A Full Churchyard (3 page)

During this very early research, he would seek fresh graves or newly installed cremation memorials. This simple task would advise him of those who had been buried recently. If the graves were too new to have attracted inscriptions or headstones, he could check funeral reports in the local paper and if that did not produce results, there was always the Registrar of Births, Deaths and Marriages.

As he began to realize the fear that would be generated by news of a serial killer at large in Crickledale, he accepted that, at the moment, his actions were unofficial. Nonetheless, his enquiries were bound to set tongues a-wagging and rumours abounding. That was precisely what he did
not
want. To maintain secrecy, he and Wayne must therefore resort to subterfuge. It was vital they avoided mass panic with lurid headlines in red-top newspapers. There would be letters in the press and questions in Parliament asking what the local police were doing about it.

Meandering among the monuments, he became aware of a man working with a small digging machine and excavating mounds of earth. This would be Linton Farewell, the man who cared for the graveyard and dug the graves. His odd and rather apt name suggested links with the Potteries because that name was fairly common in that area, if little known in Yorkshire. There was no one else in the graveyard, not even Linton's assistant, ‘Sooty' Black. Sooty would be sweeping chimneys in town, which was his full-time profession, and only helping with funerals if he needed extra income.

As Pluke wandered up and down the well-tended rows of tombstones, old and new, the noise of the digging machine came to a halt as the driver noticed Pluke.

‘Mr Pluke,' he dismounted and headed in Pluke's direction. ‘Good morning to you. It's not often we see you in here.'

‘And a good morning to you, Mr Farewell,' responded Pluke in his formal tones. ‘Indeed a nice morning.'

‘Just off for my break, Mr Pluke, so is there anything I can help with before I go?'

Linton Farewell, the official gravedigger for Crickledale Anglican parish church and church caretaker (which included tending the graveyard, graves and grass-cutting) was a cadaverous fellow in his early fifties who always dressed in black. He wore smart black on funeral days and casual black when at leisure. At work he wore old black clothes, because tending the graves and graveyard necessarily involved a lot of wet earth, mud and clay. His black woolly hat, black jacket and trousers, and heavy black boots, all showed many signs of staining from the strong brown earth of this place. When away from work, he dressed in clean and well-tended clothes, but always black. A lifetime Crickledale resident, his father and his grandfather had been gravediggers here before him but Linton was unmarried and lived in a church-owned cottage in a corner of the churchyard. ‘Very handy for work, and dead quiet,' he would often boast.

‘I'm not here on official police business,' acknowledged Pluke. ‘I'm taking some fresh air as I ponder the pressures of work away from the constant demands of office. As a senior detective with heavy responsibilities, I do need to get away from telephones and callers if I am to think deeply and be creative. I find that the peace of a churchyard is ideal.'

‘I know what you mean, Mr Pluke, and this is normally a very quiet place but I'm busy this morning, making enough noise to waken the dead,' and he laughed at his own joke. ‘So how can I help you? Is there something you want?'

‘Perhaps you can tell me who is going to occupy this patch of ground,' Pluke indicated the newly dug patch.

‘Mrs Langneb, you'll have heard she's gone to meet her maker? Well, her husband Harold is already buried here, so I have to dig hers beside him without interfering with his patch of ground. East-to-west orientation, head to the west. Her funeral is tomorrow.'

‘It can't be the easiest of jobs, Mr Farewell, accommodating two bodies in one grave without causing undue disturbance.'

‘True, but I am very experienced, Mr Pluke, a highly diligent craftsman, and I won't disturb him. Even so, it's not easy with a powerful and fast-moving digging machine, believe me. The old pick-and-shovel system had its merits, even if it was hard work. But Mrs Langneb was a lovely lady, Mr Pluke, I shall do my best for her.'

‘Most considerate of you, Mr Farewell.'

‘Well, she passed away very nicely and in peace, so I'm told, and the funeral's at 2pm. We're not expecting a big crowd, she lived alone, you know, since Harold died. Her sons are both living down south. There's no family hereabouts so the CVC will rustle up a few mourners from regular churchgoers, then there's always those who come only for the funeral tea. You're welcome to join us.'

