on any relevant developments during Pluke’s enquiry. Confirmation in writing was requested and Pluke said his secretary would prepare the necessary paperwork.
‘It will be like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack, sir,’ said Wayne Wain. ‘They can’t trace her unless we give them a name, and we can’t get a name until she’s traced. Catch-22 and all that.’
‘Did you know that the original phrase was “looking for a needle in a bottle of hay”, Wayne? Haywain… I like that. I might even have added “constable” had you not been a sergeant. But joking aside, that was the original phrase, the word bottle coming from the French botte meaning bundle…’
‘I had no idea, sir,’ and Wayne’s eyebrows rose to the heavens.
‘But finding a needle in a bundle of hay is not too difficult, Wayne, far easier than finding one in a complete haystack or, shall we say, a spindle or bolt in a haymaking machine… So let us not be prematurely defeated by the magnitude of our task.’
‘I am sure we can cope, sir.’
‘Indeed we can. If it is possible to put a name to that girl, then we shall do so, with or without the help of Interpol. And remember, without a name for her, we will have immense difficulty in tracing her movements. I want you to liaise with the teams who are trying to establish her movements.’
‘No problem, sir. But if she is Swedish, it is quite likely she has been touring this country. Back-packing perhaps? With or without a companion? Youth-hostelling? Hitch-hiking? English girls know that it is dangerous to hitch-hike unaccompanied. Maybe girls from overseas do not realise this? I know hitchhiking is still a popular means of travel in southern Ireland, and safe there. Or she might have been camping, alone or with someone else. She could have used that quarry as a resting place overnight, like so many other people appear to do. I can imagine her with a violent man, things went wrong because she refuses him, and so she’s murdered and left in a grave…’
‘Absolutely, Wayne. In light of that possibility, I wonder if a tent peg might have caused her injuries… there are some with points at the end of long metal stems, although that would not explain the accompanying bruises…’
‘And if she was back-packing or camping, she would have her belongings with her all the time. Camping gear, sleeping bag, passport, money, spare clothes…’
‘Absolutely right again, Wayne, and she might have possessed a small pink mirror. So she could tidy her hair when she was travelling on this earth rather than in the next.’
‘Of course, sir. If that mirror has survived, then where is the rest of her luggage? And especially her passport. She could not travel all the way from Sweden without having a bag or haversack or suitcase of some kind, or a sleeping bag. A large handbag, even. We’ve not found a handbag, sir, nor any personal belongings.’
‘Precisely, Wayne. Perhaps you would bear all those factors in mind as you make your own enquiries, and as you liaise, carefully, with the teams?’
‘Yes, sir, I will.’
‘Right. Well, off you go and keep me informed of developments. I am now going to see if our esteemed Mr Eric Burholme is known to the police, although from what I have seen of him both recently and in the past, he does not seem the sort of gentleman who would have a criminal record.’
When Wayne had gone, Pluke picked up the telephone once again, and this time rang the Criminal Record Office at his own Force Headquarters.
‘Detective Inspector Pluke, Crickledale,’ he announced himself. ‘I want you to carry out a search of criminal records for me, please – local first, then national. It is in connection with a murder enquiry within my sub-division.’
‘No problem, sir. Who is the subject?’
‘A man called Eric Burholme of Harman’s Farm, Barughdale in this county. I do not have a confirmed date of birth but he claims to be eighty years of age, with a
‘It will be like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack, sir,’ said Wayne Wain. ‘They can’t trace her unless we give them a name, and we can’t get a name until she’s traced. Catch-22 and all that.’
‘Did you know that the original phrase was “looking for a needle in a bottle of hay”, Wayne? Haywain… I like that. I might even have added “constable” had you not been a sergeant. But joking aside, that was the original phrase, the word bottle coming from the French botte meaning bundle…’
‘I had no idea, sir,’ and Wayne’s eyebrows rose to the heavens.
‘But finding a needle in a bundle of hay is not too difficult, Wayne, far easier than finding one in a complete haystack or, shall we say, a spindle or bolt in a haymaking machine… So let us not be prematurely defeated by the magnitude of our task.’
‘I am sure we can cope, sir.’
‘Indeed we can. If it is possible to put a name to that girl, then we shall do so, with or without the help of Interpol. And remember, without a name for her, we will have immense difficulty in tracing her movements. I want you to liaise with the teams who are trying to establish her movements.’
‘No problem, sir. But if she is Swedish, it is quite likely she has been touring this country. Back-packing perhaps? With or without a companion? Youth-hostelling? Hitch-hiking? English girls know that it is dangerous to hitch-hike unaccompanied. Maybe girls from overseas do not realise this? I know hitchhiking is still a popular means of travel in southern Ireland, and safe there. Or she might have been camping, alone or with someone else. She could have used that quarry as a resting place overnight, like so many other people appear to do. I can imagine her with a violent man, things went wrong because she refuses him, and so she’s murdered and left in a grave…’
‘Absolutely, Wayne. In light of that possibility, I wonder if a tent peg might have caused her injuries… there are some with points at the end of long metal stems, although that would not explain the accompanying bruises…’
‘And if she was back-packing or camping, she would have her belongings with her all the time. Camping gear, sleeping bag, passport, money, spare clothes…’
‘Absolutely right again, Wayne, and she might have possessed a small pink mirror. So she could tidy her hair when she was travelling on this earth rather than in the next.’
‘Of course, sir. If that mirror has survived, then where is the rest of her luggage? And especially her passport. She could not travel all the way from Sweden without having a bag or haversack or suitcase of some kind, or a sleeping bag. A large handbag, even. We’ve not found a handbag, sir, nor any personal belongings.’
‘Precisely, Wayne. Perhaps you would bear all those factors in mind as you make your own enquiries, and as you liaise, carefully, with the teams?’
‘Yes, sir, I will.’
‘Right. Well, off you go and keep me informed of developments. I am now going to see if our esteemed Mr Eric Burholme is known to the police, although from what I have seen of him both recently and in the past, he does not seem the sort of gentleman who would have a criminal record.’
When Wayne had gone, Pluke picked up the telephone once again, and this time rang the Criminal Record Office at his own Force Headquarters.
‘Detective Inspector Pluke, Crickledale,’ he announced himself. ‘I want you to carry out a search of criminal records for me, please – local first, then national. It is in connection with a murder enquiry within my sub-division.’
‘No problem, sir. Who is the subject?’
‘A man called Eric Burholme of Harman’s Farm, Barughdale in this county. I do not have a confirmed date of birth but he claims to be eighty years of age, with a
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