Omens of Death (11 page)

‘There is no need, it is all very clear ...’ But Mrs Peat had rung off. Millicent knew that Montague’s investigations were very important and highly confidential and that she must resist all Mrs Peat’s questioning. Not that Montague told her very much about his work, but with Mrs Peat’s potential for gossip, you never knew how far things would go. On this occasion, Millicent decided she would listen rather than talk, because Mrs Peat seemed to know something about the goings-on at No. 15 Padgett Grove.

‘Good heavens ... your husband is at May’s place, talking to that Dunwoody man ... I’ll bet it’s to do with the noise that girl and her friends were making ...’

Millicent didn’t say that Montague was engaged upon a very important murder investigation.

Chapter 8

On the journey to the mortuary, it became clear to Montague and Wayne that George Dunwoody loved to identify dead bodies. In fact, it was almost a hobby with him. He’d seen hundreds, he told Montague, chiefly due to his part-time work of helping out at Crumble and Smirch, Undertakers, Embalmers and Funeral Carriage Masters of Crickledale. During his part-time work he had, from time to time, been expected to handle corpses, to carry them down narrow staircases and lift them into coffins; furthermore, he’d often been asked to help identify those injured in traffic accidents or fires, and had done a bit of laying-out and measuring for coffins too. But his proudest moments were as bearer, especially if the funeral was a big one with a local personality as the dear departed.

During their discussions, it transpired that George was often asked to identify deceased persons because he had once been a postman. He had met almost everyone in the town, often at the crack of dawn, and had thus viewed many Crickledonians in their natural early-morning state, i.e. women with curlers and without teeth, or unshaven men suffering from a hangover after a night in the pub. It meant he could recognise the features of almost any local person, dead or alive, battered or not battered, in darkness and in light, and in conditions which would thwart other potential identifiers. People without their teeth did have a look of corpses, he jested. He added that if today’s corpse was a Crickledonian, he would know her. George added that he would never shirk from his public duty and was not afraid of helping Detective Inspector Pluke, even if the lass in question was a murder victim.

What he did not tell Pluke was that it would be something to boast about in the pub on Friday nights. After all, it wasn’t everyone who measured corpses for coffins and got it right first time, even for those with humped backs and big noses — and even if the regulars were rather tired of George’s tales of the macabre, his involvement with Crickledale’s first murder case would enliven the conversation at the Bay Horse.

When the small official party reached Crickledale Hospital, George was eager to display his knowledge of the network of corridors plus his considerable corpse-handling skills. After Detective Inspector Pluke had satisfied the receptionist that they were not invaders seeking to sit with a sick relative after visiting hours, they were guided by George to the mortuary suite.

‘I’ve been here hundreds of times.’ He led them into the bowels of the hospital. ‘But I’ve never done a murder before, Mr Pluke. There’s a first time for everything, eh?’

‘There is indeed,’ responded Montague, remembering this was also his first murder-type investigation and adding, ‘We have yet to confirm she was murdered, Mr Dunwoody. At the moment, it is officially nothing more than a suspicious death; I shall be pleased if you will treat the possibility of it being a murder with the confidentiality it deserves. All we need from you is a name for the deceased if, of course, you recognise her.’

‘Aye, well, I know that. I shan’t go blabbing in the pubs about this, you know. I know when to keep a secret. Us folks in the public eye must behave right, eh?’

‘That is very reassuring.’ Inspector Pluke beamed, unconvinced.

When they reached the mortuary suite, the attendant, a cadaverous character called Clarence, bade them wait near the empty operating plinth as he went to Drawer number 14 and hauled it open. It was like a giant filing cabinet in which each drawer could be filled with a corpse instead of masses of paper, and each was refrigerated. As the huge drawer eased out of the bank of cabinets, it filled the room with the distinctive sweet-sickly smell of death and disinfectant. Montague saw that it contained the body of the girl found at the Druids’ Circle. She was the only resident this evening, the other drawers being empty if the blank labels were any guide.

Pluke saw that the subject of their visit lay feet first in the cabinet, her head at the handle end of the drawer with her blonde hair spilling around her. Below the neck, her nakedness was concealed beneath a white shroud which reached down to her feet. Only her face was visible. Montague Pluke was pleased about that, pleased that her modesty had been respected.

‘That’s the one,’ muttered Wayne Wain at his side.

