Confession at Maddleskirk Abbey (5 page)

Then Prior Tuck arrived.

‘Now then, Friar Tuck,’ boomed Napier with a mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘Been to consult Robin Hood, have you?’

‘Yes, I got him sorted out, then I sharpened his arrows but suggested he should be careful not to shoot himself in the foot,’ said Prior Tuck, smiling, well accustomed to jokes about his name.

‘So what news do you bring?’

‘The abbot is aware of the murder investigation and is happy that you should use St Alban’s as your incident room or murder room, whatever you want to call it.’

‘That’s what I wanted to hear. More teams are on their way so now I can assemble them and their equipment.’ He dragged a mobile phone from his pocket and prodded a few buttons with his thick forefinger. Then he spoke into it. ‘Brian, we’ve got the go-ahead for the premises we used last time at Maddleskirk Abbey, St Alban’s Lecture Theatre. Make sure our teams find their way there. Some will be fetching equipment, computers, desks and so on.’

‘Right, we’ll cope,’ said Inspector Lindsey, and all could hear his amplified responses.

‘I’ll address them as soon as they’re all here. I don’t want them hanging around doing nothing. By then we should know more than we do now. Got all that?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Then he shoved his phone back into his pocket and addressed
the monkstables. ‘That was Detective Inspector Brian Lindsey who will be in charge of the murder room. Most of you have already met him. Right, Friar Tuck, it’s time for me to address your merry men. Has everyone got a coffee? If not, organize a refill. Sit down, all of you. Make the place look tidy. And listen carefully.’

As everyone took their seats, the big man paddled around the room, reminding some observers of a seal trying to walk, then he stood at one end of the table and said, ‘Right, ears pinned back! Not for the first time, I want to make use of your special skills and knowledge and that means you are part of my murder team. You might know that police forces are now making wider use of private security organizations, even in murder enquiries and other major crime investigations. You are all sworn constables; you are police officers so never forget that.

‘Now, up in that woodland not far from the wishing well or holy pond or whatever you might call it, is a dead man. At this point we don’t know who he is, where he is from, how he died or when he died. We’ll know more when the post-mortem is complete. That is underway as I speak. Also underway is a forensic examination of the scene. We’ve no idea what we might discover near where the body was found or in the wider woodland. A weapon, hopefully. If it’s hidden, we’ll find it even if it’s in the holy pond. And we might find something that will tell us chummy’s name, where he’s from and how he got there. Did he fall or was he pushed? There’s a cliff overlooking the crime scene. Lots of questions to answer.’

He paused to allow his words to sink in, then continued, ‘Identifying the victim is vital and that’s where you come in. Ask around the college, the abbey and even the neighbouring villages to see whether a local man is missing – I’ll issue a more detailed description eventually but we can get started now. He is about thirty years old, white skin, six feet tall or thereabouts with black hair and an athletic build. Dressed in a dark green T-shirt and blue jeans. That might be enough to be going
on with but remember he could be a member of staff, a relation of someone working or living nearby. Someone from that construction site in the grounds. Or someone with absolutely no connection with the abbey, college or surrounding villages. A tourist perhaps? But whoever he is, or wherever he’s from, someone must have seen him. We – you, that is – have to find that someone to see what he or she can tell us.’

He paused again for them to absorb his words, then resumed. ‘Ask whether anyone saw him in the last couple of days or so. In these large grounds? Elsewhere? Alone or with someone? I don’t think his body was carried up there. That would be almost impossible even for a team of two or three. I think he was killed nearby and his body dumped or thrown off that cliff with all identifying evidence removed.’

