Superstitious Death (7 page)

‘Sir…’ A detective in the crowd raised his hand. ‘You said a mirror had been found in the grave. Are we to try and trace its source?’

‘Yes. It is being examined by Scenes of Crime at the moment, but once they have finished, I shall have photographs distributed. It is a small pink-framed mirror, plastic-framed that is, with a round glass. It has a handle too; rather like a child’s toy mirror in fact. We need to find out where it was made or purchased, and who bought it. Did the girl buy it, did she bring it with her, or was it bought by the person who buried her? Detective Inspector Horsley will allocate a specific action for a team to trace the mirror’s history, but I would ask you all to bear it in mind during your enquiries. Now, is Inspector Russell here?’

‘Sir,’ and a youthful, dark-haired man in civilian clothes raised his hand. 

‘See me when I dismiss the others, will you, inspector? We need to draft a news release this evening.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Considering that this initial briefing contained sufficient information to launch the investigation, Pluke dismissed the detectives.

He reminded them to update the incident room records before going off duty, and then to parade for duty tomorrow morning at nine. With a bustle of activity, the detectives, male and female, began their work as Paul Russell, carrying a briefcase, followed Pluke into his small dark office which adjoined the incident room. A small glass vase stood on Pluke’s desk; it contained a freshly picked four-leaved clover which stood in water.

‘Sit down,’ invited Pluke, and the inspector obeyed, placing his briefcase on the floor.

‘You are new to this job?’ Pluke asked.

‘I’ve been press officer for six months now, Mr Pluke. I was drafted in from the Crime Prevention Department. But this is my first murder enquiry.’

‘I am sure you will be a great asset to my investigation, Mr Russell, and I feel sure we will not encounter too many problems. First, I must inform you that I am not convinced this is a murder, but I shall deal with the case as if it is. I say that because I need the co-operation of your friends in the media as well as the dedication of my own officers. Now, it is too late for us to catch the regional evening programmes on television, and of course, the evening papers will have been printed too. So we are thinking of tomorrow’s dailies, radio programmes and television news.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You heard my briefing?’

‘I did, sir, yes. You want me to concentrate on the victim? Is there any chance of photographs which are suitable for use by the media?’

‘Talk to Sergeant Tabler, he’s making the necessary arrangements. Happily, our victim is not disfigured about the face. Otherwise, an artist’s impression might be useful. Initially, a verbal description should be sufficient to commence our publicity campaign. That will provide the necessary element of intrigue. Now, I do not want any mention in the press of our theory about components of agricultural machines. That is one very localised line of enquiry we are actively pursuing and I don’t want to frighten people into disposing of good evidence. Should you receive any queries, just say she was suffering from a head injury and that we are seeking the object which caused it. Leave it as vague as that.’

‘I have drafted a news release, sir, for your approval. I got the facts from Sergeant Cockfield pronounced Cofield,’ and Russell opened his briefcase to produce a typewritten sheet. It said, ‘The body of a woman was today found in a shallow grave in a disused quarry on land at Harman’s Farm, close to the Crickledale-Barughdale road. She was suffering from a head injury and police have launched an investigation. The identity of the victim is unknown but Detective Inspector Montague Pluke, head of Crickledale CID, said, “She is about thirty, well built with blonde hair and blue eyes. She is wearing a light blue blouse, blue jeans and trainer shoes. I should be pleased to receive any information which might lead to her identification.” Thirty detectives have been drafted on to the enquiry and an incident room has been established at Crickledale police station. The telephone number is 456654.’

‘That’s fine,’ agreed Pluke, noting that the word ‘murder’ did not feature in the release. ‘You can circulate it now on the usual media distribution list. You can work in the incident room if you wish, rather than your own office at Headquarters. That will enable you to answer the press calls which will inevitably follow as the enquiry progresses. I shall hold news conferences at 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. daily, which should enable you to plan your press campaign, and between us we shall deal with any matter which might arise in the meantime.’

‘Can news photographers visit the scene, sir?’

‘Once Scenes of Crime and the Task Force have concluded their work, yes, of course they can. In fact, I have no objection to them taking pictures of my men working at the scene, provided they do so from a distance and do not interfere with the scene or the progress of the investigation. You’ll supervise those who do approach you?’ 

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. Well, the sooner that news release gets into print or on to the radio networks, the better. Let’s hope it leads to her identification.’

When Russell left to go about his part in the enquiry, Pluke opened the door and called for Wayne Wain. Wain, who had been explaining to a pretty secretary the system for abstracting computer data from the incoming statements, hurried to Pluke’s office.

‘Close the door and sit down, Wayne,’ invited Pluke as he entered. ‘There is something I wish to do, but I do not want the entire incident room staff to know, not at this stage. But I feel you, as my deputy, should be informed.’

‘Sir?’

‘First, the victim. There is evidence to suggest she is not British, or alternatively, that the person who buried her is not British. Or that neither is British.’

‘How on earth did you reach that conclusion, sir?’

‘The mirror which was buried with her. When that came to light, I had some such suspicion in my mind but when the pathologist confirmed she was a virgin, it lent more weight to my supposition.’

‘Go on, sir.’

‘It used to be the custom in Sweden, when a maiden died, to include a mirror in her coffin. It was believed that young girls and maidens should be able to tidy their hair on Judgement Day. Married women did not require mirrors because their hair was braided, and they were buried with it in that condition. I know of no other European country who clung to that belief – indeed, I believe the Swedes have largely abandoned the superstition although it could linger in some areas, especially among the older generation.’

‘She has the look of a Swedish girl, sir, white skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, well built. But her clothes were typically British. High street stuff.’

