Confession at Maddleskirk Abbey (15 page)

But none of this musing provided any clue to Father John’s whereabouts or indeed his present state of health. Even more important, was he in any danger? If so, from whom? The Goddards? Were they closing in on him? Indeed, had they found him and removed him from circulation by their own simple deception?

Undecided about his response to this, Nick wondered whether he could or should seek to energize what he regarded as a very low-key search. He could do that by reverting to his earlier role as a police press officer and contacting the local media. Getting the press involved would put the proverbial cat among the pigeons, but it would result in a lot of people looking for Father John, whatever he had done or not done.

Nick knew that if he surreptitiously approached the press it would anger Detective Chief Superintendent Napier. So was there a reason for Napier’s low-key approach? Perhaps he had very deep reasons for
not
seeking to involve the media?

Was Napier deliberately concealing information? If so, why?

Nick began to ponder the trustworthiness of Detective Chief Superintendent ‘Nabber’ Napier.

U
NSETTLED BY HIS
thoughts, Nick diverted from his route back to the cop shop and headed for the murder room. It was as busy as ever with the noise of people talking on telephones above the clatter of keyboards and printers, and there was the persistent buzz of a very active operations centre. Detective Sergeant Salkeld noticed his arrival and called, ‘Over here, Nick.’ She was sitting at the desk normally occupied by DI Lindsey. ‘Can I help?’

‘I’ve been walking in the grounds to get some fresh air and marshal my thoughts. I must admit I’m concerned about the lack of effort in the search for Father John. I wondered whether the media could help by alerting the public?’

‘The boss has ordered us not to talk to the press, Nick. If they do call us, he will deal with them. And that’s final.’

‘Well, I can’t argue with that even if I don’t understand the reasons, so have there been any developments?’

‘We’ve traced the hire car at Scarborough but it wasn’t used by our targets. It was another man and woman, quite legitimate. However, Nick, we have traced a taxi that was used by Father John and his lady companion. Her description matched our target and her companion was a clergyman with a dog collar. They were picked up at the hospital and dropped near the railway station, and from that point onwards we’ve had
no reports. They’ve disappeared into thin air. The taxi driver thought they’d gone to catch a train but he didn’t ask any questions. The woman paid the taxi fare, by the way.’

‘Deliberately evasive, do you think?’

‘It does smack of a deliberate ploy to lose anyone who might be showing too much interest!’

‘But why would anyone go to all this trouble to spirit him away? There’s always an element of risk in this kind of thing.’

‘We’re not sure why such an operation was necessary, Nick, but it raises another question. Was it masterminded by Father John himself? Remember the hospital has no record of him arriving or even being called in to discuss his condition. There are lots of loopholes, a lot of unanswered questions and much to consider.’

‘Is Father John being strongly linked to the murder victim? As a suspect, I mean?’

‘That can’t be avoided, can it? We can’t avoid the fact that there is a connection so it’s vital we find him, if only to eliminate him from suspicion.’

‘I can understand the team thinking along those lines, so is there any further progress with the murder inquiry? And I must say I think it is also very low key. …’

‘There are reasons, Nick.’ Her voice suggested she was quietly warning him not to rush things, not to push his luck. ‘Don’t try to organize things. I will say, though, that I’m allowed to tell you that the murder victim was a serving police officer and his parent force – the London Met – has been informed. They confirmed his home address and we’ve notified his relatives but the Met has not revealed what he was doing in this locality. All they would say is that he was on duty and engaged on a covert mission generated by important criminal intelligence that had emanated from the Crime Intelligence Bureau. Mr Napier has not informed the media yet and we’ve restricted news of the murder by saying it appears to be the sudden death of a visitor, as yet unidentified. The press was happy with that – for the time being.’

‘A police officer, you say? Murdered? This mystery gets deeper and deeper and definitely more complex and unnerving.’

‘Now you know why Napier doesn’t want to involve the press!’

‘I’m pleased you’ve told me. I was going to suggest a news conference to create public interest if we’re to find Father John.’