After another pause, he continued, ‘Based on my experience plus some recent criminal intelligence, we’re talking of professional villains, gentlemen. Gang warfare. Drugs related, more than likely. All the signs are there. I’m aware that such crimes are out of your league but you ought to be aware of them to understand what we’re up against. In this case, a ritual-style stabbing is not out of the question. I am aware there have been several undetected murders elsewhere in Britain but this kind of stabbing was used in some of them. It’s a sort of trademark but the killers have never been brought to justice even if some of us know who they are. Knowing who they are but finding the necessary evidence to support our belief is not always possible. Wounds can be made with all sorts of weapons but this is deep and narrow – think of a stiletto. That’s a dagger with a long tapering blade, once highly fashionable. You can still buy Italian ones on the internet, some concealing their blades like flick-knives. Some call them switchblades. Or it could be a bayonet. So, gentlemen, this is what I want. High priority! I want the victim named. I want the weapon traced. I want to know who has been tramping or visiting those woods in recent days. Why were they there? I want to know if you were aware
of anyone arguing or being violent to each other. I want to know who enters that wood or climbs up to the wishing well regularly – dog walking perhaps, bird watching, just exploring. I want names of anyone who might have noticed something out of the ordinary. And I must be made aware of any illegal use of drugs hereabouts – even among pupils and staff. My detectives are assembling and will be briefed to undertake specific actions but as you are here now, we can begin our part of the investigation. Shall we meet back here at 1.30, after lunch? I know lunch is a fixed feast for you monks and I don’t want to disrupt your routine more than necessary.’

He paused for a few seconds, then concluded, ‘Friar Tuck will allocate your actions. Any questions?’

No one spoke.

‘It all sounds fine to me, quite within our range of commitments,’ said Prior Tuck.

‘Good. Then get among the people right now. Find out who was staying here over the weekend. Be guided by Friar Tuck and meanwhile the county police and other forces will be told to search their records for a missing person who answers the description of our victim. That will be a nationwide check, by the way, thanks to computers. He could be someone who has wandered in here looking for the rest and refreshment for which the Benedictines are renowned. And don’t overlook the drugs angle. Right, I’ll see you all later. If you want me, I’ll probably be in the St Alban’s Lecture Theatre, otherwise Inspector Lindsey will know where to find me.’

As Napier was preparing to leave the room, one of the monks hailed him.

‘Mr Napier, before you go, there is something else you should know.’

‘And you are?’

‘Father Will Stutely. There are two Father Wills here, the other is staffing the cop shop. Shall I tell him or will you, Father Prior?’

‘You go ahead,’ agreed Prior Tuck.

‘Fire away,’ invited Napier.

‘One of our monks is missing.’

‘Missing?’

‘Since Saturday. He asked the other Father Will to hear confessions. …’

‘You mean folks still come and confess voluntarily?’

‘Indeed they do!’

‘Well, blow me! In my profession we have to drag confessions out of villains whilst hindered by rules and regulations … mind, I don’t think you’ll get many folks confessing to murders and such! Sorry to interrupt. Tell me about this monk.’

Father Will told his story, culminating with, ‘Father Prior has persuaded the hospital – Scarborough Beach Hospital – to carry out a physical search of the premises, but according to hospital records, he never arrived and was not registered as a patient.’

‘But you say he went to Scarborough Beach Hospital on Saturday evening? And got a lift there?’

‘Yes, he was delivered at the hospital by one of our official drivers who then returned to the abbey.’

‘And since then no word from him, or about him?’

‘Nothing.’

‘This is most odd and very intriguing,’ grunted Napier. ‘A monk goes missing shortly before a body is found in local woods. Ask yourselves this, reverend gentlemen – has he done a runner? Is he responsible for that death? Is that why he has fled the scene? Does he know something we should know? The coincidence and timing fit our story, don’t they? In my job dealing with criminals, the whole thing stinks! And the location fits. In short, we need to find that monk – and quickly!’

No one responded.

‘Well,’ said Napier. ‘The first thing I would say is we must carry out our own physical search of that hospital! It’s no good relying on the staff, they’ve other things to do and they’ll never do a proper search anyway. It’s our duty because we have to
regard the missing monk as a murder suspect. That means finding him and quizzing him closely. I’ll get two Scarborough detectives to search the hospital immediately.’

‘Let’s hope we find him,’ sighed Father Will.

‘If we can’t, nobody can. So tell me his name. And have we got a decent description?’

‘He’s Father John Attwood,’ Prior Tuck told him.

‘John Attwood?’ Napier frowned. ‘That name rings a bell somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind. For some reason drug dealing come to the surface of my thinking. Can someone tell me about this man? Is John Attwood his real name or his monk’s alias?’

