Confession at Maddleskirk Abbey (7 page)

‘I don’t know, but I guess the whole world of nastiness is confessed in there, Mr Napier.’

‘Even murders?’

‘Even murders,’ Nick agreed.

‘Can you show me the interior of that cubicle? I’ve never examined one of these before today. Never had the need.’

As there was no one in the abbey church except the monk now playing the ‘Miserere mei’, Nick led Napier to the door and opened it. As he did so, a small electric light illuminated the interior of the confessional, about the size of a public telephone kiosk. By holding the door open, they could see the kneeler in front of the far wall and the small grille above it, at head level for someone on their knees.

‘A tight squeeze for a chap like me,’ said Napier, grinning. ‘How often is it cleaned?’

‘Once a week I guess,’ was all Nick could answer. ‘To be honest, I’ve no idea. Why do you ask?’

‘I was thinking it’s a good place to hide stolen goods … you know, she nicks stuff from the school shop, hides it while she makes her confession, then leaves it to collect later. See, there’s something under the kneeler, shining in the light.’

‘Most folks would never think of looking in here for stolen property,’ Nick began.

‘I’m not most folks, Nick.’ He stepped in to lift up the kneeler. There was a lot of dust beneath it but that didn’t interest him as he stooped for a closer look. He placed the portable kneeler outside and then bent closer to examine an object that Nick could not see.

‘You’ll never guess what I’ve found here, Nick.’

‘Sweet papers? Drinks bottles? Umbrella?’

‘No, something much more interesting. A stiletto dagger.’

‘D
ON’T TOUCH IT
!’ snapped Napier.

Nick was at a loss for words. He wondered where the stiletto had come from, how long it had been there and who had left it; all inane questions but all desperately important. But the most important – was it the murder weapon? – could only be answered by scientific examination. Had the man in the woods been killed with that stiletto and if so how had it come to be hidden beneath the kneeler in a confessional?

For several long silent moments Napier stood as still as a rock with his chin in one hand as he stared the stiletto, sometimes stooping down for a closer look at tiny objects he’d spotted among the dust, but not touching anything.

‘This could be what we’re looking for. This entire area must be cordoned off. The confessional is out of bounds from this moment, except to Scenes of Crime officers. It’s a crime scene now. Guarding it is a task for your monkstables in uniform. I’ll set things in motion right away. We need to wrap this place in yellow tape, lock the south door and prevent access until I say otherwise. We need to go through the dust and debris in the confessional, check every inch of it for possible fingerprints and DNA deposits, then examine the CCTV film especially where people are queuing to tell their priest how naughty they’ve been and how many murders they’ve committed.’

‘Does it mean we have to close the entire abbey church?’

‘I can’t see that’s necessary; this is the area that concerns us. Now, while I call the murder room to get things moving, you go and lock that south door. I see there’s a mighty bar inside that will secure it, just like the good old days when church doors were strong enough to keep an army out.’

‘No problem.’

‘Then if you want to be helpful, can you call your cop shop and arrange for a couple of uniformed monkstables to come and stop inquisitive visitors entering this south transept from inside the church whilst it’s a crime scene. You’ll need to tell the abbot as well. I can’t see him being very pleased that we’re going to cordon off part of his church.’

‘He’ll understand,’ was all Nick could think of saying.

While Napier was making his arrangements, Nick felt it would be a quick and simple matter to walk to the cop shop and recruit a couple of monkstables for security duties.

‘I’m going to the cop shop to find a pair of monkstables,’ he told Napier.

‘Do that, then come straight back here, Nick. And don’t tell anyone what we’ve found here, not yet. Leave that to me. The element of surprise can sometimes prove useful. I’ll guard this place for the time being.’

As Nick left, he heard Napier’s loud voice saying into his mobile phone, ‘Napier here, Brian. I’m in the south transept of the abbey church. I’ve found something that could be evidence. We need to cordon off the transept, not the whole church, and we’ll need SOCO here, and the photographer. A full crime scene examination is necessary. Your teams will need to use the north entrance to the church, I’ve locked the south door. I’ll be waiting inside to explain things.’

‘Understood, boss. I’ll see to it now.’

Father Will was still staffing the counter of the cop shop and showed signs of nervous anxiety as Nick approached.

‘Father Will, can you find a couple of uniformed monkstables for me? There should be some in the grounds on those earlier enquiries. Can you divert them from their current task and ask them to come immediately to the south transept but not via the south door, it’s locked.’

‘Yes, yes, of course, Nick. It’s no problem. Can I ask why they are required?’

‘Detective Chief Superintendent Napier has found what might be evidence in the murder investigation. He wants to secure the entire scene.’