‘No chance! Just give us time, Nick. Mr Napier is in charge, remember, and he does know what he is doing. Our activities must be kept as low key as possible for a while longer. I can tell you, though, that the press is aware that something’s going on. We’ve had a call from a local freelance.’

‘So what did you tell him?’

‘Just what I’ve told you. Mr Napier said we were investigating the sudden death of an unknown man whose body was found in woodland. For a quote, he said, “At the moment, his identity is unknown and we are trying to establish his personal background. We do not suspect foul play but all the circumstances are being thoroughly investigated.”’

‘A good noncommittal quote!’

‘It is. Even I don’t know the whole story and I’m supposed to be running the murder room – but it’s easy to do as I’m told!’

‘Even with some kind of undercover work going on, we mustn’t dispense with the need to use our initiative! OK, I get the message. I’ll get back to Father John’s box of papers.’

‘That’s very important to this inquiry, Nick – you might turn up something!’

Now feeling slightly isolated on the periphery of the inquiry, Nick left the murder room with a disturbing feeling that he was involved in something he failed to understand. He returned to Father Will.

He found the bespectacled monk busy in the back room of the cop shop, with neatly arranged piles of paper on the floor around the small desk he was using.

There were some large clear plastic envelopes containing more
papers and Nick realized they were computer printouts. Settling on the chair beside the desk, Nick explained the most recent developments in the murder room, stressing the unexplained need for secrecy. Then asked, ‘Anything interesting here?’

‘I’m beginning to see daylight through this rather heavy fog,’ said Father Will. ‘We can ignore most of those old newspaper cuttings. They report the arrest of John Jacobson as he was then known, and provide a fairly comprehensive record of the trial that followed. That’s all public knowledge.’

‘The case attracted massive media coverage, if my memory is correct.’

‘The media went ballistic because the case involved two little girls and a friendly “uncle” who lived nearby. Not their real uncle, I hasten to add.’

‘Always a hot potato, Father Will.’

‘You don’t have to remind me – the monastic brethren went through hell at that time too. Everyone thought all monks and priests spent their time assaulting children. The actions of a rotten few caused intense problems for many.’

‘I’d left the force at that stage and John hadn’t become a monk but I could see how public perception of the truth was destroyed by ill-informed public knowledge. Gossip, in other words. It happens all the time. Anyway, that’s all in the past. We’ve got to concentrate on the matter in mind. What can you tell me?’

‘One matter that has emerged is that we know what happened in the girls’ home that night, even if it all occurred within a very few minutes.’

‘Surely that formed part of John’s defence?’

‘No, it didn’t. That’s the problem. These findings were never given in his defence; they were not revealed until later. I can save you a lot of time if I condense them into a few words.’

‘So this box of files is his real claim to innocence? Is that right?’

‘Yes. We’re good friends, Nick. In recent months, he has opened his thoughts and it was me who suggested he write it all
down, every tiny thing he could recall. Believe me, Nick, these papers could be dynamite if the press – or anyone else – got hold of them.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘John is innocent which means someone else killed those children. That is a very basic fact, and he knows who is guilty. His claim centres on three houses – John’s home was one of them and the other was next door, the house where the girls lived. The third was the off licence. The houses were part of a long terrace. Father John – who worked in the building trade – has produced some sketches which are among these papers.’

‘Accurate, are they?’

‘As accurate as possible. The trouble is we can’t examine any of those houses because they were demolished along with the entire terrace a few years ago to make way for a new road. I think you should examine these papers, Nick, to get a police overview. You might want to take them somewhere quiet.’

‘I’ll be happy in here, Father Will. You can look after the shop while I examine them, then you’ll be here if I want to ask any questions.’

‘You need to go through these piles here,’ and he indicated those he had separated from the bulk of the material. ‘They’re John’s own work. His sketches and comments. They’re important. If you take note of times and places quoted in the official statements, these will convince you that John could not have committed those murders.’

‘Wonderful! There’s one other thing, Father Will. There seems to be very little concern about Father John’s absence. After what you’ve told me, he’s clearly at great risk. Do you know where he is?’

‘To answer that specific question, the answer is no.’

