A Full Churchyard Read Free Page B

perfume.’
    â€˜Perhaps I should unearth my wartime gas mask,’ he retorted.
    With his morning’s entertainment over, he found most of his correspondence was boringly routine. There were Home Office Circulars announcing new regulations about motor scooters, crash helmets for invalid carriage drivers and a new range of controlled drugs. In addition, there were leaflets providing details of forthcoming changes and improvements to the Force’s official computers along with a new system for checking motor vehicles via the Police National Computer (PNC) and the Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency (DVLA). He initialled all the documents to indicate he had seen them, then placed them in his out-tray for Mrs Plumpton to deal with. He didn’t know what she did with all the paper that flooded in and then disappeared.
    With no new crimes reported over the weekend, therefore, it was time for his daily conference with Detective Sergeant Wayne Wain, his deputy. Rather than use the intercom or his mobile, he called to Mrs Plumpton.
    â€˜Mrs Plumpton, would you contact Detective Sergeant Wain and tell him I am available to receive him when convenient.’
    â€˜Of course, Mr Pluke.’
    Detective Inspector Pluke never used an informal manner of addressing his work colleagues and always addressed his secretary as Mrs Plumpton, never using her forename. In fact, he didn’t know her first name. Likewise, he always referred to Detective Sergeant Wain by his surname but because his forename sounded exactly the same as his surname, everyone thought DI Pluke was mellowing. He wasn’t, of course and would never contemplate a change of routine or a decline in standards. Soon afterwards, there was a knock on his door and he called, ‘Come in.’
    Detective Sergeant Wayne Wain entered. In his early thirties and not yet married, he was very tall, dark and handsome with winning ways among all the female persons he encountered. His cheerful disposition endeared him even to some of the suspects he interviewed, especially females and they would readily confess to all manner of exciting things. Some wondered whether he would search them for drugs or stolen goods they had shoplifted but, of course, there was a very strict and formal procedure for searching everyone. Immaculately dressed as always in his dark suit, white shirt and blue tie, Wayne smiled at his boss, pulled out a chair and settled down.
    â€˜Good morning, sir, I trust you had a pleasant weekend.’
    â€˜Most pleasant, thank you, Wayne but I have not discovered any more new horse troughs. Even on fine days, the winter weather is not conducive to searching those moors but I believe I have discovered an ancient route across the heather, now obliterated but which in times past would have linked several villages. It is highly likely there would have been horse troughs along its route.’
    â€˜If there are troughs to be found, sir, I’m sure you will trace them.’
    â€˜Indeed I shall. We all know that horses and their owners would require refreshments during their journeys but because this track is ancient and disused with troughs probably buried under earth and vegetation, or even stolen or destroyed, it will not be easy to locate them. But I shall ensure they all become a visible part of our moorland heritage and will take the necessary steps to preserve and protect them.’
    â€˜And now it’s back to work. What have we on the cards for today? I can’t find anything that demands our attention.’
    â€˜It’s abnormally quiet even by Crickledale standards, Wayne, but I have been thinking it is a splendid opportunity to re-examine old unsolved crimes. I think we should use this opportunity to initiate a cold-case review. I was hoping that with your astonishing memory you might recall some older case – serious or slight – that has never been detected.’
    â€˜Leave it with me for an hour or so, sir.