‘Mr Dunwoody.’ Montague spoke with authority, his voice echoing in the sepulchral space of the mortuary as he carefully avoided the use of George’s Christian name. ‘Can you examine the body of that young woman in drawer number 14 and tell me if it is the woman you recognise as the niece of Mrs Cyril Crowther?’

‘Aye, right.’ And George moved manfully towards the head of the drawer, cap in hand, and peered at the dead face. His decision took a fraction of a second.

‘Aye, Mr Pluke, that’s her. Mrs Crowther’s niece, I’d swear to it.’

‘And do you know her name?’

‘No, sorry, Mr Pluke. No idea.’

‘But you’ve seen her at the Crowthers’ house?’

‘I have.’

‘When was the most recent occasion, Mr Dunwoody?’

‘Well now, that’s a good question. Today’s Thursday, eh? Which means yesterday was Wednesday and the day before that was Tuesday, haircutting day. I’d say Tuesday, Mr Pluke. Tuesday morning. When she left in her little car.’

‘Left where, Mr Dunwoody?’

‘Cyril and May’s house, Mr Pluke. She was house-sitting, so I understood, they’re away on holiday and I definitely saw this lass go off in her mini on Tuesday.’

‘Where to? Any idea?’ asked Wain.

‘Turned right she did, outside the bungalow, but I have no idea where she went from there.’

‘What time was that, Mr Dunwoody? When she left the house?’

‘After breakfast. Coffee time. Half-ten, summat like that.’

‘And did she come back?’

‘She must have done because the lights were on, later, that was. I never noticed her, though. Mind, folks can come and go from that house, by the front door that is, without us knowing.’

‘And her car? Did you see it parked outside upon her return?’

‘No, but she did use the garage. Cyril drove his car to the airport, you see, so the garage was empty for that lass to use.’

‘What colour was her car, then? And registration number?’

‘Red, a dull red. Nearly plum-coloured, I’d say. But, well, Mr Pluke, I have no idea of its number, I mean you don’t, do you, take car numbers, unless you are a car number spotter. There was no cause, was there? She was just a lass having a break herself, looking after the house for her aunt ...’

‘What was she wearing? When you last saw her? Can you remember that?’

‘Now you’re asking hard questions, Mr Pluke. She allus dressed well, in mighty short skirts or shorts ... thin blouses ... white I think. I nobbut noticed the top in the car, driving seat. A white T-shirt, that’s all I can say.’

‘Any idea where she lived, Mr Dunwoody? Her home address? I need to know who she is and where she lived or her parents’ name and address. Or next of kin.’

‘Now that’s summat I do not know. She’s definitely not from Crickledale, that’s for sure. But before May left for Majorca, she told us her niece was coming to live in, to house-sit. She never gave us a name or said where the lass was coming from.’

‘She was definitely May’s niece, then? Not Cyril’s?’

‘Aye, her sister’s lass, she said. May’s youngest sister is called June — her elder one’s called April, daft, eh? April, May and June ... Anyroad, before May went off, she said we shouldn’t have to worry about putting lights on and taking in parcels and things because June’s lass was coming to live in. She had some work to do in these parts, so May said, a summer job.’

‘So if the girl hadn’t come, you would normally have looked after the house?’

‘Aye, me and Ada allus do that, Mr Pluke, look after each other’s houses, water the plants, take parcels in, that sort of thing, put lights on, draw curtains at night ... We’ve a set of keys for the bungalow, for when they’re away.’

‘But surely she must have mentioned a name for the girl? A Christian name?’

‘Nay, Mr Pluke, she never did, not to me or our Ada.’

‘When she left the house in her mini on Tuesday, was she alone?’ pressed Pluke.

‘I think other folks came and went while she was here, there was a lot of partying and things, cars and vans coming and going at night, but personally speaking, I never noticed anybody else with her on Tuesday.’ He thought hard. ‘Nope, Mr Pluke, I reckon she was alone. Chugging off somewhere alone that Tuesday, she was. I said to Ada afterwards that I thought her car needed its plugs cleaning, it was chucking out a fair bit of smoke and one plug was misfiring, you know, making plopping noises ... I told Ada I would offer to put it right for the lass, but Ada said it was nowt to do with me and I had to mind my own business.’

