Superstitious Death

by Nicholas Rhea

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘You know the sort of information we require? It is at two levels, Detective Sergeant Tower. First is the identification of the girl, and the second is her reason for coming to England with any known destination she might have planned.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I understand. I will also seek to establish whether she travelled alone or was known to be meeting anyone in this country.’

  ‘Of course,’ smiled Pluke. ‘Well done, Detective Sergeant Tower, this is just the sort of positive lead we require!’ and with that the detective left his office. It was another very encouraging development but it was the Swedish connection that was of most interest to Montague Pluke. Why should a Swedish maiden come to this country and to Harman’s Quarry in particular? Or even to Harman’s Farm? Had she come to call on Eric Burholme for any reason and, if so, why had he denied knowing her? Was it possible he had no idea who she was or what she was doing on his premises? And further to that, who, knowing she was Swedish, would take the trouble to bury her with a mirror, in accordance with an ancient Swedish custom?

  With Burholme in mind, Pluke had to ask himself whether a murderer would have taken that kind of trouble with a victim – and that was one reason why he continued to nurse a lingering suspicion that this death was not murder. The fact that the mirror had been buried with the girl was a strong indication that the person who had buried her did know who she was, that he was aware of her nationality – and that she was a virgin. That suggested a close relationship. It seemed likely that the person who had buried her was also Swedish or someone with a deep knowledge of Swedish burial customs of the past, someone who was prepared to spend a little time in ensuring the girl was buried according to the old tradition, and that her grave was correctly orientated east-west. A murderer would hardly accord a victim that kind of sympathetic treatment.

  It was while reflecting upon those matters that Pluke reconsidered the telephone call from C.l Department of Scotland Yard. As Pluke had suspected, Burholme was a mystery; that phone call confirmed it. However, the words used by Bromley of the Yard were not a command to end the investigation – the London Metropolitan Police could not issue such commands for they had no jurisdiction over investigations in the provinces. The command came as a matter of internal British security and it was to say that if the traditional finger of suspicion indicated Burholme was involved in the death of the girl, then the matter should be taken no further. If the evidence implicated some other person, then a prosecution could proceed. Pluke was not sure of the ethics of the kind of action Bromley was seeking. The death of the girl had entered the public arena because Pluke had informed the newspapers, television and radio networks, and his officers were making widespread enquiries. A cover-up was therefore impossible – not that Detective Inspector Montague Pluke would ever sanction a cover-up but if, as he suspected, the death was due to an accident, however bizarre, then there would no case of murder to answer. Burholme, with all the security protection in the world, would not be at risk of prosecution. And if the case was not one of murder, then, whatever the circumstances, Montague Pluke felt that the public had a right to know the truth and that he had a duty to establish that truth.

  The telephone rang again.

  ‘Pluke?’ Montague recognised the voice. It was Detective Superintendent Jack Hart calling from Headquarters.

  ‘Sir,’ responded Montague.

  ‘What the hell is going on in Crickledale? I’ve had the Chief Constable on to me now because he’s had a call from the Commissioner of the London Metropolitan Police who maintains you’ve got a murder suspect who’s got some kind of top-level security rating. There’s talk of the Home Office being notified, and the Foreign Office and the Security Services and the Prime Minister getting involved… Just what the hell have you been doing, Pluke?’

  ‘I have been conducting perfectly routine enquiries into a suspicious death, sir, and I have no such suspect for murder, sir.’ Montague decided to be firm in his dealings with this matter. ‘At this stage of the enquiry, there is no chief suspect, and we have no one in custody, there is no one within our cells helping with enquiries or otherwise under arrest. I am merely making routine enquiries into the suspicious death of a young woman, nothing more than that.’

  ‘Well, you seem to have caused a mighty fuss of some kind Pluke. You’d better level with me, tell me exactly what’s going on.’