‘I didn't know the lady, Mr Farewell, and will have to check my diary, on top of which there is much to keep me busy fighting crime,' but Pluke could not let this opportunity pass without a comment to the official gravedigger about the recent high rate of deaths. He said, ‘I hear you've been very busy in recent weeks.'

‘I have indeed, Mr Pluke, me and my mate Sooty. Lots of funerals close together but good for business. I'm sure the undertakers aren't complaining and certainly their customers aren't!'

‘Are all those recently deceased people buried here?'

‘Most are here but not all. Here we've got good Anglicans who think they're Catholics and won't tolerate the idea of cremation. They do like to be buried beside their friends or relations with a dash of papist pomp and ceremony.'

‘I can appreciate that thought, Mr Farewell.'

‘It's very fitting they're all here, Mr Pluke. You'll find a graveyard plan in the porch with their names on it. All were members of this congregation, you know; all old folks living alone due to various circumstances but all remaining loyal to this church and to those who cared for them. They all used to come to our old folks' teas and bingo games. We are very lucky in this small town, Mr Pluke, having people who care so well for others, and with such devotion, and who work in their spare time to provide entertainment and care for the elderly. Here in Crickledale, the CVC never lets lonely folks pass away uncared for or not remembered, even those buried away from the town. They make sure everyone has a happy death whoever they are, or as happy as a death can be, and they are not ignored later – the CVC see to the flowers, tidy the graves and so on.'

‘I find that very encouraging, Mr Farewell.'

‘Well, you're very fortunate in having Mrs Pluke. She's an excellent carer, always helpful and sympathetic to the needs of others. She's not a boastful person, Mr Pluke, calm and pleasant, always willing to help in whatever way she can.'

‘You're well acquainted with the CVC are you, Mr Farewell?'

‘My work brings me into very close contact with them. I help out sometimes on those jobs that need a man about the house and so does Sooty. He'll always sweep a chimney free of charge, Mr Pluke, that shows you what sort of man he is. Lovely chap. I've known him do a chimney while I've been sorting out what trinkets the deceased wants buried with him or her. It's amazing what folks want beside them in their coffins – everything from a good book to a ready-meal. All these deaths have kept us busy and they say it's due to the mild winter, Mr Pluke, but I don't think so. I think that when your time is up, you've got to prepare to go to meet your maker, irrespective of the weather or the time of year. Me, Sooty and Rolly all help folks do that in whatever way we can.'

‘Who's Rolly?'

‘You must have come across him, Mr Pluke. He's an out-of-work builder. When the firm he worked for went bust he got himself work doing odd jobs around town. There's always somebody who needs a job doing, anything from cleaning spouts to fixing loose tiles. Rolly Parkinson can turn his hand to any job and he'll deal with anything. He does jobs for the CVC without wanting pay. Good chap to have around, Mr Pluke, he's on our list of volunteers. We've a good team of carers in this town.'

‘You're right, Mr Farewell, we are very fortunate. But have you noticed that when the winter is mild, the graveyards fill up quickly, not just here in Yorkshire but all over Britain?'

‘I don't dispute that, Mr Pluke, and I must be honest by saying I'm most grateful for the extra income. We all need extra money in winter what with heating costs, petrol and food.'

‘So do your wages as groundsman include gravedigging?'

‘No, the parish pays for me as groundsman, to look after the churchyard but the undertakers pay for my gravedigging and most of Sooty's work here, it's all very welcome bits of income, Mr Pluke.'

‘You're very fortunate, Mr Farewell and it is a wise and very Christian attitude by your employer.'

‘It is but I would never dig a grave on a Sunday, Mr Pluke, that wouldn't seem right, nor would I come here on a bank holiday unless it was an emergency. But that has never happened. Me and Sooty work well as a team, helping each other, doing extra jobs here, trimming the hedges, cutting the lawns, getting rid of dead flowers and so on.'

‘You do keep the place nice, Mr Farewell.'