‘That’s where the confessional’s located.’

‘It is, Father, yes.’

‘Can I ask what he has found?’

‘We’re not sure yet.’ Nick told a white lie. ‘It has to be forensically examined but it might not be linked to the murder.’

‘Will he want to talk to me?’

‘I’m sure he will in view of the fact you replaced Father John Attwood. He might want to know whether you noticed anything curious or anyone behaving strangely on Saturday evening. I should say that he hasn’t told me this – this is my own reading of the circumstances.’

‘Well, I’ll help all I can, you know that, but equally you know I can’t say everything. …’

‘Yes, I understand, but I think Mr Napier is finding that difficult.’

When Nick returned to the south transept a team of detectives had arrived and were placing yellow plastic ribbons across the entrance from the nave. They formed a very effective barrier and soon afterwards two uniformed monkstables – Fathers John Little and Mutch Miller – arrived. Their instructions were simple: they had to prevent any unauthorized person entering the crime scene.

Nick stood outside the tape barrier, hoping to catch Napier’s eye as further Scenes of Crime officers arrived to be briefed. Eventually Napier spotted him and came across to speak.

‘There’s nothing for you here, Nick. It’s all down to our scientific wizards but I do want a word.’ He pointed to the name-plate beside the confessional. ‘You told me that this monk had swapped with another on Saturday evening? Father Will?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And we’ve still no word about the disappearance of Father John. I’ve still got officers searching the hospital in Scarborough but so far with no luck. But they’re a good team, they’re searching every niche and every likely hiding place even though the hospital authorities continue to deny he ever arrived.’

‘We know he arrived; the official driver confirms that.’

‘Yes, but did he actually go into the hospital? The hospital insists no member of staff telephoned to call him in. If that’s true, who rang him? Someone did. And where from? And why? Or has he made up the whole story? That missing monk is exercising our minds, Nick – we can’t overlook the fact he’s in the frame for the murder. Can you go and have a word with the driver who delivered him? Just to make a double-check that he is absolutely sure Father John went into the hospital?’

‘I’ll do it now.’

‘It goes without saying that I’ll need to talk to Father Will. He might recollect someone placing something on the floor of the confessional. What happens to stuff that is left in there? Handbags, umbrellas, books or whatever?’

‘They’re taken to reception: there’s a cabinet for found property so that losers can reclaim their belongings. Most of the stuff does get reclaimed.’

‘But not a hidden stiletto, I suspect. Especially if it’s a murder weapon. I’ll have a word with those in reception to see if anyone’s ever left other dangerous objects. I’d no idea these voluntary confessions could be so productive! It makes me think we should examine every confessional after every set of confessions. … Who knows what we might turn up!’

‘I’ll bet there aren’t many stilettos, Mr Napier!’

‘One’s enough to be going on with.’

And so Nick left him and went to have a chat with the driver. It was a five-minute walk across the grounds to the transport department, with its four drivers, two full-time mechanics and a variety of vehicles. He was looking for Tim Farley, an experienced driver in his mid-fifties who had previously run his own taxi business. He was outside the garages hosing down a Vauxhall.

‘Now, Mr Rhea, what brings you here? Is it to do with Father John again?’

‘You’ve been asked already?’

‘Aye, one of the detectives, I told him what I knew. They’re searching the hospital for him right now.’

‘Do you mind if I repeat the questioning? I’ve been asked to do so by Detective Chief Superintendent Napier.’

‘No, fire away. There’s not a lot I can tell you.’

‘Let’s start with the basics, Tim. Father John Attwood asked you to take him to the Beach Hospital in Scarborough last Saturday evening. Is that true?’

‘Yes, it is, and that’s what I did. I picked him up outside the monastery at five o’clock and drove him to the hospital, getting him there just before the time of his appointment. It was about ten minutes to six when we got there.’

‘Were you supposed to bring him back the same evening?’

‘That was the original arrangement but he said he had no idea how long his appointment would be and he’d find his own way back here. Taxi, I expect, or mebbe a bus. So I just dropped him off at the main entrance and came back empty.’

‘The main entrance?’

‘Well, nearby. There was an empty parking space on the approach road so I pulled in to let him out. He thanked me and I drove off.’

‘So where did he go? Did you notice?’

‘I must admit I thought it odd because he didn’t head for the main entrance and reception as you’d expect. It was still daylight and I saw a woman waiting for him. She was in the shadows
under some trees so I didn’t get a good look at her.’

‘Can you give a brief description?’

‘Very sketchy. Medium height, slim build, no hat, fair hair … well dressed in a dark blue skirt and light blue jacket … long sleeves …’

‘Her age?’