‘His real name but here he is known as Father John,’ confirmed Prior Tuck. ‘He joined the monastery rather late in life. He’s a widower, a mature man of about sixty-five, nearly six feet tall, grey hair thinning a little on top, well built, a very nice person. He’s a retired builder. When he left here, he would be wearing a dark grey clerical suit and dog collar, not a monk’s habit.’

‘Easy enough to spot in a hospital then? Unless he’s wearing hospital pyjamas. Right, leave this with me. We’ve got a lot going on already so pending any changes I’ll see you all this afternoon and will update you then. If you learn anything new, let me know. I’ll get my teams to carry out an investigation into his past which could be relevant. So, Friar Tuck, can I leave the organization of the local searches to you?’

‘Of course. We’ve done it before!’

‘Then we all know what we’re doing. Right, let’s get started.’

A
S THE MONKSTABLES
began their tasks, Nick was directed to the Maddleskirk Abbey Retreat Centre (MARC), more popularly known as The Grange. It had once been a large country house of that name but upon the death of its last owner it had been purchased by the abbey trustees. It was ideal as an accommodation centre for people on retreat. It was rather like a small hotel with all the necessary facilities and was always busy with visitors.

The lady in charge was Mrs Ruth Morley, a very capable woman in her mid forties. Tall, dark haired and dressed in her smart blue and white uniform, she acted as receptionist, secretary and general overseer, and it was widely acknowledged that all areas of The Grange were clean, comfortable, efficient and welcoming – and the food was good! Its cheerful and efficient atmosphere was due undoubtedly to the dedication and capabilities of Mrs Morley. When Nick arrived she was working in her office, which adjoined the reception area. She rose with a smile as he approached the counter.

‘Ah, Nick.’ They had known one another for several years. ‘How can I help?’

She was aware of his part-time role with the monkstables and was always very keen to help him with his special responsibilities.

‘A man has been found dead in those woods just across the valley,’ he explained. ‘He was off the beaten track high among the trees at the foot of a cliff, not far from the old holy well. It wasn’t an accidental death, Ruth, he had a wound that suggests murder. Some CID are already there. The murder room is based in St Alban’s Lecture Theatre and I’m helping the monkstables who are trying to establish his identity and movements.’

‘Oh my goodness! Not another murder here …’

‘We’ve no plans to make this the murder capital of Yorkshire!’ he responded. ‘But the death is being investigated and the police are trying to identify the victim. I’m wondering whether he might have been staying here on retreat?’

‘Which one? We’ve had two retreats recently. One was during last week and it finished on Friday afternoon. The other was during the weekend, assembling Saturday morning with people staying overnight till Sunday and dispersing at five o’clock.”

‘It’s possible the victim was one of your residents. Without his name, all we have to go on is a description. Will that help?’

‘You can always try!’

‘He’s a young white man about thirty with dark hair, casually dressed in a dark green T-shirt and blue jeans. He’s about six feet tall – that’s all we know at the moment, we’ve no photos. That could describe thousands of young men. The problem is that he had nothing in his pockets that would help to identification of him. No wallet or rucksack, nothing. He wasn’t even wearing a watch.’

‘Well, I can tell you straightaway he wasn’t on the weekend retreat. They were all women of varying ages – sixteen up to sixty, I’d guess, but we don’t keep details of our guests’ ages! I’ll get the file for last week’s arrivals – we had a dozen, male and female, with quite a lot of young people among them.’

‘That sounds promising.’

‘Give me a second. Come into my office. There’s a chair.’

She lifted some papers from a cabinet and then found the relevant file on her computer.

‘We combine the old and new,’ she explained. ‘Some guests don’t have computers so we use snail mail but most of the young ones now book online.’

‘Computers are taking over the world!’ Nick joked.

‘Well, so long as it’s for the better. Right, I’ll do a computer printout for you. The CID will need it, won’t they? To check names?’

‘They’ll want details of everyone who has stayed here recently,’ he agreed. ‘It’ll mean a physical check to see if they all got safely home. Obviously, those who were on these premises during last weekend are of special interest – they’ll need to be eliminated from the inquiry. And of course, they might have noticed our man whilst they were here. CID will need to talk to them all.’

When he ran through the list of names she could not confirm that any of the young men fitted the description of the murder victim. She recalled one with ginger hair, one who was prematurely bald and a third who was very much overweight.