  Pluke gave a precise account of the investigation to date but decided to omit his own theories about Eric Burholme at this stage; he needed further evidence before he could implement his means of determining his own very deeply held ideas. He brought his supervisory officer up to date with the likely Newcastle connection and stressed that his officers were, at the moment, concentrating upon getting the deceased girl identified and tracing her last movements within the Crickledale district.

  Hart listened without interruption; when Pluke had concluded his account he asked, ‘You seem to have done all the right things, Pluke, but you have not yet interviewed this man Burholme? Not even for elimination purposes?’

  ‘Not yet, sir. I want to keep that interview in reserve until I have established a great deal more about the background to the case – in particular, I want to know the identity of the girl and her place or country of origin. I consider it vital we know more about her before I begin to question Mr Burholme because he has already denied any knowledge of her.’

  ‘But if he has denied knowing her, then surely you have interviewed him?’

  ‘Only as a witness, sir; we talked at the outset because the body was found on his land. That has been his only involvement to date.’

  ‘Did I hear you right when you said he’s eighty years old?’

  ‘That is what he claimed to be, sir. He doesn’t look it, I must admit.’

  ‘Hardly the age of a chap who would kill a girl and bury her like that. But fair enough. If he’s speaking the truth and we can prove he has no links with the girl, we have no further interest in him, and the Home office need not get itself into a tizzy about this investigation. I have no idea what’s behind all this, Pluke, I will be honest with you. All I know is that you set up an enquiry which has produced a man who is flagged as being of security interest.’

  ‘It surprised me as well, sir. There are some further enquiries I would like to make, however. I do need to know more about Burholme, and, at this moment, I have not put a team on to that aspect of my enquiry. It means Burholme himself has no reason to think he is under suspicion or even under investigation – I have adopted that tactic quite deliberately, sir, in view of the unusual background to this case.’

  ‘You think there is something odd behind all this, don’t you, Pluke? Maybe I have not given you credit for your perception.’

  ‘From what I have seen to date, there are certain factors which do not appear to be as they seem. I cannot be more specific just yet. All I wish to do is to establish the truth, sir; what happens when I do will depend upon the decision of someone far more eminent than me. I shall simply determine the facts and present them to you for further consideration.’

  ‘Well, it looks as though you’ve done everything right so far, Pluke, because it was not Burholme himself who sought sanctuary from your enquiries.’

  ‘He’s been extremely co-operative so far,’ Pluke said.

  ‘Obviously, he does not think he is under suspicion or investigation, so congratulations upon maintaining that aura.’

  ‘When I do begin my in-depth investigation of him, sir, I might want help from a higher authority, due to the security aspects.’

  ‘What sort of help?’

  ‘Well, if he has a very high security classification, it means I will never have access to any of his files, even if he is a murder suspect. I may need to know if something from his past has provided a motive for his actions, for example.’

  ‘So you want me to find out something, Pluke, from my own sources?’

  ‘If Burholme is of interest to nati
onal security, and if my request for any previous record has triggered off this reaction, then one would expect some kind of relevant information to be held on file, sir. Special Branch, perhaps, or MI5 or MI6 or elsewhere. I don’t have access to those sources. I am sure you can understand that it would help if I had a starting point for my own enquiries into his background. I have some suspicions at the moment, but they are somewhat vague, rather too vague to divulge, even to you.’

  ‘You’re a deep individual, Pluke. You hold your cards very close to your chest

  ‘It’s most unlucky to steal a pack of playing cards, sir…’

  ‘Give over, Pluke. I am not interested in your superstitious beliefs. Just get this thing sorted out without too much officialdom. Have the press mentioned him yet?’

  ‘No, sir, they have merely published the fact that the body was in Harman’s Quarry.’

  ‘But you’ve searched his premises for the murder weapon and will search them again, and for grave-digging tools, you told me. You’d expect word of your interest in his premises to have filtered down to the local people, and for the resultant gossip to reach the press – they’d regard that as an indication that the police suspect the owner of the premises as being the killer.’