‘You’ve been a great help, Mr Dunwoody.’ Montague thanked him and nodded to the mortuary attendant who began to close the drawer and conceal the body until it was next required. ‘At least we know she had links with the Crowthers.’

‘Sorry about the name. I can ask our Ada ...’

‘I will ask her when we return,’ countered Pluke.

Wayne Wain wondered what time he was going to finish duty tonight. Once Pluke found himself hot on the trail, he would work all night. Wain had memories of the great stolen gnome case some two years ago. Pluke had worked all one night but, to give him due credit, he had traced the culprit and had found him in a garden shed full of stolen gnomes.

But on their return to No. 11a, Pluke, while standing at the door, questioned Ada without receiving any further help. George was at her side as Ada said she had seen the lovely blonde girl coming and going, dashing off in her mini and returning with plastic bags full of supermarket groceries and drinks. Sometimes the girl had waved at Ada as she’d peered through the kitchen window, but they had never spoken. The Dunwoodys’ overall impression was that May’s niece lived respectably even though she had had lots of young people in from time to time. A party of some kind, Ada thought. The Dunwoodys said they had no complaints about loud music or noise.

‘Not yet, anyroad, touch wood!’ George grinned, reaching for the frame of his doorway. ‘They’ve not caused us any bother!’

Pluke established that Cyril and May had left in the early hours to drive to the airport in their own car and the girl had arrived the same day, which was last Saturday. Ada confirmed the timing. The girl had arrived in the middle of the afternoon and had unloaded her belongings while clad in a red T-shirt with wide sleeves and a neckline down to her knees.

Her white shorts had left nothing to George’s imagination. His lawn-mowing that afternoon had taken three times longer than normal and he had commented about the gummed-up plugs of her car, even offering to sandblast them for her. She had declined with a smile that compelled George to offer to test his dip stick in her sump but she said the man at the garage had done that this morning.

‘Which garage?’ asked Pluke.

‘She never said, Mr Pluke. She never said where she had come from and I never asked,’ admitted George, thinking that if he had been forty years younger he would have had her name, address and telephone number within moments of his first meeting.

‘She said not a word about where she’d come from and May didn’t either, Mr Pluke,’ confirmed Mrs Dunwoody. ‘And I never asked. I’m not nosy, you see, I don’t poke my nose into other folks’ business. Not like some I could name — like her at No. 14, the Peat woman. Right nosy, she is. You should hear some of the things she comes out with at the Coffee Club; you ask your Millicent, Mr Pluke.’

‘The girl’s home can’t be very far away if she arrived in, say, half a day. If she’d called at a garage to have her oil checked and tank filled, then driven here to arrive by mid-afternoon, she can’t have come all that far,’ observed Pluke. ‘I’d guess she’s come from the north, somewhere between the Humber and the Tweed, maybe.’

‘Come to think of it, I think she did have a Durham twang when she spoke,’ recalled George. ‘Not quite Geordie, nicer than the Middlesbrough sound. County Durham, I’d say, judging by the way she said stuffed.’

‘Then we must make sure all the papers, radio stations and television news bulletins provide a description. Now, I fear we must examine the house,’ announced Pluke. ‘I have reason to believe she met her untimely death in No. 15.’

‘Oh, my God,’ murmured Mrs Dunwoody. ‘Not on May’s best carpet — she just had it cleaned a fortnight ago ... such a nice young man came with his chemicals and wafted scent all over afterwards.’

‘You’d think we’d have heard something, Mr Pluke,’ said George. ‘Or seen him taking her out ... I mean, you can’t shift dead bodies without somebody seeing something. I should know all about that, I’ve shifted plenty.’

‘Precisely, Mr Dunwoody.’ Pluke beamed. ‘Somebody, somewhere, must have seen something or heard something or know something. There are other neighbours we must talk to for it is our job to find that person. Now, I believe you have a key to the bungalow?’

‘I’ll get it, it’s for the kitchen door, but shouldn’t we ask the Crowthers first?’ asked George.

‘Don’t be silly, George!’ snapped his wife. ‘They’re in Majorca!’

‘They might not be, they might be dead too, in this very house.’ Pluke decided to shock them into silence and submission. ‘I have reason to believe that a suspicious death has occurred within this house and must therefore examine the property to ascertain whether or not that is the case. We are permitted, by law, to enter the premises in such circumstances, Mrs Dunwoody. Rest assured we shall leave the house as we find it.’