Authors: Nicholas Rhea
The enquiries might reveal the identity of the many visitors mentioned by Millicent, but in any case, the crow’s presence demanded that close attention be paid to No. 15 Padgett Grove. He also insisted that all the workers on the estate which contained the Druids’ Circle be interviewed to determine whether anyone had noticed anything or anyone suspicious at or near the Circle in recent days. Press coverage of the enquiry would produce ghoulish tourists and unwelcome visitors to the Circle; gamekeepers, poachers and trespassers would be traced where possible and quizzed about their movements. Sexual perverts and those with odd sexual tastes such as pimpers, flashers and their ilk would be interviewed — there was a good file on them at Crickledale Police Station. Woods and druids’ circles were the known haunts of some very weird people.
‘But,’ he said as he terminated the conference, ‘our main purpose is to identify the girl. Inspector Horsley will allocate appropriate actions to you — we will need to peruse all lists of missing women issued by every police force and to liaise with civilian registries of missing girls and women. Someone, somewhere will know who she is. Our first job is to find a name for the lady in the burial chamber. Inspector Horsley will provide maps of the town, so that a system of house-to-house enquiries can be established. And we need to be told of any found clothing, especially women’s items that might have belonged to the deceased. It is vital that we find her clothing and any jewellery she might have worn.’
He went on to state that Stephen Winton’s antecedents would be studied, and that any cars seen entering the woodland area must be traced.
Hikers, ramblers, nature students, bird watchers and those with similar pursuits must be tracked down and interviewed. Quite surprisingly, he did motivate the officers and finished by saying that each working day would be from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. That meant four hours’ overtime each day, but due to the Force’s dire financial straits, time off would be taken in lieu of payment. Today, the teams would finish duty at 9 p.m., which allowed a little time to make a vital impact on the town. Before the teams left, Pluke said that the video would be constantly available to those unfamiliar with the girl’s description or the scene. The teams left the Incident Room full of hope and ambition — each detective aspired to arrest a murderer and hoped this might provide that opportunity.
Each team of two officers was given a specific briefing by Wayne Wain; their action had been entered into a register and allocated a reference number for subsequent cross-reference and checking when the statements began to flow in to the Incident Room files. Every statement would be read and cross-indexed by a team of statement readers who would enter data into HOLMES, the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System’s computer. From these efforts, the names of suspects would emerge for future interview.
Having seen his men dash into action, and happy that Inspector Horsley would supervise and administer the Incident Room, Montague decided that, on his way home, he would revisit the Crowthers’ house. He must establish whether that niece of May’s was at home — he could not ignore the message of the lone crow and continued to ponder its significance in the light of recent developments.
He realised that one of his teams would visit the house during the routine house-to-house enquiries. If they did their job properly, they would establish the holiday whereabouts of the Crowthers and the identity of May’s niece. But Montague felt his duty was rather more immediate and as the teams returned from their first, uneventful enquiries in town, he said to Wayne Wain, ‘I am going home now, but
en
route
I shall be visiting a house of some friends.’
‘Sir?’
‘They are away on holiday, so I am told on good authority, but as I saw a crow sitting on their roof yesterday, a sign that heralds a death, I felt I ought to call in.’
‘As part of this enquiry, you mean, sir?’
‘I suppose you could say that, Wayne, although there is no known link between the house and the dead girl. But yes, every enquiry in this town is now part of our murder investigation, surely?’
‘Might I ask why you wish to see the house?’ Wayne seemed to think that murder enquiry protocol was being breached.
‘I want to see whether there has been a death there.’
‘You mean the girl might have been killed at that house, sir?’
‘It is a possibility that I cannot ignore, Wayne. It has been troubling my mind. I know our teams will be visiting the house in due course, but in this case I have personal connections with the owners. So, do you wish to accompany me or are you going off duty?’
‘I’ll come with you, sir.’ Wayne had no intention of missing this. Pluke could be right, he might know something the others did not. After all, he was a local person with a very extensive local knowledge. As Pluke walked through the town, he received courteous greetings from the townspeople who were out and about, smiling, nodding and raising his hat where appropriate.
