A Full Churchyard (11 page)

‘My neighbour will be attending, she was a good friend of Mrs Langneb so I shall accompany her. There will not be a problem I can assure you, even if it is rather like being a member of the Secret Service!'

‘Well, we wish you luck in your endeavours, Mrs Plumpton. I see rain is forecast although it is fair at the moment. There is an old saying
Happy is the corpse that the rain falls on
so it seems all will be well.'

‘Oh, we don't want rain, Mr Pluke. Just imagine what it would do to our smart clothes and hair-dos, to say nothing of our hats and best black shoes!'

‘Then I shall cross my fingers and take a twig of rowan wood, just to ensure success in everything,' smiled Pluke. ‘Now, Detective Sergeant Wain and I will brief you about our specific requirements and the general direction of your enquiries.'

Before leaving for the funeral, Pluke found time to telephone an old colleague, Doctor Derek Page who worked in the Pathology Department at York Hospital. He and Dr Page had worked together on cases that required the skills of a pathologist.

‘Ah, Derek, glad I caught you,' he began. ‘It's Pluke at Crickledale. Can you spare me a moment?'

‘Of course, Montague. How can I help?'

Pluke related the details of some deaths of elderly people in Crickledale and followed with his knowledge of how deaths in the past were hastened or made easier.

‘Mine is a simple enquiry, Derek,' Pluke continued. ‘If a weak, sick or elderly person was removed from a warm bed and laid with their back flat on a cold floor, concrete or wood, would the shock be enough to kill them? And make the death appear to be from natural causes?'

‘The effect of shock upon a human body is a huge topic, Montague, and it is open to lots of interpretations and opinions with many forms of shock. It's not helped by there being so many different forms, some decidedly dangerous and lethal. I don't think it would be possible to summarize the effects of all types of shock in a brief phone call.'

‘But I understand shock can kill a weak person?' persisted Pluke.

‘Yes it can. That is not in doubt and I would suspect that if a frail person was placed suddenly upon a very cold floor, the shock would be enough to disrupt the functions of the heart and so lead to death. In short, such a shock could kill – but some people might survive that treatment. A fit person might not be affected. You have opened up many possibilities!'

‘And would a pathologist or doctor realize that shock was the cause of death in such a case?'

‘I doubt if a GP would be able to make such a diagnosis and I would even venture an opinion that a pathologist might decide that such a death was due to natural causes, unless there were other factors such as injury or bruising. I have to say, Montague, that a myriad of external factors could be involved if death followed. . . .'

‘I understand that, but am I right in thinking it could happen?'

‘It could – I would agree that it is a fact that people can die from shock.'

‘It was a common occurrence in our forefathers' time, Derek. People were helped to die by being laid on cold floors or smothered with soft pillows. . . .'

‘If it happened at that time it could happen now, Montague. Perhaps smothering would be detectable, but don't quote me! This is merely my opinion.'

‘And mine!' smiled Montague Pluke, ringing off.

When Detective Inspector Pluke and Detective Sergeant Wain arrived at Crickledale's Anglican Parish Church, people were already gathering outside the lych-gate. Some smiled brief acknowledgements to the plain-clothes police officers as they joined a small group of mourners waiting outside the church door. No one questioned their presence or commented upon it. The people appeared to be gathering in silent tribute to Mrs Langneb, but neither Pluke nor Wain recognized anyone. Most were from the anonymous population of Crickledale but Pluke guessed that relatives and friends may have travelled from elsewhere.

Inside the church, through the open door, they could hear the organist playing appropriate music and then, as the clock showed it was 1.50 p.m., the people dispersed and began to shuffle inside the rather plain unadorned and uninspiring church. Each seemed unwilling to be first to enter or first to select a pew.

Pluke had no such inhibitions. He strode manfully forward followed by Wayne Wain and they selected a pew towards the rear of the nave, from which they could observe everyone sitting in front of them. Hymn books and Orders of Service were already in place on the pews. And so the handful of mourners gradually filled a few rows of seats in front of the detectives, as Pluke and Wain tried to identify each one of them. Mrs Plumpton arrived in black, accompanied by a small, elderly lady who needed to be helped into her seat, and then Millicent came forward and also selected a pew, not beside her husband but at the side of Mrs Plumpton's friend. Millicent did not acknowledge Pluke but he felt she was sullenly aware of his presence.

