. He thinks Winton was involved in her death.’
‘But if her death was not murder, then how is that relevant?’
‘Pluke insists that someone else was involved with her death, but in spite of that, I do need information from Crickledale, sir. There could still be a link between Winton and that girl, and with her death and his death, and with the filming of pornographic acts. We found a lot of pornographic photographs and negatives in his flat; he’d taken them for magazines. We found acceptance notes and statements of accounts for them. Some might contain pictures of your dead girl and her friends.’
‘Fine, so there could still be a link? We’ll co-operate with your lads, but I’ve stood down our Incident Room at Crickledale. No murder means no investigation, and no expenditure. Liaise with Pluke; he’ll give you every assistance to examine our files and he’ll tell you if any of the girls in Winton’s pictures is our deceased.’
‘Thanks, sir.’
That same evening, the coroner for Crickledale and District ordered the release of the body of Tracy Bretton and asked that the relatives be informed that the death was natural. It meant that her funeral could proceed. Detective Inspector Pluke pushed a note through Wayne Wain’s letter-box to announce these developments, because there was no response to his knocking. Wayne was in a deep and refreshing sleep.
Tomorrow would be Saturday which, along with Sunday, were Pluke’s usual scheduled rest days. Under normal circumstances, he would have taken them off, but not during a murder enquiry; as things stood, he would have to go into the office to wind up the enquiry. Wayne Wain, however, could have the weekend off, so Pluke included that in his note. He said he would see Wain on Monday morning in the office.
Omens of Death (The Montague Pluke Cases Book 1) Page 18