Free Superstitious Death by Nicholas Rhea

impossible to see whether any of them bore signs of blood or skin or minor damage.
    ‘It was clean when you collected it, you said?’ Pluke confirmed.
    ‘Not immaculate, not like a new machine,’ said Preston. ‘You can’t expect that when you’ve a machine which is doing this kind of mucky work. There’s nowt worse than fresh grass for darting up forage harvesters. Just think of a lawnmower. But it was as clean as I’d expect, and in good working order.’
    ‘Right, well, thank you very much for your help,’ said Pluke, wondering whether a forensic scientist would be able to locate blood or skin on any part of such a used machine. ‘I’m sorry to have caused a break in your work.’
    ‘Think nowt of it, Mr Pluke. Mind you, you’d have a job to get trapped in one of these, but nowt’s impossible. I just hope you catch the bloke responsible. Right, Harry, back to it. We can’t stand around all day when there’s work to be done.’
    And so the forage harvester resumed its silage making while Pluke, Wain and Farmer Preston walked back to the farm buildings.
    ‘If you can think of anyone who might have used the quarry, or who the blonde girl might be, give us a call, would you?’ asked Wayne Wain.
    ‘Sure,’ said the farmer, waving them off.
    After a long, lingering look at the magnificent series of horse troughs, Pluke fastened his seat belt and said, To the office now, Wayne, if you please. I wonder if our pathologist has produced any surprises?’
    When Pluke returned to the police station, his first task, after crossing the threshold with his right foot first, was to visit the control room where he asked Sergeant Cockfield pronounced Cofield if there had been any messages.
    Wayne Wain waited at his side.
    ‘Yes, sir, Mr Meredith rang, from the path lab. Could you call him back?’
    ‘I will indeed. Now, is the incident room being established? If so, where?’
    ‘Yes, sir, in the parade room. Detective Inspector Horsley of Headquarters CID is in charge as usual, and he’s already got the furnishings, telephones and computers organised. He’s put out calls to draft in thirty detectives from across the force area.’
    ‘Then I must pay him a visit. I shall proceed immediately to the incident room, sergeant, and I shall be there for a while. If anyone from the press rings, tell them I shall issue a statement very shortly. Have there been any press calls, sergeant?’
    ‘Not yet, sir.’
    ‘Good, I need to present them with accurate information – I may need their help to get this victim identified.’
    As they moved through the corridors to the room normally used by the town’s constables for parading on duty, Pluke turned to Wayne and said, ‘Wayne, call the force press officer at Headquarters. I’d like him to join the team in the incident room, as soon as he can arrive.’
    ‘You think this is going to be a runner, sir?’
    ‘It has all the hallmarks of a long-lasting investigation, Wayne. Consider the facts – there is a most curious injury which is likely to have caused death, a distinct and thought-provoking lack of clues at the scene except for a pink hand mirror, no ready identification of the victim, no obvious motive, a well-dug grave at an isolated location with no witnesses… The ingredients are all there, Wayne. A mystery for us to solve/.’
    ‘A mystery, sir? Not a murder?’
    ‘Not necessarily, Wayne. But thinking of our crime figures and detection statistics, we do not want an undetected murder on our books although that worry does not colour my judgement in this case. I continue to have a very open mind.’
    ‘I understand. Right, sir, I’ll call the press officer immediately. It’s a new man, by the way – an Inspector Russell, Paul Russell,’ and Wayne Wain headed upstairs to make the calls from his own office.
    As Fluke entered the parade room, littered with unplaced desks, filing cabinets, telephone engineers and administrative personnel, all of which or whom were