‘So are these people on the premises the whole time?’

‘Oh no, we take them to visit various locations, using abbey mini-coaches. As you know, we’re surrounded with lots of ruined abbeys, all with a long Catholic history that is largely ignored or overlooked, and there are also modern convents and abbeys like ours. The Marian shrine at Osmotherley is always popular as is Egton Bridge through its association with the martyr, Nicholas Postgate, with Ampleforth Abbey always on our list of places to visit with its fine tearoom and shop.’

‘You’ll be rivalling the Holy Land next!’

‘Well, it’s true that all those places provide a great deal of spiritual interest to people who join our retreats. Sometimes we take them to the seaside at Sandsend, Whitby or Scarborough where they can walk along the beach with a monk to contemplate upon what they have been told. Those beach pilgrimages work very well and we also take some up to our moorland with its own religious history. We try hard to give them a varied
perspective on their ancient faith and its long, turbulent and troubled history in this country.’

‘It’s a blessing someone does that! If you can provide a printout of these names, I’ll give them to Detective Inspector Lindsey for his teams to work on. Thanks for your time, Ruth.’

‘Always pleased to help, Nick. You’ll keep me informed?’

‘Of course, and if you recollect anything that could be relevant, let me know.’

When Nick entered the murder room, detectives were arriving from those police stations nearest Maddleskirk Abbey. Detective Inspector Lindsey was dividing them into teams of two, allowing a mix of men and women, each comprising a detective sergeant and a detective constable. He was allocating ‘actions’ to those who had arrived. An action was a specific task which they should investigate and then record the results in the ever-expanding computer files of the murder room.

Periodic conferences would ensure that the entire assembly knew the outcome of all the actions. Simple devices such as blackboards and whiteboards displayed the essential data: ‘Victim – white male about thirty years old, dark hair, six feet one inch tall, dressed in dark green T-shirt and blue jeans. Identity not known. Believed to have been killed before his body was dumped.’

There was an additional note that said: ‘NB. Cause of death may be a head injury to rear of skull – PM confirmation awaited. Weapon could be a firearm but more probably a stab weapon –
not found at scene
. It must be traced and preserved for forensic examination.
There could be a drugs or gangland link
. Location of body: near base of cliff in woodland to the east of the footpath leading through Ashwell Priory woods to the wishing well on the hilltop. This former holy well is now a pond on the hilltop and it is currently off limits to all except SOCO.’

The whiteboards and blackboards could be easily amended as the situation developed and they provided a simple but vital
aide memoire
for the teams.

There would be a full briefing once everyone had arrived.

‘Got something for us?’ asked Brian Lindsey as Nick entered.

‘Not a lot,’ he admitted, handing over the list of names. ‘These people were on retreat at The Grange last week and this weekend but Mrs Morley doesn’t recognize the victim as one of them.’

‘We’ll check all the names, thanks. If the victim isn’t on these lists, his killer might be! Or these people could have seen something suspicious going on. We’ll interview them all. So what are your plans?’

‘I was wondering about those construction workers on the building site? Some have been here for months and look like being here for a long time. So could the victim – or the murderer – be one of them?’

‘We’ve got them in mind, Nick. I’ve despatched two teams to the site to commence enquiries. The problem with large construction companies is that workers come and go at a bewildering rate, often unknown to anyone except a secretary in one of the site offices. Worse still, some are itinerant workers looking for jobs that pay cash, staying only for a day or two then moving on before the authorities find them. And some use false names! But we’re on to it. If one of the men has gone missing, we’ll find out but it’s amazing how many John Browns, Bill Smiths, Teddy Bears and Mickey Mouses work on such projects! Anyway, we should know the result of the PM soon, that’s bound to help us.’

‘So where are the monkstables? Do you know?’ Nick asked.

‘Checking staff and students in buildings around the campus, asking if they’ve seen the victim. That’ll take some time. They’re asking if any member of staff hasn’t turned up for work or whether anyone has noticed unusual activities here, particularly as they might involve drugs. After all, there are a lot of students here.’

‘I’ll go back to the Postgate Room, Brian. I’m sure there’s something I could be doing.’

‘If you’re out of a job, we could always use your skills as a statement reader, Nick. You know what’s required?’

