Confession at Maddleskirk Abbey

by Nicholas Rhea

  ‘But did she kill that man in the wood or is she merely an accessory? Whatever role she played, we need to find her. We know she was on this campus around six o’clock on Saturday evening in the abbey church, the cameras tell us that. She was carrying a large folded blue and white umbrella. On a warm sunny day with not a spot of rain. Who is she? How did she get here? Someone must have seen her. Someone might have spoken to her. Was she sighted together with the murder victim anywhere near those woods? That’s an important point – I don’t believe his body was carried up into those woods and dumped, that would be impossible due to the location. It suggests he was killed close to where he was found. Probably with a stiletto type of dagger. Where did it come from? The PM revealed a lot of broken bones, probably happening after death. So was his body thrown from the cliff? If so, who by? You need to find out if anyone else was in those woods at the time. Don’t ignore the victim but do concentrate on that woman. Has she been staying locally with friends, in digs or a hotel? Has she been seen in that wood? We need to identify her and bring her in for questioning. Any questions so far?’

  There were no questions but he knew they would arise as their enquiries generated more evidence and more puzzles. He allowed them a few moments to consider his words then said, ‘Let me remind you – this murder has several key elements. First, who is the deceased and who killed him? Second, who is that woman and what role did she play? Third – what is the motive? If we can answer those, we shall be on the way to resolving this case. Now, I’m going to introduce the prior of Maddleskirk Abbey to explain something which may or may not be associated with this murder. If you ask my opinion about a probable connection, I will say I have an open mind. Friar Tuck, the floor is yours.’

  Prior Tuck, a rounded, cheerful monk of some fifty years, stood up, smiling at Napier’s continued reference to him as Friar Tuck.

  ‘I am Prior Gabriel Tuck which means I am the deputy abbot, and among my varied duties, I’m in charge of the monkstables gathered here. If you ask the question as to my qualification for that duty, I am a former police officer with twenty-five years’ experience and I have worked on several murder investigations. On Saturday evening, one of our senior monks, Father John Attwood, went missing.’ He then explained in considerable detail the known facts, reinforcing the mystery of Father John’s summons to hospital. ‘The question we must all ask ourselves is this – has his disappearance any connection with the murder of that man in the wood? Are we conducting two enquiries, or just one? With Mr Napier’s agreement, our efforts to trace Father John will, for the time being, run separately from the murder enquiry.’

  Napier interrupted. ‘There must be a voluntary cross-fertilization of ideas and an exchange of evidence that could link both investigations. There are certain facts that must be established as separate issues and the monkstables are in an ideal situation for finding their missing monk. Once the facts are clearer, we may have to merge the two investigations. Already, as you have just heard from Friar Tuck, there are several linking pieces of evidence. Bear these in mind as you undertake your actions but don’t be afraid to explore your own ideas or ask for advice. We need hard-working brains on this.’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Napier,’ responded Prior Tuck. ‘One thing to consider is that I have shown to Tim Farley, the driver who took Father Attwood to hospital, several print-outs of the woman on the church CCTV film. He does not know her but expressed a view she was similar in age and appearance to the woman he saw greet Father Attwood at Scarborough Beach Hospital but sadly she was in the shadows.”

  ‘Keep digging, Friar Tuck. I’m still not sure whether we’re talking about one woman or two.’

  Nick Rhea, sitting quietly among the monkstables, raised his hand and reminded them, ‘We know, of course, it could not be the same woman who entered the confessional. The distance and time involved rules out that possibility. So we do need to trace and identify both. I should remind you that the woman in the CCTV film of the abbey church interior was not carrying a handbag. That’s odd, so where was it? Just outside in her car? It sounds possible so we need to find that car. Someone on the campus must have seen it – and her.’

  ‘Thanks, Nick, so where do we go from here?’ asked Prior Tuck. ‘Brother George?’

  ‘Here!’ A grey-haired monk raised his hand.

  Brother George was not an ordained priest but was a monk and also one of the monkstables. A senior monk by age alone, he preferred the outdoor life and would rather spend time in this vegetable patch than sing hymns in the abbey choir.

