Superstitious Death (12 page)

To date, the only fact they could be fairly sure of during that interval was that she was alive on Saturday, even until fairly late on Saturday according to the pathologist. And that tied in with the likelihood that she had been caught in a thunderstorm on Saturday evening, her damp clothing further suggesting that likelihood, combined with the possibility that she had taken shelter at Harman’s Farm, or in the quarry, probably around five thirty. In a tent, perhaps? But where had she been and what had she been doing between four o’clock on Friday afternoon and, say, five o’clock or six o’clock on Saturday afternoon? Twenty-four hours and more, with a night in between? Had she been in Barughdale during that time? Overnight perhaps? Or camping in the quarry? Or elsewhere? And had she been alone, or with a companion, known or unknown to her? Had an unwanted travelling companion imposed himself upon her? Or had she come down from Newcastle to meet someone or to visit a particular place? Hitch-hiking could be very dangerous, especially for a young and attractive woman, and so he might issue a news release seeking help from motorists who might have seen her on the road, or getting into a vehicle between Crickledale and Barughdale.

In between leaving the police station before lunch and returning now, Montague Pluke felt his enquiry had moved forward at a fairly brisk pace but, at the same time, it had left unanswered a lot of vital questions. Nonetheless, he entered the police station with a jaunty bounce in his step, checked with Sergeant Cockfield pronounced Cofield for his messages, and then returned to the incident room. Wayne Wain had just returned too.

‘Ah, Wayne,’ Pluke greeted him. ‘Did you make contact with that cattle dealer called Cooper from Carston?’

‘I did, sir, but he could not help us. He does visit his herd near the quarry twice every day, morning and evening, and he did go out especially during the thunderstorms on Saturday. He got there around five thirty. His herd were taking shelter under some trees, but he did not see the girl.’

‘So he did not enter either the quarry or the grounds of Harman’s Farm? There was no likelihood of him seeing the girl there, either dead or alive?’

Wayne shook his head. ‘No, sir. We can eliminate him from our enquiries, I feel sure.’

‘Good. Now, I have news for you,’ and he acquainted Wayne Wain with the detailed results of his recent investigations. ‘So we know the girl was intending to travel along that road, Wayne, past the quarry and the farm, and onwards to Barughdale.’

‘Or to the farm only, sir,’ said Wayne. ‘You said she had an Ordnance Survey map – it would show the farm and even the quarry. We do not know that she intended to travel all the way to Barughdale. Suppose she fully intended visiting Eric Burholme at Harman’s Farm? It is within easy walking distance of Crickledale, especially to someone accustomed to walking.’

‘I do have that possibility in mind, Wayne. Now, we do have a team in Barughdale, checking to see whether she ever got to that village, or whether she was even expected there. Have they reported in yet?’

‘Not yet, sir, no.’

‘Is that something you would like to do now? Go to Barughdale and help them in their enquiries? The sooner we establish that she was never intending to travel that far, or that she never reached the village, the better. And some Barughdale people might have seen her on the road.’

‘Right, I’d like that, sir. I want to get this one solved. I’ll get a car and go now.’

As Montague Pluke went to his own office in the incident room to write up the result of his investigations for the files, the telephone rang.

‘It’s for you, Mr Pluke.’ said the secretary who answered it. ‘I’ll put it through to your office, shall I?’

‘Who is it?’ he asked.

‘Previous Convictions,’ she replied.

‘Right,’ he said, hurrying towards his desk to lift the receiver, then answering, ‘Detective Inspector Pluke.’

‘DC Lester, sir, Previous Convictions. Reference your enquiry about Eric Burholme. I’ve got the result of the national search.’

‘Well done, DC Lester. So what does it reveal?’

‘No convictions, sir, nothing. A clean slate both locally and at national level, no minor or major crimes recorded, and no traffic offences. But there is one thing of note, sir.’

‘Relevant to my enquiry, you think?’

‘His record is flagged, sir.’

‘Flagged?’ puzzled Pluke.

‘A security device, sir, on his national record. It means that Mr Burholme is of interest to the security services. I have no further information on that nor do I have the necessary security clearance to investigate further. But your enquiry will have automatically triggered off a computer reaction; you may get a call from someone in Security.’

‘Then who does have the clearance to investigate further?’

‘You will have to make contact with the eighth floor at New Scotland Yard in London, sir, through the necessary channels, and take it from there. I am authorised to pass this information to you so that if you feel his past is of relevance to your present investigation, you may request access to the relevant information. That doesn’t necessarily mean you will gain access to the relevant information, but you are entitled to ask. It all depends how sensitive the information is, or, of course, it would depend upon the precise involvement of your Mr Burholme.’

‘I must admit,’ said Pluke, ‘that your information is not a great surprise. During the course of my enquiries I have encountered several indications which have led me to suspect there may be a complication of that kind… but thank you for confirming that. I have not mentioned my reservations to any of my officers but, in the light of further enquiries and information which I gather, I shall consider whether or not I should contact the eighth floor.’