‘I do. I worked in several murder rooms when I was in the job.’

‘Well, don’t be afraid to join us. We know you well enough to co-opt you on to the inquiry. There’s always work waiting in here. But go to your own conference room to see how things are going, and keep in touch.’

The statement readers’ work was vital to the success of a murder investigation. As the teams questioned potential witnesses, all their statements were written down and then processed by computer in the murder room. This meant that names, timing, vehicles and other salient details were abstracted and recorded in a master file on a dedicated computer. This enabled detailed cross-checks to be made and possible links established, thus providing fuel for further enquiries.

Nick decided to call at the cop shop to update Father Will on what Napier had revealed. He would also check whether Father Will had received any more news or information. Then he would go to the Postgate Room to await the eventual return of the monkstables. If there was no one around and nothing to do, he might go home. DI Lindsey’s offer to employ him as a statement reader was very pleasing but, in view of the lapse of time since leaving the force, he felt that modern detectives with up-to-date equipment would be far more useful. They knew how to abstract every possible piece of evidence from statements and how to develop enquiries from what had been revealed. They had a deep understanding and professional knowledge of the police computer network, mobile phones, ATMs, credit cards and other sophisticated methods that could help in tracing a person’s movements and whereabouts.

When he arrived at the cop shop, Father Will was working on the computer and had left the door standing open as a means of encouraging people to enter.

‘Ah, Nick.’ He smiled. ‘Any developments?’

‘Nothing dramatic. The murder teams are assembling and already the first are busy with enquiries. The monkstables are out and about the campus, trying to get a name or sighting of the victim whilst also checking for staff absentees. We’ve not heard from the pathologist so we don’t know the official cause of death.’

‘Was he stabbed?’ As he asked the question, Father Will suddenly blushed and covered his mouth with his hand. He looked very flustered. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that! Forget I asked, Nick. Please.’

‘We haven’t had confirmation from the post-mortem yet but Mr Napier believes it could be a stab wound at the base of the skull. It’s a trademark of some gang executions linked to drugs. Can I ask why you asked that question?’

‘It was nothing, I was being silly …’ But his demeanour and the embarrassment on his face told Nick something was wrong and that it was troubling him deeply. ‘Forget I asked that, Nick. Please. You must forget I asked that question. It’s of no consequence.’

Father Will seemed to be getting himself deeper and deeper into some kind of mental turmoil and Nick felt he should offer help, especially if it was connected to his monkstable work.

‘If it’s bothering you, you can tell me in confidence,’ Nick offered. ‘If it’s connected to this murder, we need to know, whatever it is.’

‘I can’t say any more, I’ve said too much already,’ the monk insisted, still looking highly agitated. ‘Look, Nick, please ignore what I’ve just said. I must have overheard someone talking about a stabbing. People are talking, you know, about the murder. Word has got around already so I must learn to keep my mouth shut and not repeat gossip.’

‘We can all be guilty of that!’ Nick tried to make light of whatever was worrying Father Will but he could see it was causing deep concern. He tried to look him in the eyes but Will did not meet his gaze, turning his eyes away and licking his lips like a
child trying to conceal some misdemeanour.

‘Sorry, Nick,’ was all he said.

‘All right. I’ll say no more, Father Will. But you know I’m always here if you need to talk. I mean that. In confidence, of course. There are times police officers are rather like confessors—’

‘Thank you.’ The monk cut off the end of Nick’s sentence.

With some reluctance, Nick left the cop shop, leaving Father Will alone with his worries. He walked slowly through the deserted corridors of the mighty abbey church towards the Postgate Room, wondering whether Father Will knew the murder victim had died by stabbing. If so, how could he know that? And would it be connected with Father John’s disappearance? Was there some kind of mischief going on within this monastic place of peace?

In the background were sounds of the monks’ choir rehearsing Psalm IV which they would later sing at Compline; the huge abbey church was filled with their singing and organ music. On the surface, everything seemed at peace – but that was far from the case. A man had been murdered very close to the abbey and one of the monkstables appeared to be deeply troubled while another monk had disappeared. Nick walked into the deserted Postgate Room and made himself a cup of coffee as the sound of monks’ distant singing created an air of unreality.