Confession at Maddleskirk Abbey (4 page)

‘Where’s the famous wishing well in relation to this site?’ Napier asked of anyone who might be listening.

Nick pointed through the trees to a higher site. ‘A five-minute climb up there, Mr Napier,’ he said. ‘There’s a reasonable footpath. It’s a pond rather than a mere well or spring.’

‘On a hilltop?’

‘That’s right.’ Nick gave him a brief explanation.

‘Thanks, we learn something every day. We’ll need a look up there. A pond is a good place for hiding weapons and other evidence. So where’s the blood you mentioned?’ asked Napier of Sullivan, without bothering with polite formalities. ‘Show me.’

As the body’s head was carefully elevated, Napier looked at the back of the victim’s head.

‘There’s a lot of blood on the ground. Dead people don’t generally bleed but with this chap lying like this with his head lower than his carcase, I’d say much of it has drained away rather than being pumped out with his heartbeats. It looks like a deep puncture wound to me,’ Napier told Detective Sergeant Sullivan. ‘In the back of the neck. A deep round hole. Is it a bullet wound? Have you found a discarded firearm? Handgun, I’d guess. Large calibre if the size of that wound is anything to go by. Or discarded bullet cases? This undergrowth is dense enough to conceal a lot of stuff. Or is this a dagger wound?
Bayonet even? Recently there has been a spate of stiletto wounds in some parts of the country. Drugs barons at war and still using stilettos. A sort of trademark … they’re available if you know where to look. So we must find out more about this chap. We need to be sure who he is and how he died, and we need to find the weapon. I don’t think he died in a fall; those wounds suggest otherwise. I reckon he was dead before he landed at the bottom of that cliff.’

‘We searched the undergrowth but found nothing.’

‘So there’s nothing to show who he is or where he’s from?’

‘No, boss. Not a thing.’

‘Right, listen hard. I believe this is a high-priority case; it smacks of a very professional killing. When we’ve finished searching the scene, the next thing is to get this chap into the blood wagon and off to his post-mortem. It’s murder, Sergeant. No doubt about it. Probably killed up there and thrown off the cliff. Not the sort of killing you’d expect in such a quiet, remote place. If you want to know what I really think, I’d say this has all the hallmarks of a drugs-related gangland execution.’

T
HE UNACCUSTOMED ACTIVITY
in the college corridors, abbey precincts and now the woodland across the valley made Father Will feel very isolated in the cop shop. He needed something to take his mind off the woman’s confession, but he couldn’t stop wondering whether it had any connection with the body in the wood.

And then there had been another dimension, not part of that woman’s confession. She had whispered that she knew his secret. Except it wasn’t
his
secret – obviously she thought she was speaking to Father Attwood. So who was she to know Father John’s secret? That thought reminded him that Father John had not yet returned from hospital, neither had there been any news about him. He had not attended any abbey functions or meals since Saturday and no one had mentioned him or seemed particularly concerned. Had he been detained in hospital? Surely someone would know? The abbot or prior probably. He decided to try and find out.

He was aware that the woman’s confession would trouble him for the rest of his life. There was no one with whom he could discuss it, share it or from whom he could seek advice. In retrospect, he believed he had done everything he could and should have done. He had followed the rules in a difficult situation. And because the woman had expressed her contrition,
he’d had no option but to absolve her – there was nothing else he could have done.

Was her victim that man in the woods? But he must not think like that … she had confessed and it was all over. Finished. Completely finished. He must forget she had ever spoken to him, that she had ever confessed such a crime. But had she spoken the entire truth? She said she’d stabbed someone but suppose she had been
planning
to kill someone?

Could he have prevented that? He told himself once again that it was all over now. Forever.

But what about her parting comment? That had
not
been part of her confession, she had spoken the words
after
absolution, and so he felt he could question their meaning. And the logical thing was to ask Father John when he returned because the parting comment had been directed at him! It was very odd there had been no word either from him or the hospital. Surely the hospital had rung? Perhaps they’d contacted the abbot’s secretary? Maybe someone at reception had taken the call without thinking to inform the community? That was highly likely in a place as busy and as large as Maddleskirk Abbey and College and in any case, there was no requirement that Father Will or any of the other monks should be made aware of Father Attwood’s medical condition. With 120 monks in the monastery, one person could not know everything about each of them.

He began to wonder how he could trace the woman to ask about her knowledge of Father Attwood’s secret. Might she know where he was now? There was no need to tell anyone about his plan; he could do it quietly.

But first he had to check the whereabouts of Father John. He rang the prior’s secretary, who said the prior had been told of the death in the wood and was already in the Postgate Room preparing it for the monkstables’ inevitable role in the investigation. Will rang the prior on an internal line.

