Authors: Nicholas Rhea
Meanwhile, the Scenes of Crime officers had examined the interior of the cavern and had marked the position of every dot of debris before collecting it all in plastic sample bags. Everything, including the remains of the woman, would be closely examined, both visually and scientifically. Official photographs and a video tape of the body had been completed, and meanwhile the Task Force officers were noting and examining every item found within the Circle, or just beyond the perimeter of outer stones.
Wayne Wain had done a good job as liaison officer and after about an hour Detective Sergeant Tabler located Pluke, took him aside and said, ‘We’ve finished with Winton’s car and footwear, sir. We’ve got all we need for the moment.’
‘And?’
‘We’ve got some bits and pieces from it, but on first inspection I don’t think he carried her in that car. Prints matching the soles of his shoes are on the track as one would expect; we found them in several places, heading in both directions, and at the entrance to the cavern, in the soft mud.
They confirm his account of how he found the body.’
‘But they’re not inside the cavern, on the floor?’
‘No, sir, it’s solid rock. We found no footprints there, none at all.’
‘So we can let him go?’
‘Yes, sir, I think so. I reckon he’s clean.’
‘All right. Release him, but I think we need to know a little more about him, Sergeant,’ cautioned Pluke. ‘His eyebrows meet in the middle, you will have noticed. That’s never a good sign, Sergeant! It is said that people whose eyebrows meet in the middle are untruthful.’
‘Really, sir?’ puzzled Sergeant Tabler.
‘So that’s an action for a good team,’ stressed Pluke. ‘To examine Winton’s life and recent movements in detail.’
After returning to thank Stephen Winton for his public-spiritedness, Detective Inspector Pluke allowed him to leave the scene in his car and returned to locate Wayne Wain.
‘If Winton says he didn’t kill her, then who did?’ he asked as he fell into step at the side of his sergeant.
‘We might know the answer to that if we could find out who she is,’ said Detective Sergeant Wain.
‘And in due course we must have more words with Mr Winton,’ said Montague Pluke with determination in his voice. ‘For the time being, let him think we have finished with him. I believe he may have more to tell us if we press him. But first, let us complete a tour of the site, Wayne.’
*
Millicent did enjoy her lunch with Mrs Councillor Farrell and six other ladies of position and eminence in the town. The goings-on at May’s bungalow, during the absence of May and her husband it was stressed, was a talking point of some interest to the assembled group. All wondered if May had given permission for her niece to hold parties on the premises. It seemed that lots of young people had arrived and although several had left by taxi, some had stayed overnight; there’d been lights too and music. Had that large van been a disco DJ and his equipment?
The big question discussed by the ladies was whether May and Cyril should be told about this upon their return from holiday. No one referred to the incident at the cricket club, however; perhaps such things were not discussed in decent society, so Millicent decided not to mention it to her friends, although, if he would listen, she might tell Montague.
With Wayne Wain at his side, and taking care to avoid places under close examination by his officers, Detective Inspector Pluke completed a pedestrian tour of the Druids’ Circle. It was during this perambulation that Pluke remarked on the presence of some rowan trees, saying, ‘Our pagan ancestors planted rowans to ward off evil spirits, Wayne. They were grown near burial grounds to aid the deceased along their path to the heaven of their time. Thus the presence of rowans hereabouts
could
— and I emphasise the word
could
— suggest the location was once a genuine religious site.’
‘So even after the passage of centuries, we might expect some rowans, descendants of the parent trees?’
‘Yes indeed, Wayne. Very true. Remarkable evidence of continuity down the years.’
While the two detectives had been studying the environment of the giant stones, members of the various support services had been carrying out their detailed and specialised inspections.
‘Everyone’s finished with the body, sir.’ Pluke was eventually approached by Detective Sergeant Tabler of SOCO. Wayne Wain was at Pluke’s side.
‘Good, then we can move her. Is the shell here?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Wayne pointed to a parked Transit van.
Pluke strode across to the constable who was standing beside a blue Ford Transit van.
Inside would be the plastic makeshift coffin known as the shell; this was used for the transportation of dead bodies to the mortuary.
‘She’s all yours now, PC Hughes,’ said Pluke, pleased that this part of the enquiry was complete. He did not like dead bodies lying about when there was work to be done, but as it was physically impossible for the large vehicle to enter the confines of the Druids’ Circle, its driver reversed it to the Eastern Gate where Hughes recruited the assistance of three detectives to help carry the loaded shell. Pluke walked beside them as they made for the entrance of the chamber where she lay.
‘Feet first, gentlemen,’ Pluke told the bearers. ‘You always carry a corpse out feet first.’
‘I’ve never come across that sort of thing before,’ muttered one of the officers. ‘It’s not in Standing Orders, is it? I can’t see that it matters which way a corpse is carried out, upside down, back to front, feet first, head first, sideways and standing on its head ...’
