Confession at Maddleskirk Abbey (16 page)

‘Finished, Nick?’

‘Just.’ He nodded. ‘And as you said, this does alter the situation somewhat even if there is no evidence to prosecute either of the Goddards.’

‘Father John suggested something else, Nick. He claimed Goddard had killed his wife’s two little girls because their father was a rival drug dealer who had double-crossed him. It was a most savage revenge but Goddard is known to have killed rivals, always without leaving any evidence to convict him. This was different. His revenge was to kill his rival’s
children
– without his wife knowing of his guilt.’

‘How did John come to know that?’

‘He was told by a fellow prisoner. That theory, as a powerful motive, was never investigated.’

D
ETECTIVE
C
HIEF
S
UPERINTENDENT
Napier welcomed Nick and Father Will into his cramped office, offering the monk the spare chair and Nick a stool.

‘This place isn’t suited for big men at big meetings,’ he said, grinning. ‘But it’s fine for small and short important meetings. So what have you got to tell me?’

‘Before I begin, Mr Napier, is there any further news of Father John?’ asked Nick.

‘Nothing very dramatic but there is something I can tell you,’ admitted Napier. ‘I’ll do this first because it’s relevant and could be termed our official line.’

‘You make it sound like some kind of devious plot!’

‘There are times when we’ve got to be devious if we want results, Nick.’ There was a thin smile on Napier’s lips. ‘This is one of those times. I want others – even my own staff – to believe the official line whilst keeping the true situation under wraps, if only for a while. I do have my reasons.’

‘This sounds complicated!’

‘It’s not as difficult as it seems and your police experience will have told you that such tactics are not uncommon. Anyway, the latest on Father John. We know he arrived at Scarborough Beach Hospital at the time he made known, but there he was met by a woman who hailed a taxi. It took them to Scarborough
railway station – and from there, we have no further information. I should add that we have no reason to believe he has come to any harm.’

‘You’re still searching for him?’

‘Officially we are. Our line is that we want to speak to the woman who met him and then hired the taxi. Local CID is chasing up that enquiry around Scarborough – without realizing it, they are spreading our “official” line.’

‘Has the taxi been traced?’

‘It has, and the driver’s been interviewed, but he can’t tell us much. He did say that the woman paid the fare before entering the railway station. From there, the trail goes cold. That is the official line. For your own information, Nick, I can say that Father John is safe and in hiding, and I can confirm he has not had a romantic rendezvous with that woman!’

‘So we say he was kidnapped?’

‘That’s the impression we want to give. By getting the local police to hunt for him in Scarborough, we are stirring up the local villains who want us off their backs, so some might also be looking for him, just to get some relief from being questioned. Word of that should reach our targets via some of those villains. It’s our way of announcing John is in Scarborough. That might attract the attention of people of interest to us.’

‘So how does this affect the murder of the man in the wood?’

‘No more progress on that one. We’ve a team researching the background of the victim now we know his name and his job. I am stifled by official secrets at the moment but the official version is that the reason for him being in this locality remains a mystery. The Met is also deliberately keeping quiet about it. In our case, we’re conducting detailed enquiries in and around the abbey and in nearby villages, using my officers and the monkstables as we try to establish any sightings. Apart from Greengrass’s sighting we’ve no other reports of him being seen before he died, with or without a companion. We want to continue the impression we have not had a breakthrough.
Meanwhile, to create something of a smokescreen, Inspector Lindsey and his team are still somewhere in the York area making a fuss about trying to trace the Goddards.’

‘So we are very busy, away from here?’

‘I am known for not hanging about, Nick! Whilst all this is going on, my officers are visiting criminals throughout the area, questioning them about their recent movements and so on. It’s a useful smokescreen. You can’t beat stirring the hornets’ nest from time to time! It’s a way of getting the criminal fraternity rattled – getting us off their backs by providing useful information about the Goddards.’

‘Your sting operation? The Serious Rumour Squad at work!’

‘That’s it, Nick! Things are a bit slow but it’s early days and we’re getting there. I remain optimistic. I’m not called Nabber Napier without reason! Usually, I get my man. Now, are you going to brighten my day with something good?’

Nick turned to Father Will. ‘Father Will has been doing some good work – over to you, Father.’