‘Dunno. You can never be certain with women’s ages! Forty-five, mebbe. Even fifty. Somewhere about there at a guess.’

‘That’s not bad for just a glance! Do you think he knew her?’

‘I can’t be sure, Nick. I think not because I had my window down and heard her ask him, “Father Attwood?”’

‘So she was expecting him?’

‘So it seemed. I thought she was waiting for him. She’d have recognized him as a priest because he was wearing a grey suit and clerical collar. Not his monk’s habit, not on a trip like that. But she checked it was the right person.’

‘So what happened next?’

‘I heard her say something like, “Your specialist unit is this way, Father,” and she led him away from the main entrance.’

‘On foot?’

‘Yes, although she might have had a car parked nearby – but if so, I never saw it.’

‘Did you see him again, or hear from him?’

‘Nothing, no.’

‘And what about the journey to Scarborough? Was he chatty with you? Explaining why he was going to hospital?’

‘No, he wasn’t, he was a bit on the quiet side although he said the trip was to do with his prostate cancer. They’d found something in a blood sample, so he said. But nothing else. He’s usually very chatty and interesting when I take him anywhere and generally sits in the front passenger seat but this time he sat in the back and hardly said a word the whole trip.’

‘What did you make of that?’

‘I thought he must be bothered about his cancer, Nick. Worrying about this unexpected summons to see the specialist.’

‘He said he’d been summoned, did he?’

‘He said he’d got a phone call, right out of the blue and at short notice, so he got Father Will to swap duties with him. He wasn’t sure what he was going to be told about his cancer. No one had given him any idea.’

‘Has he been before? To that hospital? For his cancer treatment?’

‘No, he told me he usually went to York. I don’t know why he had to attend Scarborough this time. He never said; in fact, I don’t think he knew either.’

‘The hospital authorities swear they never made the call and that he was never admitted,’ remarked Nick. ‘They’ve checked. He never arrived.’

‘Well, he said he had to go there, he had all the details on a piece of paper, he’d taken it all down from the phone call. And that woman was waiting for him. That means he hadn’t made up the story.’

‘I agree with you. You said you’ve been interviewed before about this?’

‘Only briefly. One of those CID chaps came to ask me if I’d delivered Father Attwood to the Scarborough Beach Hospital and I told him I had. He never asked if I’d seen what happened to him – I just said I’d dropped him outside the main entrance where he was met by a woman from the specialist unit but explained I’d not brought Father John back here.’

‘Someone might want to discuss this in greater depth, Tim. Detective Chief Superintendent Napier is showing an increased interest in our missing monk. Somewhat mysteriously, Father John seems to have disappeared into thin air.’

‘That woman definitely led him off to a specialist unit, I heard her say so.’

‘I’m told the hospital doesn’t have any external specialist units, Tim. Everything’s on the same site.’

‘Mebbe it was a private clinic he was going to?’

‘You could be right; we’ll check on that. We have to ask
whether this is a voluntary disappearance, or whether something has happened, like kidnapping. From what you noticed, it does seem he never entered the hospital and that he was never forced into anything. Now another question – do you know whether there are CCTV cameras at the hospital entrance?’

‘I’m sure there are. Parking is restricted to twenty minutes and there are notices to say the vehicles are timed in and out by cameras.’

‘Then they might have recorded Father John’s arrival and liaison?’

‘It’s worth a check. Most hospitals have security cameras all over the place. Is this summat to do with that dead body in the woods?’

‘That can’t be ruled out, Tim. The fact these things have all happened virtually at the same time could be relevant – but we don’t know yet. All I can say is that the police are looking into every possibility.’

‘It looks like Father John knows summat!’

‘We’ll never know until we ask him. And for that, we must find him.’

‘Well, if I can help more, just ask, Nick. And in the meantime, I’ll keep my ears and eyes open. Doing my job does let me overhear a lot of private chatter, just like a London taxi driver! Oh, and by the way, Father John didn’t have a mobile phone with him. He reckons he doesn’t need one, so he told me.’

Nick thanked Tim, who returned to his depot while Nick headed back to relay the gist of his conversation to CID. He went directly into the abbey church, thinking Napier might still be in the south transept but he wasn’t. The stiletto would not be moved until SOCO had completed their examination of the scene. Some boffins were still working in and around the confessional box but Nick had no idea of the present whereabouts of the stiletto and did not stop to ask. Upon being told that Napier had returned to the murder room, he headed in that direction only to find that half the number of CID had been relieved for
lunch. The others would go later. They were using one of the college dining rooms but Napier made it clear he could not accept free meals. The police must pay their dues.