‘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 nam
es, 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.
Then the door opened and in walked Father Alban. He had been visiting some college buildings to ask about missing men. He had returned to update the records and helped himself to a cup of coffee, chattering as he made the drink.
‘I’ve finished in the accommodation blocks and buildings around St Peter’s House. I’ve talked to housemasters, teachers, cleaners and students, but to their knowledge no one’s missing. And all denied there was a drug problem on site.’
‘No luck with his identification then?’ Nick asked.
‘Nothing. No one can help with identifying him. I asked them to cast their minds back to Friday or Saturday but the answer was the same. Nothing. They’ve seen nothing unusual and know nothing.’
‘Well, you can update the records so we are all aware of that, then what are you doing next?’
‘I thought I would conduct a similar exercise at the sports centre just behind St Peter’s. I couldn’t remember whether or not I was allocated it earlier. If someone’s already been, I can find somewhere else to ask my questions. But I’m dying for a coffee – I’m parched! I’m not accustomed to talking so much and asking all these questions!’
‘Well, take the weight off your feet for a few minutes and enjoy the coffee. While we’re alone, I must say I’m rather worried about Father Will Redman. He’s doing a stint in the cop shop now. It was something he said to me not many minutes ago that caused my concern.’
‘Will it help to tell me?’
‘Yes, it will. I was telling him about the murder victim and he asked if he’d been stabbed. The minute the words were out of his mouth, he became all embarrassed and worried and said he shouldn’t have mentioned that. I asked why he’d mentioned stabbing but he wouldn’t tell me; he wouldn’t say another word about it and asked me to forget he’d ever spoken that word. I don’t want to pry and I don’t want to cause him unnecessary upset but it is all very odd. I must say it has bothered me. Now can I ask you not to repeat this to him?’
‘Of course. The only thing I can think is that he had to stand in at confessions on Saturday night for Father John Attwood, who had a medical appointment. I saw Will afterwards and I could see he was far from happy even then. Something was troubling him deeply and I wondered if it was something he’d heard under the seal of confession. If so, he can never talk about it. Not to anyone, not even to his abbot. Not ever. If it is a burden he heard in confession, he must bear that burden alone. That’s how things are. It’s one of the difficulties of being a priest. All I can say is that he needs our prayers.’
‘Are you saying that if someone confessed to stabbing another person, even to the point of killing them, the priest couldn’t inform the police?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying, Nick. The seal of confession is absolute.’
‘It makes me wonder how many murderers have convinced priests of their future good conduct merely to gain absolution!’
‘We will never know. But if it is possible that Father Will did hear something along those lines during a confession, I must ask you not to press him about it.’
‘I understand. So what should I do?’
‘Nothing, Nick. Absolutely nothing. And don’t mention it again, especially not to Father Will or the police. It is best forgotten entirely because there is nothing you or anyone else can do. It’s over. Finished.’
‘So if the post-mortem reveals that our murder victim died from a stab wound, I cannot ask Father Will to reveal the identity of the person who confessed? I don’t know how to respond to that.’
‘Say nothing and do nothing,
Nick. Don’t worry about Father Will – he’s part of our community and we’ll care for him. He’ll not be the first priest to undergo such soul-searching, and he’ll not be the last. Now I must go.’
Nick tried to settle down to some updating of his clerical work but found it difficult to concentrate. Then the phone rang. It was Detective Inspector Lindsey.
‘Ah, Nick, glad I caught you. We’ve got the result of the postmortem. First things first. A detailed search of the victim’s clothing and body confirm that he had no form of identification upon him. No wallet, credit cards, driving licence, tattoos, operation scars, nothing. Nothing left at the scene either but one thing was overlooked by his killer. His jeans have a designer label whose origins we’ll trace. We’ve still no idea who he is, but we are re-checking his fingerprints and DNA as well as circulating a description through police networks.’
‘And the cause of death? Has that been determined?’
‘Yes, it has. He had a neck wound but he also had bone breakages that were consistent with him falling from a height after death – thrown down perhaps, or perhaps he fell. However, he was stabbed at the back of his head, close to where the skull absorbs the spinal column. It’s called the cerebellum. A slim long-bladed dagger, a stiletto, was probably used. It damaged the vertebrae and severed the blood vessels in his neck. He would have died almost instantly. It’s a trademark execution by some drugs cartels – and it’s not restricted to other drug dealers. Anyone who angers them might get the treatment. We believe many of their murders remain undiscovered because they dispose of the body and other evidence.’
Lindsey paused to allow Nick to write a summary on a scrap of paper before he asked, ‘So a simple stiletto dagger could cause that kind of serious wound?’
Confession at Maddleskirk Abbey Page 5