‘I sense you know something you’re not revealing?’

‘John spoke to me in confidence, Nick, as a friend. Before he went to the hospital, so can we take this one step at a time, Nick. Please.’

‘You realize that his continuing absence is feeding a strong suspicion that he killed the man in the wood, and that he’s now on the run? His previous record adds to that! We can’t ignore his background even if it is untrue. It will be dynamite if the media find out, especially if they smell a cover-up.’

‘I’m aware of that, Nick, but let’s leave things as they are right now. Have a look at those papers then we’ll talk again.’

Father Will left Nick alone whilst he went to staff the counter of the cop shop. In the limited space of the back room, a somewhat worried Nick set to work.

‘W
HEN WILL
I be allowed to leave?’ Father John asked Sue.

‘When it’s safe,’ she replied. ‘And it’s not safe at the moment, please believe me, Father John. I’m doing this for your own good.’

‘How can I believe that? I was told to contact you and here I am, a prisoner, I’m locked in. And I know you have a gun.’

‘Which means others are locked out and I can protect you. That’s my job. You must believe me, Father, no one knows you’re here.’

‘Where am I? I couldn’t follow where you were taking me, all those taxis and the railway station, in and out of shops. I can’t attract attention, can I? We’re in some sort of high building. …’

‘It’s a fourth-floor flat,’ she said. ‘A safe house. We use it quite a lot. It’s not very salubrious but it is quite anonymous and very handy for the beach and shops if you’re here for any length of time. …’

‘Well, my windows look onto a brick wall and I’m staring all day into a yard. So what am I doing here? I thought I was going to hospital.’

‘You’re acting a good part, Father John. Putting me to the test, checking that I am honest and true … so I’m sorry about the deception. I had to find a way of getting you away from the monastery without people thinking you’d run off with a
woman! You’re safe here, Father John, for as long as it takes. I can tell you that you would
not
be safe carrying out your usual routine in and around the abbey, not at this moment. Believe me, this is for your benefit. You will be fully informed when it’s all over. For the time being, please trust me.’

‘I’m not sure what to think!’

‘It was necessary to fool you for some of the time, sorry about that. I know it must be hard, believing me after what has happened, but I assure you this is for your ultimate benefit.’

‘Is it to do with those child murders? You do have a look of that woman – their mum – but I don’t even know your name! I know nothing about you.’

‘I said you can call me Sue. It’s not my real name but I’ll respond to it.’

‘Are you in the police?’

‘Not the police.’ She smiled briefly. ‘But I’m not a criminal either.’

‘You’re not related to the Goddards, are you? You’ve such a look of Geraldine and I reckon you’d be about the same age.’

‘You ask too many questions, Father John. There is no need to know anything about me. I’m a mature woman, not a youngster looking for romance and excitement. I am looking after you, you have your own bedroom – small, I grant you, with not much of a view but it’s comfortable and quiet. And safe. The bathroom is adjoining, you have a TV, radio and books to keep you occupied – and there has been no broadcast about your disappearance. That is what I want. No news is good news so far as I am concerned. You are able to fulfil your priestly obligations. I shall not object to that or try to prevent you. And I shall ensure you are cared for and well fed. You will be comfortable and you will be safe. Consider yourself a lodger for the time being. When the proverbial coast is clear, I shall return you to Maddleskirk Abbey, safe and well, and no worse for your experience.’

‘How will I get back to Maddleskirk Abbey?’

‘I will see to that.’

‘Am I right in thinking no one but you knows where I am?’

‘Absolutely right.’

‘You’ve not rung the abbey to say I’m safe? Won’t they be looking for me?’

‘I’ve not been in touch and have no intention of doing so – calls can be traced, even from mobile phones. And yes, the police – and your colleagues – will be searching for you.’

‘Surely there has been something in the papers about my disappearance?’

‘I’ve not seen any reports, Father John, nor heard anything on the news. Maybe everyone thinks you’re in hospital? That’s not the least bit newsworthy!’