‘Very good, sir. Pleased to be of assistance,’ and DC Lester rang off.

Pluke sat for a few moments to absorb the full implications of this news and then the telephone rang again. He picked up the receiver and identified himself.

‘Detective Superintendent Bromley, C.l, New Scotland Yard,’ said the strong southern voice at the other end. ‘You’ve been making enquiries about Eric Burholme?’

‘I have, sir, yes. A routine enquiry from the Criminal Records Office.’

‘What’s he supposed to have done, Pluke?’

‘He’s not supposed to have done anything, sir,’ responded Pluke with just a hint of indignation. ‘The body of a young woman, who has not been identified, was found in a disused quarry which he owns. She had head wounds, sir, consequently we are treating the death as suspicious. As the body is on Burholme’s land, he is clearly a prime suspect although at the moment he is on the periphery of my investigations. Nonetheless, I intend to commence enquiries into his movements and background, for routine elimination purposes, and my recent enquiry from CRO at Scotland Yard is just the beginning of that process.’

‘It’s also the end, Pluke,’ said Bromley.

‘The end, sir?’

‘Yes. Whatever your enquiries turn up, Pluke, keep Burholme out of your frame. I shall be contacting your Chief Constable to acquaint him with this. By all means continue your enquiries if you believe someone else is responsible for her death, but keep Burholme out of the frame. And that applies even if the evidence points to him. Never forget that. Now, Detective Inspector Pluke, this conversation never took place. Is all that understood?’

‘But, sir, with all due respect, if my enquiries produce evidence that this man is guilty of murder, then he should be brought to justice –’

‘No arguments, Pluke. Just obey orders,’ and the phone was replaced.

Chapter Nine

While Montague Pluke sat alone in his office to digest the implications of the aura of secrecy which now appeared to surround Eric Burholme, there was a knock on his door. He called upon the visitor to enter. It was Detective Sergeant F. L. Tower, known as Eiffel to his colleagues.

‘I saw you were in your office, sir,’ began the sergeant, a tall thin man with dark skin, fair hair on a very small head and feet of considerable size; he was a person who lived up to his nickname. ‘I thought I’d update you on the bus station enquiries at this early stage because they were so positive.’

‘Thank you, sergeant,’ said Pluke, not acquainting the detective with the fact that he had also called at the bus station. He wanted to discover whether this team had elicited any information which he had not discovered. ‘What did you learn?’

Eiffel efficiently presented the information that he and DC Jameson had gleaned, including the girl’s reference to travelling down the A19 from Newcastle by hitch-hiking, and everything corresponded to that which Pluke had acquired – with one important addition.

‘I rang the CID at Newcastle,’ continued Eiffel, ‘and I explained our interest in the movements and identification of the blonde female victim. I was told, sir, that it is not uncommon for Scandinavian girls to cross the North Sea by the ferries which sail into Tynemouth, some as students, others to seek work and others as tourists. There are several ports of embarkation – the Swedes come from Goteborg, which we call Gothenburg, and they come into Tynemouth, the Tyne port.’

‘Swedes?’ Pluke asked.

‘Yes, sir. There are other ferries which serve the Tyne too, crossing the North Sea between Tynemouth and places like Bergen and Stavanger in Norway and Esbjerg in Denmark. Each of those Scandinavian ports might also be of interest if we are to make enquiries of the ferry lines.’

‘An excellent suggestion, Detective Sergeant Tower. I have to say that I am particularly interested in the Swedish link. I would like you to address that one first and to treat those enquiries as a matter of some urgency. Have you commenced enquiries from any of the ferry lines?’

‘Not at this stage, sir, that’s why I thought I had better discuss this with you first.’

‘Excellent. Yes, you did absolutely right. So, yes, begin enquiries immediately, starting with the Swedish ferries; make sure you have a good description and photographs of the girl and a set of her fingerprints if you feel they are necessary. You will not ignore the other lines, though, in case our victim has come from either Norway or Denmark. You know I have established links with Interpol in an attempt to get her identified?’

‘Yes, sir, I saw that in the file.’

‘Then perhaps you could contact the officer to whom I addressed my original enquiry? He was called Inspector Birin. He should remember my call, it was only yesterday. Liaise with him about this development but I want you to pursue your own enquiries through the ferry lines.’

‘We can go immediately, sir.’

‘Then do so. As an act of courtesy, ring Newcastle CID first, let them know you will be conducting investigations in their area. I have no objection to you and DC Jameson travelling to Newcastle to make direct enquiries; in fact, it would be far better than doing it over the telephone or involving Newcastle CID. You will have to establish whether or not enquiries from the Gothenburg offices can be conducted from Newcastle, or whether that requires the intervention of Interpol.’ 

‘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 national 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?’