‘Thanks, Nick. Mr Napier, I’ve been through that box of papers we found under Father John’s bed.’

‘And have they produced anything interesting?’

‘I believe so.’ Father Will provided a detailed and very comprehensive account of what had been revealed, including a possible motive for Goddard killing the children. Napier listened intently, not interrupting but occasionally jotting notes on his pad.

When Will had finished, Napier asked, ‘Has anyone else seen these papers or had access to this information?’

‘Not to my knowledge,’ confirmed the monkstable. ‘Certainly not since we got possession of them. Father John had them under his bed, as you know, and since we obtained them, they’ve been locked in the cop shop. It’s secure; no one can enter unless the place is staffed.’

‘Those papers need to be kept very safe.’

‘I realize that but Goddard’s suggested motive is not in
writing in those files – it was something John told me.’

‘I can check with Manchester CID to see if there is any truth in that – they’ll have records even if there was no prosecution. Now we need to keep the papers and his computer very secure,’ Napier stressed. ‘And I mean
very
secure. They could be dynamite in the wrong hands. Now, Father Will, do you know of any attempts to break into any private apartments at the monastery? In fairly recent times.’

‘There are always people trying to get in, wandering visitors usually, who are keen to find out how the monks live. It’s just ill-mannered curiosity, we believe, mostly nothing malicious. Usually it’s nothing more than stupidity and rudeness. Nonetheless, we keep the entrance gate firmly closed at all times.’

‘That must be an inconvenience?’

‘Not really. The resident monks use a press-button code. It changes every day and we also have keys for our own rooms. The monks’ cell doors are very solid and each has a five-point locking system – there are some valuable pieces of sculpture and art work in our rooms. They’re owned by the abbey trustees, I might add, not by individual monks. We’re just the custodians. They’d be too tempting for dishonest collectors if they were displayed in our public corridors.’

‘Are you aware of any attempts to steal from the monks’ rooms? Particularly recently? Forced entries maybe but even devious ruses to get into the rooms?’

‘It has happened on occasions.’

‘I’m talking about forcible entries, Father Will. Break-ins. Criminal attempts. As burglars or vandals might use?’

‘I can’t recall such an attempt, Mr Napier. Apart from the internal security measures, none of the cells has windows that overlook the grounds or open onto anywhere that might be accessible by the public. Our ground-floor cells overlook the cloister which has one exit gate into the grounds, but that is always locked. We monks value our privacy. That gate has also a coded lock.’

‘You’re very up to date with your security measures! I must
come to have a look when I’ve a moment to spare.’

‘We owe it to the fact that, somewhere in this country, there is a retired police officer who has set up his own security business specializing in monasteries, convents, abbeys, cathedrals, churches and so forth. He understands the problems we face.’

‘So when did he make your monastery secure?’

‘Some time ago, seven or eight years at a guess.’

‘If I wanted to trace him for a chat, would that be possible? If so, how would I find him?’

‘You could find out who he was from either the procurator or the estate manager. I don’t know whether or not he is still operating.’

‘No problem, I’ll find him if I need to talk to him. Well, gentlemen, this is most interesting – and most useful. You’ve opened my eyes and presented some highly important evidence. What a blessing Father John talked to you and committed his thoughts and conclusions to paper.’

‘He and I are good friends, Mr Napier. We help each other. I should add that he has told me all about his past.’

‘All of it?’ Napier frowned.

‘Well, I can’t be sure of that, can I? But I’m sure he has told me as much as he wants me to know. About the murders, I mean. And the Goddards.’

‘That’s more like it.’ Napier then drew a deep breath as if he was going to unburden himself. ‘Now’s the time to level with you fellows,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘I’ve told you a little about our strategy but now I feel you should know more. I say that because I know I can trust you both. You must keep to yourselves what I am going to reveal to you now but I think it will help if you know this.’

Nick glanced at Father Will, who appeared to be somewhat puzzled.

‘We can keep secrets if that’s what you’re asking,’ responded Father Will.

‘As closely as you do in confession?’ asked Napier.

‘It’s something we learn to cope with in my profession.’

‘Me too,’ responded Nick.