  ‘We have searched his premises, sir, but not his house. I may do that later, if the evidence justifies it. But his farm is very isolated, people can drive or walk past without being aware of our presence on the land, and he did allow us to search his buildings – that was after I had pointed out that his open doors were an invitation for someone to steal a spade or hide the murder weapon. I would add that he has been most co-operative, sir.’

  ‘He would, wouldn’t he, if he has something to hide? Right, I shall do a little digging myself, that’s between you and me. No one else must know, Pluke. Keep your head down and don’t go upsetting our political masters and keep the enquiry moving. To be honest, I’m as keen as you to find out what he’s been up to. An eighty-year-old agricultural engineer, you say?’

  ‘Yes, sir, that’s all we know at this point.’

  ‘But you must have something else I can work on, Pluke. You don’t think he’s a retired international criminal who’s hiding here, do you?’

  ‘No, I’ve no reason to believe that, sir, and besides, that would hardly rank as being of security interest, would it?’

  ‘No. A spy, perhaps, Pluke? Is he a spy?’

  ‘I think he is rather too old, sir, although he could be a retired agent, even one with a price on his head, one who’s here for safe keeping.’

  ‘So that’s all you can offer me as a starting point?’

  ‘Except that he might be a Swedish national, sir,’ said Pluke.

  ‘Good God, why do you think that?’

  ‘He uses the colours of the Swedish flag for his publicity material, sir, and he has a gold-headed cockerel as a weather-vane. Golden-headed cockerels were sacred to the war gods of ancient Scandinavia, sir; the pagan Norsemen believed that a gold-crested cockerel would herald the day when all things would perish, they called it Ragnnarok… It’s long been a tradition to use gold-headed cocks as weather-vanes in the Northern Hemisphere and even when Christianity replaced paganism, sir, the cock was used as a symbol of the com spirit, to ensure good harvests, and always with a golden head…’

  ‘All right, you’ve made your point. I’ll do a bit of quiet hunting, Pluke.’

  ‘I do appreciate your help and support, sir,’ and Montague Pluke smiled into the telephone.

  ‘Not a word to anyone else about this!’

  And Hart rang off. Montague smiled at this unexpected bonus and wondered if Hart was trying to score points over someone in a high position of authority… but if it helped Pluke, then it would help his investigation. Pleased at this surprisingly furtive offer of help, Pluke now realised that Hart was as keen to solve the mystery as he was – and he’d never mentioned money during that call. Pluke’s smile remained on his face as he left his office to walk into the incident room where Horsley hailed him.

  ‘Ah, just the fellow,’ he said as he spotted Montague. ‘I didn’t want to interrupt when you were on the telephone. Two more developments, both positive, I feel. First, I’ve just had a call from DS Forster; he’s found a motorist who saw the deceased girl walking towards Barughdale on Friday evening, around five o’clock. He’s been shown the photo and the artist’s impression of her with the haversack and white anorak, and he has no doubt. He says the girl was walking briskly out of town towards Barughdale and she was facing the oncoming traffic. He was driving into town and saw her on the crest of Mill Hill, he got a good look at her.’

  ‘Alone, was she?’

  ‘Yes, Montague, quite alone. But it’s a good sighting and it puts her closer to Harman’s Farm. Mill Hill is about two miles away from both Crickledale and Harman’s Farm – we can now put her midway between the two places, alone but alive and very close to the quarry. The timing’s right too.’

  ‘And our witness can be eliminated, can he?’

  ‘Yes, Montague, he has been carefully interviewed, he’s a local vicar and had been to see a parishioner. His account can be verified.’

  ‘Good. So we know she was walking towards Barughdale as she’d led Mrs Cholmondeley to believe was her intended direction. What we need now, Mr Horsley, is someone to say she was seen at the far side of Harman’s Farm, still walking briskly towards Barughdale. If no one saw her on that stretch of road, we might assume she entered the farm premises or the quarry.’

  ‘Right. As we’ve said in the past, she might have decided to sleep in one of the outbuildings, Montague, without Mr Burholme knowing of her presence.’