‘I insist that things are done properly, gentlemen.’ Pluke was not to be deflected from his ideals. ‘It is out of respect for the deceased if nothing else.’
He spoke with unaccustomed authority as the team of bearers carried the lightweight coffin into the dark chamber, now illuminated by lights wired to a generator. They lifted the pale corpse into the coffin, working quietly but efficiently, and in a matter of seconds the young woman was lying in the shell, arms upon her body with her hands covering her most personal area as if she were in the bath surrounded by ogling onlookers.
Before the lid was fitted, Pluke looked upon her in the brightness of the temporary lights, hoping he might have seen her in the town, but had to admit he did not recognise her. Pluke was sure she was not a local woman.
‘Someone somewhere must know who she is,’ he murmured, then asked PC Hughes, ‘Has a time been fixed for the PM?’
‘Yes, sir, five o’clock this afternoon at Crickledale Hospital.’
The lid was fitted and it covered the mortal remains of the unfortunate young woman. She was then carried out of the chamber feet first in accordance with Montague’s instructions and placed in the Transit for conveyance to the hospital mortuary. There, her once-lovely body would be subjected to the horrific carving and brutal internal scrutiny that comprised a post-mortem examination. As the van manoeuvred for departure, Pluke sought the pathologist; he’d noticed him earlier among the busy police officers who had entered the cave for a final check. He was called Simon Meredith, a slightly built individual with half-moon spectacles, thinning fair hair and a matching moustache
‘Anything further to report now she’s been moved?’ asked Pluke. ‘Anything beneath the body? Any marks on the body? Anything new that might tell us something, however trivial, Mr Meredith?’
Meredith shook his head. ‘Very little to add, Detective Inspector. The condition of the body and a lack of insect infestation suggest she had not been here very long. Although it is a summer day with high external temperatures, the atmosphere in that chamber is very cool and she has been well preserved. I’d say she was placed here overnight; it’s almost impossible to estimate her time of arrival, but I’d hazard a guess it happened within the last twenty-four hours, and probably within the last twelve hours. And there is no evidence that she was killed here. No sign of a struggle in that chamber, nothing under the body. I believe she died elsewhere and was brought here, even though we have not found any indication of her means of arrival at this lonely place. Most certainly, she did not walk here naked. Her feet were clean.’
‘So you are saying she was killed overnight?’ Pluke put to the pathologist.
‘I am not saying she was killed, Mr Pluke. I am saying she died because I cannot specify the cause of death. I hope my post-mortem will establish that. Clearly, it is suspicious, but that is all I can say at this stage. Now, I must get back to the hospital. Is five o’clock a suitable time for the PM?’
‘Yes, that’s quite suitable,’ agreed Pluke.
The pathologist left the scene, followed swiftly by the Force Photographer and the SOCO team. Pluke handed Winton’s undeveloped film to Sergeant Tabler before he departed, asking that it be developed and copies made for scrutiny by the murder teams. Tabler said he should complete that task by later this afternoon.
Although many experts were leaving, members of the Task Force remained to complete their duties. Eight officers upon hands and knees were conducting meticulous fingerprint searches, gathering anything and everything that had been deposited within the limits of the Circle. Every single item, whether it was a discarded crisp packet, a piece of broken glass or the ejected cartridge of a twelve-bore shotgun, was charted and placed in a plastic bag for later scientific analysis. The detectives knew that such objects could often tell an interesting story even though many would be rejected as being of no evidential value to this investigation. It was amazing what could be deduced from something as innocuous as the lid of a jam jar or an empty beer can.
Pluke had a chat with the inspector in charge of the Task Force, reminding him to search the woodland beyond the extremities of the Circle; the girl’s clothing and personal belongings had disappeared and dense woodland was the ideal place to dispose of them. Tyre marks must be sought too — it was highly likely she had been brought here by vehicle, probably after death, and Pluke was assured that this team of highly qualified officers would do everything required of them.
‘Ready, Sergeant?’ asked Pluke. ‘I think we can do no more here.’
And so Detective Inspector Pluke and Detective Sergeant Wayne Wain departed for Crickledale Police Station.
*
At this stage, there were certain formalities to be completed by Detective Inspector Pluke. The Chief Constable had to be notified and so had Detective Superintendent Jack Hart, the officer in charge of the CID. Then the officer in charge of the Control Rooms at both Crickledale and Force Headquarters would have to be briefed so that their officers were aware of the ongoing situation. And Pluke’s own divisional commander must be informed. Coping with the demands of internal politics was as vital as solving the murder itself, and upon receiving Pluke’s telephone call, the Chief Constable asked, ‘Does it look like being a runner, Pluke? From what you’ve told me, it’s hardly a routine domestic, is it?’
‘I fear it might take a while to solve, sir,’ said Pluke after explaining the prevailing situation.