‘Tuck,’ responded the cheerful voice.

‘Father Will Redman,’ he announced, there being two Father
Wills in the monastery, both monkstables. ‘I’m in the cop shop, Father Prior. I’ve heard about the body in the wood, so I’m anxious to find out what happened to Father John after he was admitted to hospital.’

‘That’s worrying me too,’ responded the prior. ‘At my meeting with Father Abbot this morning, the matter of Father John was raised. No one has heard from him since Saturday night, when I believe you stood in for him at confessions.’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘I’ve checked at this end – certainly he was delivered to Scarborough Beach Hospital by our driver. He saw Father John being escorted away by a woman. The driver understood Father John was being shown to a specialist unit. It was to do with his prostate cancer – something had shown up in the analysis of a blood sample.’

‘So we know he got there. Has anyone rung the hospital to enquire about him?’

‘Yes, I did, but not until this morning. And there’s the problem. They’ve no record of him being there. The computers don’t record him being admitted as a patient on Saturday. In short, Father Will, they deny knowing anything about him or his whereabouts.’

‘That’s impossible! Or inefficient! We know he got there!’

‘Yes, I told them that and then I asked for a physical check – a body search in other words – of all the wards, corridors, side wards, waiting rooms, everywhere. That is underway as we speak. I’m awaiting a return call – my secretary knows where to find me.’

‘It’s a relief to know things are moving. I must say it’s odd he should vanish just before that body was found …’

‘He arrived at the hospital long before the body was found, Father Will. He went on Saturday evening and the body wasn’t found until this morning.’

‘But we don’t know
when
the man was killed, do we?’ persisted Will.

‘We don’t but I hardly think it was the work of a monk!’

‘I’m not suggesting he committed the murder, Father Prior, I am just getting the sequence of events straightened out in my head. I stood in for him during the confessions at six on Saturday evening whilst he went off to hospital. Since then, nothing! Except a murder. I must say I find that very worrying, very odd indeed.’

‘Let’s not read too much into this. Clearly there are matters to be clarified. Surely he must be in that hospital even if it claims to have no record of him. I trust they will carry out a full and proper search, not just relying on computers and files. They need to look into every likely hiding place … this is awful … truly awful.’

‘Didn’t the hospital telephone him to ask him to attend? Rather urgently?’

‘That’s what I understand, Father Will. I pray he is still there under care even if he is lying on a trolley in a corridor.’

‘Let’s hope so.’

And so Father Will returned to his duties in the cop shop, his mind in further turmoil. The problem was that Father Will, a close friend of John, knew that John
did
have a very, very dark secret. But how could that woman have known?

Nick, Barnaby and Father Alban were preparing to leave the scene of the death when Detective Chief Superintendent Napier hailed them.

‘Before you go,’ he shouted, ‘can one of you pave the way for us to use the theatre again? The one we used last time. It will be our incident room. The monkstables will be using the Postgate Room, it’s already being set up for them.”

‘I’ll let the abbot know what’s happened,’ said Father Alban. ‘I’m sure there’ll be no objection.’

‘There is one matter to remember, I recall it from last time I was here. This woodland does not belong to the abbey or college, so the murder has not been committed on their
property. For that reason, the abbey might not want us using their premises. Tell the abbot not to be afraid to say no. If necessary, I’m prepared to hire a suitable room locally. Funds are available.’

‘I don’t think there’ll be a problem,’ Father Alban assured him. ‘The crime scene is near enough to be of concern to the staff and monks. I’d say the abbot will do all in his power to help. I’ll inform him immediately.’

‘So who owns this woodland? Didn’t you tell me, Nick, last time we were here, that you’d inherited land and property hereabouts?’

‘That’s right, it belongs to me now. The necessary paperwork was recently completed. If I had a building that you could use, I’d willingly let you do so but my old stables are no good. There’s no power, water or security. No doors either!’

‘Fair enough. So have you plans for the property?’ asked Napier.

‘Nothing at the moment. I’m merely trying to come to terms with my inheritance. I don’t even know my benefactors. I’ve never heard of them or met them but understand they are relations from centuries ago. Some legal wizard traced their links to me. I’m honest when I say I have no idea what to do with my land.’

‘I hope it doesn’t become a burden.’

‘I’ll consider very carefully anything that’s associated with it,’ Nick assured him. ‘And now we must leave. We don’t want to hinder your work.’

‘I’ll need help from your fellow monkstables, Father Alban. The victim might be associated with the college or abbey, or could even be from the local district. Perhaps you could alert the abbot and then assemble all the monkstables so I can address them before I brief my own teams? They’re not all here yet.’

‘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.