  ‘Yes. Remember, we are still talking about Friday evening. We think she remained alive until Saturday evening. We still have some twenty-four hours to account for, Mr Horsley. Where was she during all that time? Any sign of Detective Sergeant Wain?’

  ‘He’s not back from Barughdale, sir. As a matter of interest, we’ve had no positive news from our officers in Barughdale…’

  ‘And that means there is none!’ sighed Pluke. ‘They always call in with any positive leads. So, what is the second item?’

  ‘Mr Burholme rang, sir, only five minutes ago. He’s discovered a spade’s missing from his garden shed. He said you had asked him to make a search of the premises to try and establish if anything had gone, anything that could have been used to dig the grave.’

  ‘I did indeed, Mr Horsely. So when did this spade disappear?’

  ‘He can’t be sure. He knows it was there a week ago – last Tuesday – because he used it to dig up a dandelion in the border of his front garden.’

  ‘Very handy for keeping evil away from you, provided you gather them on St John’s Day,’ said Pluke in all seriousness.

  ‘What are?’

  ‘Dandelions,’ said Pluke. ‘But go on, Mr Horsley.’

  ‘Well, he used the spade around tea-time on Tuesday last, cleaned the blade with some grass, and replaced it in his garden shed. After you suggested he search around for missing tools, he realised it was missing. He just discovered its absence before calling us.’

  ‘We have a description of the spade?’ asked Pluke.

  ‘It was an expensive one, Montague. Stainless steel with a modem plastic handle, dark green colour. Worthington make. Worth about a hundred and twenty pounds, he reckons. He has searched his entire premises for it, it’s nowhere to be seen.’

  ‘I understand, but he has not found the murder weapon during this search?’

  ‘No, Montague, and neither did our teams. They have finished, by the way. I have now detailed them to visit all farms which are close to Harman’s, just in case we find something in their outbuildings. It’s a long shot, but we have to do it. We’ll make a search of all the hedges and ditches along the roads away from the quarry too, just in case the spade was thrown from a departing vehicle. Now, I have made a note for our files about the missing spade and will issue a description of it in the
hope we can trace it, but we’ll need a statement from Burholme. As he’s claiming it’s been stolen, we’ll need a crime report as well. I’ll send a team along, I think we can spare one of the house-to-house teams.’

  ‘No, Mr Horsley, I would like to have an excuse for another visit to Mr Burholme. In fact, I’ll go now and will show him a photo of the deceased.’

  ‘What about the four o’clock news conference?’

  ‘I will return in time for that, Mr Horsley. Now, have we someone who can drive me to the farm? Detective Sergeant Wain is otherwise engaged at Barughdale so I shall require a car and a driver.’

  ‘It will have to be someone from the incident room, Montague; we can use a pool car.’

  ‘Excellent. I suggest one of the statement readers should drive me. None has viewed the scene and I think it would be sensible for them to do so, it will help them in their understanding of the investigation.’ And he took a photograph of the victim from a folder on his desk.

  ‘Good idea. I’ll detail Detective Constable Helston to drive you.’

  Clutching the photograph, Montague saw that Detective Constable Helston was a pretty young woman of about twenty-six with dark curly hair, a slim figure and a ready smile with beautiful teeth. She was a recent transfer from the uniform branch to the CID and this was her first murder case. She was clearly delighted at the opportunity to leave the humdrum of her statement-reading duties, if only to drive Pluke to the scene.

  Paula Helston drove carefully and when they crested Mill Hill he requested her to slow her pace a little, explaining that this was where the deceased victim had last been seen. The verges at this point were broad and not yet fully grown with the flush of late spring. The road was quite wide with a white line down the centre: it was not a narrow country lane. He wondered if the girl had been the victim of a hit-and-run driver with some kind of protruding implement or adornment on his vehicle. Against that, she had not borne any injuries which were consistent with being caused by a motor vehicle.