  The prior addressed him. ‘We know you keep a record of registration numbers of almost every vehicle that enters these grounds, so perhaps you noted this woman’s car? If she had one, that is. It would probably be somewhere in the grounds on Saturday afternoon, particularly just before six o’clock and until about half past or even later. Indeed it might have been parked outside the south door despite the restrictions. And did some of those other penitents arrive by car? If so, where did they park? Did they notice the woman without a handbag but carrying a blue and white rolled umbrella? We need to find them and interview them to determine whether they noticed the mystery woman, or even knew who she was.’

  ‘I’ll check my lists, Father Prior.’

  ‘Thank you. Mr Napier, back to you,’ said Prior Tuck.

  ‘Right, well, that’s it. Off you all go. We will have a round-up conference here at six o’clock to pool our knowledge before we disperse. There will be late shift in the murder room until 11 p.m. and then a night duty detective inside the room until 6 a.m.’

  When Detective Chief Superintendent Napier dismissed the teams to go about their enquiries, Prior Tuck reminded his monkstables to return to the Postgate Room for their full briefing and allocation of actions. He turned to Nick Rhea. ‘Coming with us, Nick? Or is your spell with us now over?’

  ‘I don’t want to get in the way but if I can help, I will,’ offered Nick.

  ‘Your help is always appreciated. We’re still amateurs at this sort of thing. I see we haven’t the pleasure of the company of Oscar Blaketon and Alf Ventress this time?’

  ‘I doubt if news of these events will have reached them – there’s been nothing in the news – but once that happens, I don’t think they’ll be able to keep away!’

  ‘We can always use their experience. Now, is there any particular line of enquiry you think we should follow?’

  ‘There’s one I would like to pursue in person right now, Prior Tuck, but it’s more associated with the murder inquiry than our hunt for Father John.’

  ‘I’ll happily go along with that but should you mention it to Mr Napier?’

  ‘Not immediately. I need another chat with Barnaby Crabstaff first, and he said he was heading off for a meeting with Claude Jeremiah Greengrass. I thought I might catch him at Claude’s emporium. I just want to see if Barnaby knows more than he’s told us so far, and if he does I’ll pass it on to Mr Napier’s teams.’

  ‘But you’ll keep in touch? To be honest, Nick, we need you here.’

  ‘I’ll return once I’ve talked to Barnaby.’

  ‘And we’ll get busy around the campus.’

  Claude Jeremiah Greengrass lived at Hagg Bottom, Aidensfield, and his emporium could be seen from afar, being instantly recognizable due to its conglomeration of rusting ironware, old agricultural machinery, derelict tractors, bicycle parts and almost any other thing that had generated, or could generate, scrap metal. There was a lot of discarded woodwork too, such as old wardrobes, chests of drawers, chairs and tables.

  Nick, who as the village bobby of Aidensfield had often had cause to visit this place, was familiar with the tracks through the mountain of debris and so made his way to what Claude called his office. It was an old caravan with no wheels but equipped with a stove that burned wood, coal and almost anything else Claude put inside it; there were occasions when the stench from the chimney was so strong and unpleasant that neighbours living downwind complained. Claude always
blamed the coal merchant.

  Nick rapped on the open door and peered inside. Claude and Barnaby were both there, seated at the table with mugs of coffee before them as they pored over what appeared to be a map.

  ‘Now then, Claude, can I come in?’

  ‘Oh my Gawd, whatever do you want, Constable Rhea? I thought I was going to have a period of peace and calm now that you’ve retired and left Aidensfield. Look, whatever it is, it wasn’t my fault, I didn’t do it and neither did my mate here. We’re innocent, both of us.’

  ‘We’re both innocent,’ chanted Barnaby.

  ‘I’m not a policeman any more, Claude.’

  ‘Mebbe not, but you make a good imitation of one, snooping around my yard like a tax inspector.’

  Nick continued inside and pulled out a chair to settle at their table.

  ‘Is it a coffee you want?’

