‘We have the use of police radios,’ I told him. ‘We can keep in touch.’
‘I wouldn’t know which button to press,’ he laughed. ‘I’ll find you all, this isn’t a very large area and we’re all making plenty of noise.’
‘Now it’s your turn, Claude,’ I told him.
We followed Claude and Barnaby into the dark green depths of the wood, avoiding fallen trees and boulders and Claude reminded us that we were walking over treacherous ground, some of which was hollow beneath our feet. It was a difficult trek but Claude and Barnaby knew the safest route. Then Claude halted.
‘Now Constable Rhea,’ he said, with uncharacteristic seriousness, ‘I’m standing directly above the centre of the cloister. To the north, east and west under here there are rows of old cells with the remains of the monks’ tiny gardens, all buried under tons of rocks, earth and rotten trees. Behind me to the south, is where the old priory church is buried, badly damaged I must warn you. But I’ll bet it would be recognizable as a ruined abbey if it was excavated.’
‘One day perhaps,’ I said, more in hope than expectation.
‘Right,’ continued Claude. ‘The hillside behind that wood will need to be stabilized if people start coming here in numbers. It’s unstable now and liable to produce an avalanche at any time without warning. I think there’s a water-course under here too, the flow from the old holy well sometimes emerges near where we are now. To the south of the church is another row of half-a-dozen cells – it is their walls, badly damaged but still surviving, that form two underground tunnels.’
‘You’d make a good guide, Claude. How many cells are there in total?’ I asked him.
‘Twenty-five mebbe. Summat like that.’
‘You do know a lot about it, Claude, and all so very useful.’ He glowed beneath Elaine’s praise.
‘Aye, well, I’ve lived here man and boy for more years than I care to remember. You learn your way around as a lad, and never forget.’
Elaine now asked, ‘If I can find an entrance to the underground maze under our feet, can the dogs make a complete search?’
‘I would say they can, so long as they don’t get trapped. A lot of those tunnels link up but there are some dead ends. Very narrow in places an’ all, due to fallen rocks and stuff. And there’s allus water about, deep in some places. Anyroad, I’ll take you to a good entrance.’
He led us to the remains of a massive oak that had toppled over many years ago and the roots of which stood upright from the earth like a giant wheel against the leafy background. The lower end of the roots disappeared into the earth and he showed us lots of apparently bottomless holes that had resulted from the tree’s fall. He indicated one of them, the largest.
‘When I was a lad, I used to crawl down there,’ he told us. ‘It opens into a network of tunnels, some with gaps that let the light in and some being part of the old cells. There’s flowing water in some parts but the waterways can soon get blocked with rubbish and falling soil, so the water has to find other ways out. Sometimes it doesn’t, and so you get a flood, sometimes deep, sometimes shallow.’
‘Won’t things have changed since you were an adventurous lad?’ I asked.
‘’Course they will, but those cells were so well built they’ll still be standing there, providing the framework. It’s the same conditions, just moved around a bit. These dogs will have no trouble down there.’
‘That’s good news,’ smiled Elaine.
‘It’s the best entrance,’ nodded Claude. ‘There’ll be more entrances and exits they can use, but I’m not going down there now, I’m past that kind of adventuring. The dogs will do it far better. But before you send them in, I’ll shout to see if Simon can hear us.’
He bellowed into the echoing depths of the hole but there was no response.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘It’s up to you now, Elaine.’
As she despatched Sherlock and Holmes into the dark hole with a command to seek, Claude, Barnaby and I set off to locate more entrances. In such a large area it was possible there were more entrances and dead ends, but Claude seemed to know his way around. Barnaby merely followed like a lost sheep. As we worked, we could hear the approaching monkstables in the trees; they were checking every inch of ground and calling out to satisfy themselves that Simon was not hidden nearby. Only when satisfied, did they move forward. We became aware of Prior Tuck heading our way with Oscar and Alf beside him, but he raised his arms to signal they had not found Simon.
Then Elaine’s radio crackled into life. She responded. It was Blaketon calling on behalf of Prior Tuck. I could hear his voice, ‘Elaine, Prior Tuck suggests a rendezvous and a good place would be right where you are now. Can you remain there until we arrive?’
‘Will co,’ she responded.
‘I’m enjoying this,’ beamed Claude. ‘It’s better than selling scrap bikes.’
And then we heard a dog barking somewhere deep underground.
‘Quiet please! And stand still!’ shouted PC Elaine Newton. ‘Listen….’
Everyone stood still and listened. We heard the deep barking again, a double woof clearly underground but I found it impossible to gauge the direction from which the barks came. Clearly the dog was deep below the surface and a long way from where we were standing.
‘That’s Sherlock, he’s found someone!’
‘You know that?’
‘Dogs have different voices, just like humans. And that’s definitely Sherlock. Two barks tell me he’s found someone alive! He must have separated from Holmes down there. Holmes must still be seeking. I hope he hasn’t got lost.’
‘Will he also bark?’
‘No, it’s Sherlock who’s barked, which says everything, even to Holmes.’
‘What will he do?’ I asked. ‘Holmes, I mean? Will he stop searching?’