‘Maybe they don’t want to raise the alarm in case it causes more concern and undue publicity? I’ve been labelled a violent and evil man, Sue, but I am not. I shall not attack you or try to secure my release by violence. All I want to know is where I am, why am I here and when can I leave?’

‘As I’ve often said, you’ll be told everything in due course, rest assured.’

‘So what day is it? I’ve lost track.’

‘Tuesday. I have to go out soon to get some groceries so I’ll get you a newspaper. But as usual I shall lock you in.’

‘Even if you let me out to go shopping with you, I would not run away.’

‘I can’t risk that, and I can’t risk anyone recognizing you.’

‘If I really knew what was going on, I’m sure I could co-operate much more effectively if it’s all for my own benefit. …’

‘All in good time.’ And she left, locking him securely in his room, but he did have a kettle full of water, some milk, a mug and a jar of instant coffee. But no telephone and no views from which he could attract attention. He was prepared for a long solitary wait – after all, he’d had plenty of practice in prison.

If he really wanted to escape he could do so – he’d learnt a few tricks in prison. But at the moment he had no wish to do
that – he wanted to see this strange affair through to a successful conclusion.

In the rear of the cop shop at Maddleskirk Abbey, Nick had completed his examination of Father John’s files, re-checking several times as a means of properly understanding their import. John’s sketches of the interiors and exteriors of the houses showed something that the investigating detectives had clearly not considered relevant. Several lofts along the terrace of twenty-five houses had been linked – it was possible for a medium-sized person and certainly a child to crawl along the length of most of the terrace by using the lofts. Some householders had blocked that route through their own properties while others relied upon stoutly securing their loft doors to prevent access by burglars, trespassers and voyeurs.

In many Manchester streets of this type, burglaries and even rapes had been reported before those access routes had been made safe. Now the entire terrace with its two shops and houses had been demolished to accommodate a new road link with the A57(M).

From John’s very comprehensive notes, aided by his building experience and then clarified and computerized by Father Will, it became evident that Michael Goddard could have secretly crawled from the off licence via that extended loft and gained entry to his own house through the loft door, deliberately left unlocked. He could then have killed the girls in their beds and escaped by the same route. The question was how could he have secretly got into the off licence loft to make that trip? And why do so when he had access to his own house at all times?

Locked in his prison cell, John had relied upon his memory to recapture the scene and it had been his builder’s knowledge that reminded him of the extensive linked lofts. And he had recalled another important factor. Michael Goddard did not pop out to the off licence merely to obtain cans of beer – he had another reason.

On occasions he worked there in the evenings, stacking shelves and assessing the stocks to determine when or whether replacements were necessary. He also cleaned litter from the sales area and did other odd jobs. However, he was not paid in cash – the off licence did not generate much profit and in any case its owner did not want the hassle of formally employing someone, so Michael was paid in kind. His ‘wages’ would be cans or bottles of beer, lager, cider, stout or anything else he fancied. He was quite happy with that arrangement which helped to maintain his desired image of a family man with an ordinary house, wife and small family. That appeared to work and he’d always sought ways of earning a little extra cash for his family. The off licence was a modest help and he was sensible enough not to try stealing from it. John knew all this because he would often pop along to buy himself a few cans during the week.

What John had discovered was that the open lofts of that terrace of houses included the off licence but not the corner shop further along the street. Gossip in the locality had often talked of young thieves clambering along the lofts in the hope of descending into the off licence, but its owner, Stan Moore, was aware of the risks and kept his loft door firmly secure.

As a teenager, Michael Goddard had been one of those youngsters, so he knew the secret route from the off licence right along into his own home. If only his boss would forget to lock that loft door, Michael could have nicked enough booze to keep him going for years!

But the last thing Stan Moore always did before locking up was to check the loft door. He was sure no one would enter via that route when the shop was shut. John, living nearby, knew all about such goings on even if the murder detectives had failed to investigate that route. So had John told the investigating team about the loft during his questioning? The files did not answer that question. Later, sitting alone in his prison cell, John had struggled to recall the routine of the off licence and its customers, the work done there by Michael Goddard, and then the
precise sequence of events on the night of the murder. And he had written them all down, scratching out words that required amending when more trustworthy memories came to him. The governor and warders had allowed him paper and pens – he told them he was writing a novel and had promised a copy for the prison library when it was published.