  ‘No, Claude, I had one before I set off, thanks.’ Nick didn’t fancy one of Claude’s dirty mugs. ‘I’m here about that body found in the woods.’

  ‘It was nowt to do with me, Constable Rhea.’

  ‘Or me,’ echoed Barnaby.

  ‘I realize that but I thought you might be able to help.’

  ‘Help the police? Me? You must be joking!’

  ‘I thought you might help the family of the dead man, Claude.’

  ‘Aye, well, that’s different. So what are you asking?’

  ‘First, do you know who he is?’

  ‘No idea,’ said Claude.

  ‘No idea,’ added Barnaby.

  ‘Did you see him around here, before he was attacked?’

  ‘I might have done. …’

  ‘He might have done. …’

  ‘Might you?’ Nick pulled a photo of the dead man from his pocket. It was taken on the mortuary slab, with his body covered with a white sheet to leave his facial features on show. ‘Mid thirties, white skin, dark hair, slim build, wearing a dark green T-shirt, blue jeans and white plimsolls. Not hiking gear, Claude, but casual enough to be on holiday. We need sightings of him, we need to get him named.’

  ‘Well, he might have been here. …’

  ‘If he was, Claude, we need to know whether he was here alone or whether he had anyone with him.’

  ‘Do I get a reward if I tell you?’

  ‘Do we get a reward?’ asked Barnaby.

  ‘Just the reward of knowing you’ve done some good service for the benefit of your fellows and the community, Claude and Barnaby. So I repeat, did either of you see him before he died?’

  ‘Then yes, Constable Rhea, I did see him.’

  ‘He saw him, Mr Rhea.’

  ‘When and where?’

  ‘Up near the pond, the old wishing well, he was up there just looking around.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Middle of last week, I’d say. Wednesday or Thursday. On a morning.’

  ‘Can you be more precise?’

  ‘Elevenish, mebbe, give and take a bit.’

  ‘It was definitely a Wednesday, Claude,’ volunteered Barnaby.

  ‘It was. He’s right,’ admitted Claude.

  ‘Alone, was he?’

  ‘No, there was a woman with him. A bit older than him, not old enough to be his mother by my reckoning. Might have been an older sister or summat. Young aunt … mature girlfriend … you can make up all sorts of things out of that, can’t you?’

  ‘It’s always possible, Claude. Now this is good news and extremely interesting. Did you know her?’

  ‘No, she’s not local, I can tell you that.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Well, she didn’t speak like a local, she sounded like a foreigner from Lancashire to me.’

  ‘You heard her?’

  ‘I was hiding in the bushes, Constable. I didn’t want anybody to see me there in case they thought I was poaching. I can disappear like magic in undergrowth and bushes, become totally invisible. It’s easy when you know how.’

  ‘Were you poaching?’

  ‘No, I was not! There’s nowt in that pond anyway, no fish to speak of. …’

  ‘So tell me what you saw.’

  ‘It was just a couple going for a walk, I didn’t take much interest. You do see couples walking up there, you know, being St Valentine’s Well, all very romantic. I don’t go around spying on people, I’m not that depraved.’

  ‘Did they appear romantic? Holding hands? Kissing? That sort of thing.’

  ‘No, nothing like that. They looked like a businessman discussing business with a female colleague, not at all lovey-dovey.’

  ‘From your hiding place, could you hear what they were saying?’

  ‘No, not a chance. They were too far away, speaking in soft voices.’

  ‘Now, can you describe her?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t take a lot of notice. …’

  ‘Claude, I know you from the past. You’ve a sharp eye, you’re observant and you’re always interested in what goes on around you. That’s why you are such a successful businessman. I am sure you noticed something about her.’

  ‘He’s a very successful businessman, is Mr Greengrass.’

  ‘Not young,’ said Claude. ‘Not as young as the lad she was with. Middle into her forties, I’d say. Well into them as a matter of fact. I’m not very good at guessing women’s ages, Mr Rhea, but she was older than him. Dressed in summer gear. It was a lovely warm September morning.’

  ‘Summer gear?’

  ‘Jeans. Light green jeans and a light brown top of some sort. Fair hair, short and rather curly.’