‘You know a lot of people, sir,’ commented Wayne Wain.
‘Indeed I do, Wayne, indeed I do. That is part of my job, but also part of the penalty of being a leading citizen in a small town. But in the case of my work, it is an enormous help — local knowledge is of paramount importance, Wayne, and it is one of the factors which has compelled me to return to the Crowthers’ house.’
‘Return, sir?’
‘I did make a quick visit this morning, Wayne, but learned nothing of great interest, except that there were indications of the presence of someone other than the Crowthers. My decision was made in the knowledge that a crow had settled on their roof, Wayne, not because of the girl’s death.’
‘And there was no sign of a problem, sir?’
‘There was one small indication of a possible problem, Wayne, one which I shall retain in my memory should it become relevant.’
‘Something you noticed?’
‘Something I noticed, Wayne.’
‘A piece of superstition?’
‘A piece of domestic practice which could be construed as a superstition, Wayne, hence my unwillingness to divulge it at the moment.’
When they arrived, Montague rang the bell. He did not expect a reply but felt he should perform this basic arrival ritual. No one answered and so he said, ‘I think a circuit of the bungalow is called for, Wayne. The kitchen door is at the other side and I suggest that a peep through the windows might be helpful.’
After only a few yards he halted and peered through the lounge window into the well-furnished room. He saw that the mirror above the fireplace was still draped with a tea towel.
‘See that, Wayne? A covered-up mirror? That was there when I called earlier.’
‘Stopping the reflection of car lights in the drive, perhaps, sir?’
‘I doubt it, Wayne. It’s not the sort of thing the Crowthers would do.’
‘The niece, perhaps? Drying the cloth?’
‘That is one interpretation,’ acknowledged Pluke. ‘There may be another. Now, I wonder where the niece is and what she’s doing here? Millicent referred to visitors with cameras.’
Although it was almost nine thirty, the evening was light, this being mid-June but none of the house lights was burning. Gingerly, Pluke walked around the path towards the kitchen door, passing the dustbin and opening a wooden gate before entering the back-kitchen garden. The glass-panelled door was now on his left. He knocked and waited. There was no reply.
As he was waiting, Mrs Dunwoody at No. 11a, grey-haired and plump and in her fifties, opened her kitchen door and shouted, ‘They’re away, Mr Pluke, on holiday.’
‘Yes, I know, Mrs Dunwoody. But I am told someone is living in during their absence.’
‘That niece of hers, she’s house-sitting.’
‘Ah, and where is she? Do you know?’
‘Well, she was here the other day but not for long, always rushing out somewhere. People coming and going. Vans and cars and things, folks wanting taxis. I said to my George that young lady’s never here, she’s always gallivanting off somewhere in that little car of hers, but I haven’t seen her today so I said to George she might have gone off early or something, you never know with young people ...’
‘What does she look like?’ asked Pluke with sufficient volume temporarily to stem Mrs Dunwoody’s flow of words.
‘A bit of a glamour-puss if you ask me, not one for talking to the likes of me and my George. Too old for her, we are, I said to George. Not her kind of people. I said to George that young lady’s got ideas above her station, I said, not a bit like her Aunt May ...’
‘Appearance, Mrs Dunwoody. What did she look like? That girl?’
‘Blonde hair, Mr Pluke. Very clean it was, and long. Pretty face, I suppose, the sort men would go for ... yes, very pretty. Smart with it ...’
Pluke looked at Wayne Wain who said, ‘Mrs Dunwoody, if we showed you a girl who is lying in a mortuary, could you tell us whether it is Mrs Crowther’s niece?’
‘A mortuary? Oh good heavens what a thing to ask ... I’d better have words with George ... he’s the one for that sort of thing. I always say when the police come knocking on your door it means trouble ... George, are you there? George? What are you doing? George!’
At her call, there emerged a grey-haired man in slippers who was bearing an egg cup containing the shell of a boiled egg which had been smashed into the cup. He was trying to extract the shell to throw it into the waste bin.