The bier was already in place to accommodate the coffin and Pluke was pleased that the first three pews at each side of the aisle had been left unoccupied for relatives and friends of Mrs Langneb. There was ample space for them.

Then a man's voice called, ‘Please be upstanding' and the organ music ceased. A plump grey-haired lady vicar appeared and took her place close to the bier to receive the deceased. In the hushed silence, the rather small coffin with a modest arrangement of flowers on top was carried in by four bearers. It was followed by the local undertaker, Joshua Carpenter, in his usual black suit and carrying a black top hat. A small group of family and friends followed and Pluke instinctively counted them. Fourteen. They were guided to their seats and as the coffin was placed upon the bier, the people opened their hymn books and selected the one that headed the list of numbers on the hymn board.

The organist then struck up with the familiar chords of the hymn that begins
O Lord my God! When I in awesome wonder. . . .
perhaps better known as
How Great Thou Art.
At the conclusion of the short service, which revealed a total lack of emotion, sorrow or sacred atmosphere, the vicar announced that the interment would take place immediately in the churchyard surrounding the church.

Afterwards, everyone was invited to join family and friends in the church hall for refreshments. Pluke noticed it was not yet 2.30 p.m. with the interment taking a further ten minutes or so. As family and friends moved towards the graveside, Pluke and Wain headed for the refreshments but would wait politely outside until the interment was complete; he had no place at the graveside. Wayne Wain joined him whilst Mrs Plumpton and her companion joined the others at the graveside. Millicent, still not acknowledging the presence of her husband, also went to the graveside.

Then an elderly man known to Pluke and Wain as Awd Ezra appeared and joined them. He was one of the elderly characters of Crickledale; he was not a criminal or a down-and-out but eked a meagre living on his pension, part of which came from military service long ago with another part from his past employment.

He had been a highway operative, perhaps more widely known as a road sweeper.

‘Now then, Mr Pluke,' he displayed a wide toothless smile. ‘It's not often we see you and your pal at local funerals.'

Pluke knew he must take full advantage of this man's local knowledge. A conversation initiated by this man would not appear to be a case of prying by the detectives.

‘It's not often my sergeant and I have the time to attend funerals, Ezra. Our heavy workload and continuing responsibility for defending the people of Crickledale against ruthless criminals must take priority. But we have made an exception for Mrs Langneb, she was a good friend of my wife and she donated to police charities.'

‘Aye, well, I was asked to sit with her the night she died. No relations living nearby you see, nobody to sit overnight. So I volunteered.'

‘Sit where?' asked Wayne who was unaccustomed to the protocol that surrounded a local death.

‘In t'house, Mr Wain. I was downstairs in t'living room and she was lying on her death-bed upstairs.'

‘So she wasn't in a chapel of rest?'

‘No need, there wasn't anybody else living in her house, Mr Wain, so she could be left in her own bed till t'very last minute. But we never like folks lying dead all by themselves, not ‘ere in Crickledale. So we keep 'em company by watching.'

‘Watching? Watching what?'

‘Sitting with 'em, keeping 'em company. We call it watching.'

‘Really? Does everyone do that?'

‘I expect so, it's allus been t'custom in these parts.'

‘So why is it done? There must be a reason,' said Wayne.

‘Search me, I've no idea. It's done because it's allus been done.'

‘She died peacefully, didn't she?' put in Pluke.

‘Oh, aye. Passed away overnight in her sleep. Lovely way to go. She was found next day by one of t'carers who called Doctor Simpson. I've watched since Friday night, it's all we could do for her.'

‘Found, you say? Found where?' asked Pluke.

‘Somewhere in t'house I would imagine.'

‘Which carer was that? Any idea?'

‘Search me, Mr Pluke, there's that many of ‘em I never know one from t'other. But they allus took good care of Mrs Langneb and all t'other old folks.'

‘So you're not one of the volunteer carers?'