‘When Nick joined the force, he would have to swear on oath under the Official Secrets Act that he can keep his mouth shut when he has to. Right, listen to this but don’t repeat it, not to anyone. There is much more than meets the eye so far as this murder is concerned, and that applies also to Father John’s disappearance. In view of what you’ve just told me, I believe you need to know more. Come along, we’re going for a walk, all three of us.’

‘Should Prior Tuck be informed of whatever you’re going to tell us?’ suggested Father Will.

‘It’s not necessary at this stage, Father Will. The fewer people who are aware, the better. I’m telling you because of your closeness to Father John. You especially, Father Will. What I’m about to tell you has direct links with him. Come along, fresh air beckons!’

Outside his office as they headed for the door of the murder room, he called over to Detective Sergeant Salkeld. ‘Just going for a bit of fresh air, Sarge, a tour of the grounds for a few minutes. Listen out for my phone.’

‘Right, boss.’

And so they walked into the balmy September sunshine as a warm breeze caused some colourful leaves to cascade from the maturing trees, and they blew across the well-tended playing fields and lawns to settle upon the pathways that skirted the edges.

‘I could live here,’ commented Napier. ‘It’s so calm and peaceful … not at all like working in a busy police station where there’s no time to stand and stare!’

‘We monks have a reputation for finding the most peaceful places on earth!’ said Will, smiling.

‘And that takes skill and foresight, Father Will. Now, is there somewhere we can sit and chat without attracting flapping ears? I want to tell you something that is both secret and important
because I think it will help us all. I might add that some of my senior officers are unaware of this.’

‘I’ll honour your trust in us,’ said Father Will.

‘Me too,’ promised Nick, adding, ‘There are seats around the cricket field, it’s quiet just now.’

‘Show me.’

As the trio approached, they saw a solitary monk in his long black habit with the hood raised to hide his facial features as he walked smoothly around one of the distant rugby football pitches, head bowed as if in deep contemplation or prayer. With the abbey church in the background, it would have made an atmospheric photograph and so engrossed was the monk that he appeared totally unaware of their presence. He had been walking there in large circles around the circumference of the pitch long before they arrived and Napier felt he was far enough away not to overhear their conversation.

In any case, he was walking away from them – quite anonymous.

‘Who is that? Any idea?’ Napier asked Father Will.

‘Not a clue, I’m sorry. We all look alike when we’re dressed up like that! We look like hoodies! We don’t wear our habits with hoods up – cowls in other words –when we’re in public places, except inside a church. Not many people know that.’

‘It’s a very effective disguise,’ commented Napier. ‘Is he saying his prayers or working out a strategy for winning at rugby football during this new season?’

‘Probably both,’ replied Will.

They reached a seat well away from the cricket pavilion and nets, then settled down. Both Father Will and Nick waited in silence as Napier gathered his thoughts and the hooded monk disappeared among the pavilion and changing rooms.

‘I don’t need to go into the details of John’s life and his conviction for an appalling murder of two little girls, you know all about that. However, since getting involved in this inquiry, I have spoken to the chief constable of Greater Manchester Police
whose officers investigated the murders and to the governors of HM Prisons at Full Sutton in Yorkshire and Armley in Leeds where John served his sentence. I consider it to be of concern that all have expressed doubts about John’s guilt.’

‘I understand he couldn’t be released on parole until he admitted his guilt?’ said Nick.

‘That’s about it.’ Napier nodded. ‘While locked up, it would have been most difficult for him to arrange a retrial or defend himself; none of his papers would be confidential, the warders would search everything. He had no privacy.’

‘But he did confess to the crimes in the end,’ Father Will added. ‘It was a means of gaining some semblance of freedom. He has been out of prison for about ten years and a monk for around three. He is still bound by the conditions of his parole licence and needs professional advice and help if he’s going to do battle with the courts and the appeals system.’

‘John’s predicament involves more than that,’ Napier told them solemnly. ‘To speak as if I was a policeman giving a quote to the press, I will say, “I have reason to believe that John’s life is in great danger”. And that is what concerns me, and why I think you should know. You’ve probably worked that out but I’m making it official. We must remain alert to the possibility of the danger coming from the real killer of children, gentlemen.’

‘You’re accusing Michael Goddard of murder, even without a trial?’ asked Nick.