‘Good evening, Mr Dunwoody,’ greeted Pluke, recognising the fellow. He did countless jobs around the town, including taxi driving and work for the local undertaker. He was always to be seen rushing about Crickledale, running errands, cutting grass in the sports field, doing bits of painting and decorating, and even some bus driving in the summer. A man of all parts.
‘What’s up?’ he growled as he came from the kitchen. ‘Oh, it’s you, Mr Pluke. I’m in the middle of washing up, a late tea. Damned egg shell’s got stuck fast in here ...’
‘Sorry to interrupt you during important work, Mr Dunwoody, but have you seen the girl who’s staying here?’ Wayne Wain put to him.
‘Aye, bonny lass. Chatty with it!’
‘Mr Dunwoody.’ Montague spoke now. ‘There is a girl of similar description in the mortuary of the hospital. I need you to look at her and to tell me if it is the girl who was staying here. Will you do that?’
‘Aye, right. It’ll get me out of the rest of the washing up. Hang on while I get my shoes on.’ And he went inside to dispose of his stubborn egg shell.
‘We’ll check the house when we come back,’ said Pluke very quietly to Wayne, as Mrs Dunwoody said, ‘I always said no good would come of that lass. Much too flighty. She never dried the pots when she washed up, just left them to drain ... and she never made the bed. And she had people in, it’s not as if it’s her own house, is it? You could look through the windows and see the sheets all over the place. Not brought up proper, she wasn’t. I don’t know what May would think to it all. if she ever finds out. Apart from that, my George couldn’t take his eyes off her, those shorts it was. I’ve never seen shorts as short as those shorts, Mr Pluke, then there was her skirt ...’
George reappeared, smiling, and said, ‘Right, Mr Pluke. Ready when you are.’
On the way to the hospital, George let it be known that he had done this before, when a friend had been killed in a road accident, and so it was not a new experience.
‘Is it that girl found at Druids’ Circle?’ he asked. ‘Word’s got around the town, Mr Pluke.’
‘She was found there,’ confirmed Pluke. ‘Yes, that’s the girl we are going to examine.’
‘Then it’ll be a public footpath from now on, eh? Through those woods?’
‘Public footpath?’ queried Wayne Wain.
‘Aye, whenever a corpse is carried across a field or through a wood or anywhere that’s private, it becomes a public footpath,’ said Dunwoody with conviction.
‘The estate will never allow that,’ said Wayne Wain. ‘It’s private now, although they do allow the public to visit the Circle. But that’s with their consent — the public has no right of way.’
‘It’ll all stop from now on, mark my words,’ said Dunwoody. ‘Old law it is. Corpse roads become public rights of way, you can’t argue with that! So, what happened? Accident with that car of hers, was it? Somebody taking fright and getting rid of her?’
‘No, we have reason to believe it is murder,’ said Detective Inspector Pluke, ignoring Wayne Wain’s puzzled frown at this bold comment.
*
Mrs Peat from No. 14 Padgett Grove, a member of the Flower Rota for the church, rang Millicent. ‘Millicent, I shan’t be able to replace the flowers this weekend, I’m going to see my sister in Brighton. Now, I wonder if you could stand in for me?’
‘Yes of course,’ Millicent said. ‘Only too pleased.’
‘Now, you know Mrs Dunwoody doesn’t like red and white flowers together. Something to do with her WVS work at the hospital. Hospitals won’t have red and white flowers in the wards and her George is most particular, like blood on bandages he says. Anyway, where was I?’
‘You wanted me to help out?’
‘Ah, yes. The church. Can you help, Millicent?’
‘Yes, of course. And I’ll make sure there’s no reds and whites together.’
‘Good heavens, Millicent,’ cried Mrs Peat. ‘I’m looking out of my window and there’s your husband and another detective, they’re at May’s place, talking to Ada. What a coincidence I should ring you now. I’ll bet it was all to do with that noise that girl and her friends were making ... look, I’ll pop round to see you about the flowers ...’