  ‘Was she carrying anything? Camera? Hiking stick? Haversack?’

  ‘Nothing. She was empty handed. Not even a handbag. It’s not often you see women out and about without a handbag of some kind, is it?’

  ‘Definitely not,’ Nick agreed.

  ‘Definitely not,’ added Barnaby.

  ‘So how had they got there? Together? Did they arrive separately? Were cars involved? Or other transport?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, Mr Rhea, I just happened to be up there when I heard them chattering as they came towards St Valentine’s Well, so I did my usual trick and vanished into the bushes. That’s survival instinct, Mr Rhea. I’m good at evasive action, disappearing when trouble might be on its way. Keeping out of bother.’

  ‘So then what happened? Did you show yourself?’

  ‘No, I did not! I had a meeting down in Elsinby at the far side of the pond, so I waited until they’d gone, then I continued my way to Elsinby, down through that woodland away from the Maddleskirk entrance. They would never know I’d seen them and they would not have seen me.’

  ‘What about you, Barnaby? Did you see them at the pond?’

  ‘No, Mr Rhea, I only saw the man when I found him like I told you, but he was dead by then. I never saw the woman, so I did not.’

  ‘Claude.’ Nick looked him in the eyes. ‘This is vitally important to the murder inquiry. You need to repeat this to Detective Chief Superintendent Napier, just as you’ve told it to me. And look at a photograph from the abbey CCTV. I will relate what you’ve said, but he’ll need to hear it from you.’

  He screwed up his eyes, and twisted his head around as if his neck was hurting. Nick knew he was going through agonies at the idea of having to help the police.

  ‘Will there be a reward?’ he asked. ‘Did I ask that?’

  ‘You did and there isn’t, but your co-operation will be noted in police circles. That might do you some good in the future.’

  ‘You’re not trying to bribe me, are you?’

  ‘Would I dare, Claude! So can I tell Mr Napier where to find you?’

  ‘I’ll be here for the next day or two – me and Barnaby are sorting out the good stuff from the bad. I’m going to have a big sale. Sale of the century.’

  ‘It’ll be the sale of the century,’ added Barnaby.

  ‘Then you’ll need publicity? Maybe I could reward you by offering to publicize your enterprise?’

  ‘Now you
’re talking, Mr Rhea. This sounds like a very businesslike proposition.’

  ‘It’s a very businesslike proposition, Mr Rhea,’ said Barnaby.

  ‘This could set me on the road to my first million, couldn’t it? All right, Mr Rhea, tell that detective chap he can come and talk me here.’

  ‘I will, and thanks, Claude. You’ve no idea how important this is to the inquiry.’

  ‘Aye, well, we do our best to help the constabulary when they’re in great need … just as I’m in great need now of earning some extra cash.’

  ‘Good deeds are always rewarded, Claude.’

  ‘Not in my world, they’re not, but I do keep trying. Just tell that detective I’ll talk to him.’

  Chapter 11

  AFTER LISTENING TO Nick’s account, Detective Chief Superintendent Napier lost no time in heading for the Greengrass ranch to interview Claude. Meanwhile Nick remained in the Postgate Room for an hour or so before going home; he wanted to check the value of the information the monkstables had gathered. Some of it may prove of interest to the murder room teams; Nick would act as intermediary.

  As both enquiries were settling into their momentum, Detective Inspector Brian Lindsey arrived at the headquarters of Greater Manchester Police. The force headquarters had recently moved into a new state-of-the-art building at Newton Heath, to the north of the city.

  The clerk at reception asked for confirmation of his identity then inspected his warrant card before ringing the CID offices to announce his presence. He was then told that Detective Chief Inspector Hammond was expecting him and she would come down to escort him up to her office, complete with his ‘Authorised Visitor’ name-badge. She was a tall dark-haired young woman in her early forties, slim and elegant with dark hair and a ready smile. She was smartly dressed in a dark navy jacket and skirt, white shirt and black shoes and exuded an air of calm efficiency. He thought she looked more like a business executive than a senior detective.