Whilst working on his papers, John’s memory had been constantly stimulated. He recalled that fateful day over and over again. Geraldine Goddard had seen him in the street and asked if he would keep an eye on the girls that evening. This was a regular occurrence – the Goddards went out quite a lot and John, living on his own after his wife’s death, was happy to oblige. Geraldine had said she was going out with her sister to celebrate their birthdays and would be leaving the house at 7 p.m. She had added that Michael would be in the house until later in the evening when he would pop out to the off licence as usual, sometimes to work and sometimes to collect a pack of six beer cans. Or do both. He would give the curious signal to John as he passed his window – three sharp raps on the glass – to announce his departure.

It meant the girls would be on their own for a while as Michael worked, and John would go around to the house and sit with them, not in their bedroom but downstairs, until one or other of the parents came home.

If they went to bed, however, he would look in on the girls from time to time to make sure they were both all right. And that’s what he had done that night.

Since then, Father John had gone over and over those events, wondering how – and more recently why – he could have been wrongly accused of murdering the two little girls. That fateful afternoon, Mrs Goddard had asked him to sit with them, to which he had agreed. Firm to her promise, she had left the house at seven o’clock. John could not be sure of the precise time he’d heard the three raps on his window to announce Michael’s departure but it meant the girls were alone. John could pop in
whenever he wanted, just to make sure they were all right. He had a spare key.

However, another factor had crept in that night.

Stan Moore, owner of the off licence, had been ill with some kind of stomach problem. John had been told this by an old friend who had visited him in prison. Stan had asked a friend, a woman, to run the shop that evening – she’d done so previously and knew the routine. When Michael had turned up at the off licence, she might not have realized why he was there, hence her uncertainty about times. Michael would have told her he had come to do some work in the storage and sales areas, stacking shelves and so forth, a regular chore. Much of his work was out of her sight and she had left him to his own devices because it was evidently a regular job and he knew what he was doing.

John had reasoned that if Michael had been determined to kill the two girls – and John knew he was not their natural father – then he could have entered the loft above the off licence without that assistant’s knowledge and crept along to his own house to descend minutes later via his own prepared loft ladder to commit his crime. Likewise, he could have returned to the off licence to resume his work without the assistant being aware of his short absence.

And if he had said goodnight to the assistant before returning home, his alibi would be complete. She’d think he had been working in the off licence all that time.

As Nick studied the papers, it seemed that John’s interpretation of events was feasible, except for one important matter. Wouldn’t Michael and/or his clothing have been bloodstained? So could he have washed himself or removed his clothes before returning to the off licence? Or stripped off his clothes before killing them? And bathed afterwards? Had the police searched his house for bloodstains other than in the children’s bedroom? There was no record of such a search. Clearly the police did not suspect Goddard; although he had been interviewed for elimination purposes, his alibi withstanding their scrutiny. The
woman in the off licence stated he’d been there all evening until leaving for home and those times corresponded with Goddard’s discovery of John in the blood-soaked room.

Thereafter, all the suspicion had been directed against John, who was regarded as a secret paedophile who had violently silenced his victims.

So if Goddard had killed the girls, what was his motive? That had never been discussed – and there was nothing in John’s papers to suggest one – but it must have been a powerful one for even an evil man like Goddard to have committed such a dreadful act.

Nick recalled that John had thought someone else was in the Goddards’ house that evening when he was there – he thought he’d heard a toilet being flushed downstairs. Was Goddard then in his own house and had he flushed away some evidence? The police had found nothing. Or had Goddard disposed of bloodstained items and other evidence in the off licence waste bins?

As Nick read the papers, he knew John had a good case for an appeal or even a pardon. But, he reasoned, the innocence of Father John did not prove the guilt of Michael Goddard or his wife. Had someone else killed the children? If so, why?

Just as Nick reached the end of Father Will’s succinct summary, the little monk entered.