Confession at Maddleskirk Abbey Read online

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘It’ll take some time for my detectives to assemble; some are travelling long distances. North Yorkshire’s a big place! In the meantime, your monkstables can begin: they’ll be ideal for starting and following up local enquiries.’

  ‘We’d be delighted to help,’ said Father Alban.

  Barnaby indicated he would not be accompanying the others back to the cop shop. He had a business meeting with Claude Jeremiah Greengrass and so Father Alban drove the van back to base with Nick as sole passenger. They went immediately to the cop shop where Father Will Redman looked anxious and preoccupied.

  ‘Well?’ he asked with just a hint of impatience. ‘What’s the latest?’

  ‘It’s got all the hallmarks of a murder,’ Nick told him. ‘A man has been found dead at the foot of a cliff in Ashwell Priory woods apparently with stab wounds. He’s not far from the former holy well. Some local CID teams are there now, others are expected soon. Once they’ve completed their examination of the scene and the body, the victim will be taken away for a post-mortem. Once again, they’d like to establish their murder/ incident room in St Alban’s Lecture Theatre. We’ll be in the Postgate Room.’

  ‘That shouldn’t be a problem.’ Will produced a weak smile. ‘So how was the murder committed? You mentioned stab wounds?’

  ‘It’s not absolutely certain until the PM result but it looks like a deep wound in the neck at the lower part of the head at the rear. Mr Napier talked of gang warfare involving drugs; he reckons the wound could be a stab wound, a sort of criminal trademark.’

  ‘In this locality? Surely those are urban crimes. …’

  ‘Not any more!’

  ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘We’re not sure but the body looks fairly fresh. Yesterday, perhaps, or two days ago, but probably not earlier. There’s no decomposition.’

  ‘St Alban’s is not being used at the moment and it would be very convenient for Mr Napier and his officers. The abbot will surely agree. So is there any hint of the victim’s identity or whether he is linked to the abbey or college?’

  ‘We know nothing at the moment except it’s a white male probably in his thirties,’ replied Nick. ‘All his personal belongings have been removed – that’s another indication of a skilled criminal at work.’

  ‘Oh dear, this sounds ominous. Once we have the abbot’s consent for use of St Alban’s, the monkstables can help to set it up. And we shall use the Postgate Room as our own base.’

  ‘That will be fine,’ Nick agreed. ‘Mr Napier wants us to carry out local enquiries and we’ll be briefed very soon.’

  ‘I think we should update Prior Tuck.’ Father Will spoke softly. ‘He’s been notified of the death and is already preparing the Postgate Room for us.’

  ‘I’ll contact him there – I need to explain the latest about Father John, and you should all know too.’

  Everyone fell silent as Father Will explained the mystery surrounding Father John Attwood’s apparent disappearance, although he gave no hint that the missing monk had a secret. ‘We’re awaiting the result of a search of the entire hospital; he must be there somewhere.’

  ‘You’ll keep us informed?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Meanwhile, it’s time for our briefing,’ announced Father Alban.

  When most of the monkstables had assembled in the Postgate Room, the door burst open and in strode the massive bulk of Detective Chief Superintendent Roderick Seymour Napier. At about six feet six inches tall and of proportionate width due to his weight of seventeen or eighteen stone, his renowned feet, large and wide apart at the toes like the points of a clock showing ten minutes to two, carried him forward. As he waddled into the room, a waitress arrived and placed some coffee percolators on the table then departed. Napier’s eyes focused on Father Alban as he said, ‘Good morning, Reverend Constable. So we meet again. Is your boss here?’

  ‘Prior Tuck’s on his way but right now he’s briefing the abbot.’

  ‘You don’t waste time, I’ll grant you that! I thought I’d come here to formally appoint your monkstables to my team whilst explaining what we know already,’ he said. ‘Now, is that a coffee pot I see before me? I could murder a cup of hot strong coffee. We can do that while we wait for the others.’

  As more monkstables appeared in their smart police uniforms, a few detectives joined them, filling their cups and selecting chocolate biscuits, but there was no discussion about the murder in the woods. That would come later. The chatter was small talk about the weather, the influx of visitors over the summer months and the quieter times that had followed. Several referred to the ongoing building work at the far side of the abbey estate where new buildings – accommodation blocks, classrooms, laboratories and yet another library – were under construction. This work brought in hundreds of workers from all over Britain, some only on a very temporary basis even as short as one day, and others with more permanent posts.

  It meant the normally peaceful grounds of the abbey and college were now having to tolerate the non-stop buzz of machinery and the constant movement of personnel and vehicles. And a veritable host of murder suspects.

  Father Will did not attend the briefing because it was felt he should not leave the cop shop unattended. With the college busy with its autumn term, all the monks were settling down to their usual routine. Their summer retreats were over although some had been scheduled for autumn; all had had their holidays away from the monastery and all would be committed to their own individual tasks over the coming months. Among the commitments to be accommodated within their busy lives were the supervision of pilgrimages, spirituality courses, meditation sessions, lectures on a variety of Catholic teachings and those of other faiths along with some practical sessions such as a wine tasting, liturgical matters, a motor mechanics course, an art class, a computer seminar and the history of Easter in England. Christmas, one of their busiest times of the year, also lay ahead. As always, the monks would be fully occupied over and above the practice of their personal daily office and attendance at Mass. And there was always the need to rehearse their spiritual singing – in fact, they had just released a CD of Gregorian chants.

  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 t
able 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.’

  Chapter 4

  AS 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.’