‘I do my best. Well, it's been nice to talk, Mr Pluke, call again if I can help in any way but now I must be off. I'm not allowed an extended break and have to get this job finished before I knock off.'

As Linton Farewell headed for the little shed behind the church to enjoy his break, Pluke walked along every aisle in the churchyard, noting all the new graves. They were easily identified because they all sported vases of fresh flowers, except for Mrs Langneb's empty space, but some did not yet bear the names of their occupants. He could always double-check on the graveyard plan in the porch or get official access to the names of the recently deceased, should that prove necessary.

Counting the forthcoming tomb of Mrs Langneb, he counted the eight fairly new graves. Nine recent deaths. A lot. Millicent was right, but it was worrying that it had escaped the attention of the town's constabulary, himself included.

But, he tried to reassure himself, that situation was absolutely normal because the police had no official interest in natural deaths, and all had been without suspicion. As he prepared to leave with his professional instincts making the situation rather unclear, he felt his chat with Linton Farewell had been useful but there was nothing more he could do without the necessary support from official files.

It was time to return to the office to see what Wayne Wain had discovered.

Chapter 3

W
ayne entered Pluke's
office clutching a file and announced, ‘I've remembered a case with something odd about it.'

He was followed by Mrs Plumpton bearing a tray with two coffee mugs and some biscuits. Stooping to give her charms maximum exposure, she placed one mug on Pluke's coaster and handed the other to Wayne, then departed in a cloud of perfume as Pluke sneezed.

‘Bless you,' she called.

As he recovered from both the vision and the sneeze, Pluke noticed that Wayne's file didn't relate to an undetected crime because it had string around it; that indicated the case was closed and papers had been placed in the Dead Section.

‘Sit down, Wayne, you look very dangerous, hovering with hot coffee.'

‘As you say, sir.' He settled at the other side of Pluke's spacious desk and made good use of a pile of papers as a stand for his coffee. ‘This'll interest you, with your specialist knowledge.'

‘Horse troughs, you mean?'

‘No, I was thinking of local folklore and superstitious practices.'

‘Really?' Pluke was now settled and the coffee was perfect. ‘But Wayne, from where I'm sitting that file appears to have come from the Dead Section. It means the matter has been finalized. We're looking for an
undetected
crime, an unsolved case that's suitable for a cold-case review.'

‘I know, but listen to this. An elderly woman was found dead on the floor of the former pantry in her cottage. She was called Adelaide Croucher . . .'

Pluke interrupted. ‘I don't recall that name, Wayne.'

‘Then I'll refresh your memory. Miss Croucher used her former pantry as a utility room, a cool store for food and vegetables. It was also big enough to store her cleaning materials and the vacuum cleaner.'

‘That may be so, but I still can't recall the case,' muttered Pluke. ‘Or her name.'

Wayne ploughed on. ‘When the doctor examined Miss Croucher, he certified her death and his brief examination suggested there were no suspicious circumstances and no sign of an attack upon her. However, he had previously visited her and treated her on fairly regular occasions so he was familiar with her medical record. He stated he had no doubt her death was from natural causes – in simple terms, old age. The coroner didn't order a post mortem or an inquest, and consequently neither the CID nor the uniform branch investigated the death. The file was therefore closed. That is absolutely normal in those circumstances. It was the end of the matter.'

‘So why are you trying to resurrect this case?' asked Pluke.

‘I think it was peculiar because she was lying on the floor of her pantry face-up with all the windows open and doors unlocked. Anyone could have entered her house and it was never established how she reached that ground-floor room from her bed. She was in her nightclothes but her bedroom was upstairs.'

‘Is that all, Wayne? You've nothing more sinister than that?'

‘What is not apparent from this file is that the police
did
attend the scene – it was me. I was there, that's how I remember it. Her neighbour had reported her lying dead and suspected an attack upon Miss Croucher so she called Crickledale police. PC Carey was on town duty patrol and was directed to the scene.'

‘Are you suggesting there
were
suspicious circumstances, Wayne?'

‘I'm saying there was something odd about this case.'