‘And she is a virgin, Wayne.’

‘I find that astonishing, sir, really I do!’

‘Quite. I would expect that from you. So perhaps she had been in our country for some time? Or perhaps a Swedish burial-person wanted us to believe she was British?’

‘Are you saying this death could have some careful planning behind it, sir? In other words, it is not a spontaneous burial, not one of urgent necessity?’

‘I am sure her death was not planned, Wayne, because the cause of death is very odd to say the least, hardly the sort of thing a murderer would plan. I cannot ignore the possibility of a tragic accident. But the means of burial does suggest some careful and reasoned planning.’

‘Surely that strengthens our belief that we are dealing with a murder?’

‘Perhaps yes, perhaps no. I retain an open mind at this stage. So, Wayne, for your ears only at this stage, that is my prognosis. Now, I shall ring the office of the National Central Bureau of the International Criminal Police Organisation – Interpol to you, Wayne – with a request that they contact the Swedish police in the hope we can learn whether any Swedish ladies are missing or not accounted for, or whether any are known to have come to Britain in recent times. Or Swedish men – might she have come to this country with a male friend? Did a man travel from Sweden especially to kill her? There are many permutations, Wayne, and you may remain here while I make the call.’

Pluke was quickly connected and in careful terms explained his case to Inspector Birin, the duty officer at Interpol’s Scotland Yard office. Pluke was told that enquiries would be made, but that when the woman’s fingerprints were available they would be of great value; a photograph of the victim, even in her present condition, would be welcomed too.

Pluke was told that checks would be made with the immigration authorities in this country and with the emigration authorities in Sweden, but it was explained that it would be most difficult to trace the victim’s movements and family without knowing her name or home address, and without any idea of the dates she might have travelled, her mode of travel, whether or not she had one or more companions, or her port of emigration, whether by sea or aircraft, or through other countries. But if such a blonde was known to be missing by the Swedish authorities, 

Pluke would be informed and Binn asked that Interpol be updated on any relevant developments during Pluke’s enquiry. Confirmation in writing was requested and Pluke said his secretary would prepare the necessary paperwork.

‘It will be like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack, sir,’ said Wayne Wain. ‘They can’t trace her unless we give them a name, and we can’t get a name until she’s traced. Catch-22 and all that.’

‘Did you know that the original phrase was “looking for a needle in a bottle of hay”, Wayne? Haywain… I like that. I might even have added “constable” had you not been a sergeant. But joking aside, that was the original phrase, the word bottle coming from the French
botte
meaning bundle…’

‘I had no idea, sir,’ and Wayne’s eyebrows rose to the heavens.

‘But finding a needle in a bundle of hay is not too difficult, Wayne, far easier than finding one in a complete haystack or, shall we say, a spindle or bolt in a haymaking machine… So let us not be prematurely defeated by the magnitude of our task.’

‘I am sure we can cope, sir.’

‘Indeed we can. If it is possible to put a name to that girl, then we shall do so, with or without the help of Interpol. And remember, without a name for her, we will have immense difficulty in tracing her movements. I want you to liaise with the teams who are trying to establish her movements.’

‘No problem, sir. But if she is Swedish, it is quite likely she has been touring this country. Back-packing perhaps? With or without a companion? Youth-hostelling? Hitch-hiking? English girls know that it is dangerous to hitch-hike unaccompanied. Maybe girls from overseas do not realise this? I know hitchhiking is still a popular means of travel in southern Ireland, and safe there. Or she might have been camping, alone or with someone else. She could have used that quarry as a resting place overnight, like so many other people appear to do. I can imagine her with a violent man, things went wrong because she refuses him, and so she’s murdered and left in a grave…’

‘Absolutely, Wayne. In light of that possibility, I wonder if a tent peg might have caused her injuries… there are some with points at the end of long metal stems, although that would not explain the accompanying bruises…’

‘And if she was back-packing or camping, she would have her belongings with her all the time. Camping gear, sleeping bag, passport, money, spare clothes…’

‘Absolutely right again, Wayne, and she might have possessed a small pink mirror. So she could tidy her hair when she was travelling on this earth rather than in the next.’

‘Of course, sir. If that mirror has survived, then where is the rest of her luggage? And especially her passport. She could not travel all the way from Sweden without having a bag or haversack or suitcase of some kind, or a sleeping bag. A large handbag, even. We’ve not found a handbag, sir, nor any personal belongings.’

‘Precisely, Wayne. Perhaps you would bear all those factors in mind as you make your own enquiries, and as you liaise, carefully, with the teams?’

‘Yes, sir, I will.’

‘Right. Well, off you go and keep me informed of developments. I am now going to see if our esteemed Mr Eric Burholme is known to the police, although from what I have seen of him both recently and in the past, he does not seem the sort of gentleman who would have a criminal record.’

When Wayne had gone, Pluke picked up the telephone once again, and this time rang the Criminal Record Office at his own Force Headquarters.

‘Detective Inspector Pluke, Crickledale,’ he announced himself. ‘I want you to carry out a search of criminal records for me, please – local first, then national. It is in connection with a murder enquiry within my sub-division.’

‘No problem, sir. Who is the subject?’

‘A man called Eric Burholme of Harman’s Farm, Barughdale in this county. I do not have a confirmed date of birth but he claims to be eighty years of age, with a birthday last February. He is well over six feet tall, slim build with a good head of white hair. He might describe himself as a farmer or agricultural engineer.’ 

‘Is he under arrest, sir?’ returned the voice. ‘Not yet,’ said Detective Inspector Pluke.

Chapter Six

‘Hold the line, sir, the local search won’t take many moments.’