‘I know you are not very experienced at this sort of thing, Pluke, but I want you to remember that we operate on a very tight budget. We can’t go spending money like water, even if it is to solve the mysterious death of a pretty young woman. If it is not murder, we can avoid a lot of expenditure, so the sooner we get the job cleared up, the less it will cost the Force. That means we shall have more to spend on important things. In that respect, your duty is very clear — we need a speedy result.’
‘I fully understand, sir, and I do have a suspect.’ Whereupon Pluke told of Winton’s role in the matter.
‘It’s a beginning, Pluke,’ commented the Chief. ‘But am I right in thinking this is your first major investigation?’
‘I have investigated other sudden deaths, sir, and many crimes, but I must admit this is the first time I have been in command of an enquiry of this kind,’ Pluke corrected his Chief.
‘Then you will be aware that not everyone who finds a corpse is a murderer, Pluke, and that not every dead body is a murder victim. Don’t let old theories blind your judgement, don’t get side-tracked into fruitless enquiries and do make sure you don’t run away with my year’s contingency fund. But equally important, I do not want an unsolved murder messing up my crime statistics.’
‘I will do my best, sir,’ acknowledged Pluke.
When Montague rang his divisional commander, Superintendent Ronald Casson, Casson said, ‘Whatever you do, Mr Pluke, get this one solved as soon as possible. We’re talking money, Mr Pluke, serious money, and both the Chief Constable and the County Treasurer have warned us not to overspend during the current financial year. So find that killer, Mr Pluke, and do it without spending a fortune. I don’t want you or your detectives thinking there are unlimited overtime payments, those days have gone. For every day your teams remain on the enquiry, it is less money for other things. Think on that, Mr Pluke. And go easy on the forensic exhibits, they cost money, you realise. Big money. Keep costs down, Mr Pluke.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Montague Pluke.
After hearing about the investigation, the Chief Constable rang Detective Superintendent Jack Hart and said, ‘Jack, is that man Pluke fit to take charge of the enquiry? If my information is correct, he has never been in charge of a murder investigation. He seems to have spent his entire career worrying whether it’s unlucky to carry a spade into a house or whether it’s the right day of the month to shout “rabbits”’
‘He is in charge of the CID of the area in which the body was found, sir,’ replied Hart. ‘The case is therefore his responsibility. He is quite a good detective, you know, he did solve the Primrose Bank statue damage case and it was he who caught the Hooded Pimper at the Nurse’s Home.’
‘Well, so long as he gets the job done without spending too much money. And get him to dress in something that looks good on camera — we need a good television image among our senior detectives and at the moment he looks like a bloody refugee from World War One. We need to portray efficiency and professionalism, Jack — and I hope he doesn’t concentrate all his attentions on the chap who found the body.’
‘If I might say so, sir, those of us who know him well think it wise to let him pursue his own lines of enquiry. This allows the ... er ... more professional detectives to concentrate on the real substance of the investigation.’
‘Point taken, Jack. That does make some sense. Nice tactics. And keep an eye on those overtime payments.’
*
Fridays were never a good day to start any new enterprise, so Montague Pluke was pleased that the investigation was beginning on a Thursday. Having notified all those who had to be told, he went down to the Incident Room which was now being established in the parade room. It was a hive of activity with desks and chairs being positioned, telephone lines, faxes and computer links being installed, along with a photocopier, blackboard, stacks of paper and official forms, and tea and coffee-making facilities. People were dashing around and civilian staff were arriving by the carload.
Detective Inspector Horsley was in charge of the arrangements and Wayne Wain was in the thick of it.
Montague made his way through the throng to examine an ante-room, then said to Horsley, ‘This will be my office, Mr Horsley.’ He took a four-leaved clover from his pocket and laid it on the desk already
in
situ
. ‘I’ll get Mrs Plumpton to find a vase for my clover. It’s not often one finds a four-leaved clover in this locality — quite unusual in fact, a sign of impending good fortune and a fortuitous beginning for us. It was growing on the verge just up the road ...’
‘So where do I work?’ snapped Horsley, a former rugby international who didn’t know a clover from a vetch. ‘I happen to be the officer in charge of the Incident Room and this is the only office. I would have thought I should have had first choice.’
‘And I am the officer in charge of the overall investigation, Mr Horsley,’ retorted Pluke. ‘Might I suggest you work at a desk among your staff? That way you will be able to keep an eye on things as they happen around you, a very good supervisory tactic. And I do need a secure office; this is ideal which is why I have claimed it.’
Horsley had slipped up. In such cases, it was usually a case of first come, first served and he had been rather slow in staking his claim. And he could not pull rank on Pluke because both were inspectors. He had to admit that luck had been on Pluke’s side — surely that had nothing to do with that four-leaved clover, had it?
Having claimed his office, Pluke’s next job was to find Mrs Plumpton.