‘Not me, Mr Pluke. I'd be no good looking after living folks.'

‘Have you watched at other deaths, Ezra?'

‘Oh, aye. Lots of ‘em over t'years. When folks died in their beds and there were no relations to come and watch, then I did it. Everybody needs somebody to watch over 'em in their final hours on earth.'

‘And when does the watch end?' asked Wayne.

‘When t'undertaker comes to take t'body away, then afterwards I come to t'funeral, like today, and I get a free meal once in a while. It's a big thing for a chap living on his own to get a meal, so I've never minded watching. We don't get paid, you know, it's a voluntary thing. I wouldn't want money anyway.'

‘So are you there the whole time the deceased is lying in the house?' asked Wayne.

‘No, just at night. Others come and go during t'day, friends, neighbours and such. Bringing flowers, cards, saying their farewells, that sort o' thing.'

‘It's a very noble thing to do,' commented Pluke.

‘Nights are different from days, I think some folks would be scared stiff about watching at night.'

‘That's not surprising,' agreed Pluke.

‘It doesn't bother me!'

But Wayne wanted to know more. ‘But you wouldn't do this in a chapel of rest, would you? Watch all night there? It's only done in the homes of people who've died.'

‘Right, Mr Wain. By t'time a body's gone to a chapel of rest, its soul will have departed.'

‘What's a soul got to do with all this?' puzzled Wain.

‘Well, when somebody dies in their bed, their soul needs time to find its way out of t'body without getting lost, so it would be baffled in a dark and empty house, with mirrors about and so on, not knowing which was t'way out. So whenever I watch over Anglicans or them with no religion, I allus put t'lights on, all over t'house and I turn mirrors to face t'wall or else cover 'em up with a sheet or summat, to stop souls getting confused. Catholics look after their own.'

‘So what happens if a body is moved to a chapel of rest before the funeral?'

‘Well, it's gone to t'right place, hasn't it? A churchy place. Souls know how to cope with churches and they'd never leave bodies that were moving around . . . so there we are.'

‘I don't know what to make of all this,' admitted Wayne Wain.

‘Don't try,' advised Pluke. ‘Well, Ezra, I think I hear people moving from the graveside, so we can go in and help ourselves to something to eat, and have a nice cup of tea.'

‘Nice talking to you both. Funny about Miss Croucher, wasn't it?'

‘Was it?' asked Pluke.

‘Yes, that business of putting her on t'cold floor to help her on her way. Mrs Langneb was on t'floor too, when she was found. Mebbe there were others, but it's an old custom. Opening doors and windows is one thing, but lying folks on cold floors doesn't sound very pleasant to me. But if it makes ‘em pass away peacefully, then I suppose it's all right. Ah, here they come, some just turning up for a free tea. I'm going in first otherwise there'll be queues and no sandwiches left. Proper gannets some folks are, Mr Pluke. Come along both of you, don't get stuck behind a queue! First come first served, I say.'

They allowed Ezra to rush ahead to secure a full plate of goodies, but waited until the first flush of mourners were approaching, and then Pluke, acting as a leader, walked steadily towards the entrance and led the way inside. Wayne followed as everyone queued for the toilets or mingled over the table that was full of buffet food. As Pluke entered, Ezra had already piled his plate high with savouries, which he would demolish with relish before returning for a second helping. And then there were trifles and cakes. . . .

When Pluke and Wayne had helped themselves, they refrained from sitting down at one of the tables – that was a sure way of isolating themselves from the other mourners.

‘Did you hear Ezra say Mrs Langneb had been found on the floor, Wayne?'

‘I did. What do you make of that?'

‘I'd say it was another notch in our gun, Wayne.'

‘It certainly makes me think. . . .'

Millicent and other helpers were in the kitchen preparing food, washing pots and making tea so he never saw her or talked to her. Rather than seek Millicent when she was busy, Pluke felt it important that he and Wayne moved among the mourners, mingling as only an experienced mingler can do. Both would strike up conversations about Mrs Langneb, whilst referring to the fact that Ezra had kindly sat with her corpse overnight. That should persuade people to talk informally to the team of police officers.