A Full Churchyard Read Free

Justus Pluke (1553-1609) who had established the Pluke dynasty’s long association with horse troughs through his futuristic design of horses’ heads that he had carved upon the water inlets to stone horse troughs throughout England. He had received national commendation for that innovative work.
    During his walk, Pluke was pleased there were no crows in the churchyard, no church-bells ringing without human aid and no reports of death watch beetles tapping in old houses. That suggested no ominous deaths were imminent, and, after all, it did suggest that Mrs Langneb and the other eight had died naturally.
    Nonetheless, as he approached the end of his walk to work he did experience nagging feelings that there could have been a cover-up of some kind. He found those thoughts distinctly disturbing.
    When Montague Pluke arrived at the police station – a handsome Victorian pile – he stepped through the impressive main door by using his right foot first. But instead of climbing the stairs to his office, he diverted, as always, to the tiny Control Room. The officer in charge was Sergeant Cockfield-pronounced-Cofield and, as ever, his Control Room door was standing open.
    â€˜Good morning, sir,’ beamed the sergeant, as Pluke entered on time. It was precisely 8.50 a.m. Sergeant Cockfield-pronounced-Cofield left his computer and approached the counter.
    â€˜Good morning, Sergeant,’ responded Pluke. ‘Not a bad morning for the time of year. Now, before I head up to my office, have we, over the weekend, received any reports of sudden or suspicious deaths, major incidents, aircraft crashes, train derailments, arson and other malicious fires, motorway blockages, major crimes, robberies, criminal damage, riots, floods, drug-fuelled outrages, mass shoplifting expeditions and looting, thefts of bicycles from garden sheds or people drinking alcohol in the streets?’
    â€˜No, sir, I’ve just carried out an up-to-date review from all sources and it’s been an exceptionally peaceful and quiet weekend, both here and throughout the entire Force area. There is absolutely nothing to report. We’ve not even had any cats marooned up trees, lost dogs or stray homing pigeons.’
    â€˜Thank you, Sergeant. It proves we are keeping crime and social disturbances under control so, in this welcome lull, I propose we undertake a cold-case review. We need something interesting and demanding to occupy us during quiet times.’
    â€˜Anything particular in mind, sir?’
    â€˜I’m sure there must be an old unsolved crime that will keep our CID officers fully occupied. Could you search your records, Sergeant, and we shall do likewise with CID files? We need something serious, like an unsolved murder or rape.’
    â€˜I feel sure there must be something outstanding, sir. I will conduct a comprehensive search, beginning immediately.’
    And so, having alerted the station’s complement of officers to his plans, Detective Inspector Pluke led once more with his right foot and climbed the stairs where the magnificently upholstered Mrs Plumpton, his secretary, would be waiting with undivided attention. As he ascended he recalled that the arrival of a pigeon could herald death and wondered if any of the Crickledale deceased had been visited by pigeons? But the sergeant had said no stray pigeons had arrived at the police station. So had they gone elsewhere?
    It was not the sort of occurrence a doctor or police officer would have recorded but it was something which he, with his specialist knowledge, could consider with due solemnity.
    Chapter 2
    R ight foot first, Montague entered his office and removed his panama, then with a practised swing threw it towards the hat-stand just inside the door. With all the precision of a thrown discus, it settled on its regular hook. Years of practice had polished that modest display of useless skill and then he hung his voluminous old overcoat on another hook