‘No, he’ll continue to work as Sherlock remains where he is, guarding his discovery and continuing to bark twice at intervals. He’ll keep doing that until I order him to stop, or until we locate the target,’ said Elaine. ‘Hopefully, Holmes will join him but he will not bark – unless, of course, he finds somebody else! Then he will also deliver a double woof.’
Instead of cheering loudly at the news we lapsed into silence at what she was telling us in such a calm, matter-of-fact way. Then Sherlock barked again, twice. But we all noted there was no human voice from those depths.
‘Can you tell where they are?’ asked Claude. ‘It’s a dangerous warren down there. Some dogs can get lost just like humans. I’ve spent hours digging terriers out of rabbit holes.’
‘We can’t dig down to find him without knowing exactly where the dog is. And we don’t know where or how deep below the surface he is or how dangerous it is down there….’ Barnaby was standing at my side, wringing his hands.
It was Claude who said, ‘The lad might not be able to help … if the dog says he’s alive, he could be unconscious or badly injured.’
His words jerked us all into remembering that this exercise might not have the successful conclusion we all hoped for, but then I had an idea.
‘Barnaby, you remember when you showed me the nightjar, all those years ago….’
‘I do, Constable Rhea, indeed I do.’
‘Do nightjars still come to these woods?’
‘Oh, they do, sir, yes they do. Every year, regular as clockwork … they’ll be here now but they only fly at dusk.’
‘I’m sure Simon would know all that if he’s a keen bird watcher … and he asked for extra food in his packed lunch. Obviously he expected to be late back—’
‘I think it was him who once asked about the nightjars,’ frowned Barnaby, as he tried to recall the occasion. ‘It was a young lad from the college, tall, with dark hair and specs. He’d never seen one, he told me, when he was out walking down here – not recently, a week or two ago.’
‘Where was he going?’
‘He said he was heading for the woods, so I told him the nightjars only came in spring and went bac
k to Africa by October. I think he often came down here after that, always alone.’
‘Did he know where to find one?’
‘He seemed to know they came to this wood. They don’t visit many woods around here, although I believe some get into Dalby Forest near Pickering and there’s organized parties there who go looking for them at night…’
‘What’s a good time to see one?’
‘At dusk onwards, Mr Rhea. Once it starts getting dark they’ll be flying around catching moths and flies.’
‘And at daytime?’
‘At nesting time, they sleep on the ground, you’d never notice one on its nest or sitting among dead leaves, but after nesting time they’ll roost in the trees, sitting lengthways along a dead branch, very hard to see, Mr Rhea. Well camouflaged.’
‘Do they come back to the same place year after year?’
‘I’m not sure about that, Mr Rhea, me not being an expert, but I do know that they can be seen in these woods at this time of year, if you’re lucky. Before they go back to Africa.’
‘Did you help the lad to find a suitable place to wait and watch?’
‘I told him where the birds could be seen, yes, and told him to hide because they are easily scared if you get too close, but I said not to go into the holes under rocks around here … but I didn’t wait around with him as he wanted to be alone.’
‘But clearly you had a lot of contact with him, Barnaby?’
‘Not all that much, Mr Rhea. Sometimes I’d see him coming down here on his bike and he’d leave it in the old barns while he went bird-watching, telling me he’d borrowed it….’
‘You told me you’d never met him and had no idea who’d brought the bike here.’
‘I didn’t want to get him into bother, Mr Rhea, if you understand, with you being a policeman and that mebbe it not being his own bike….’
‘All right, Barnaby, I understand. And I’m not a policeman now. Anyway, it seems there is someone alive underground not far from here. How can we reach him? Can we get into those passages and, more to the point, can we get him out?’
‘I’d say not, Mr Rhea. Too narrow for adults – dangerous for dogs and children, falling rocks and things, unsafe roofs, deep holes, pits, dark places….’
‘You don’t make it sound easy, Barnaby.’
‘It’s downright dangerous, Mr Rhea, and I told him to keep out, that was another time when I saw him. I did tell him, Mr Rhea, truly I did.’
As we chatted, the others stood and listened, not entering this two-way conversation between me and a tramp I’d known for years. Barnaby and I seemed to have a sort of understanding and, in truth, I liked the fellow. But if he thought he was in trouble of any kind, he would produce devious answers; interviewing him was a case of gaining his momentary trust and that was never easy. He seemed to spend his entire life defending himself against continuing but imaginary accusations.
‘Barnaby, you are not in trouble of any kind and neither is Claude. All we want to do is find Simon and we think you can help.’
‘You’d be best searching that side of this old ruin,’ and he pointed towards the south.
‘Why’s that?’
‘The best place for seeing nightjars is that patch of woodland over there.’ He pointed to an area below the cliff. ‘That’s where I suggested he search. I told him he’d have to find somewhere secret and hidden, and I told him to look in the branches as it was getting dark but not to scare the birds off.’
‘Was there a hide nearby?’
‘Just some parts of the old ruin, Mr Rhea, old cells, knocked about a bit but with gaps for windows, overlooking that bit of the wood … good hides … you could find a way to them if you were small enough…’
‘Where are they?’
‘Over there as well.’ He pointed again towards the cliff behind the woodland, a lofty embankment faced with bare earth that had been so recently exposed by a landslide. It was about fifty metres from where we were standing and it was evident that a massive oak and some smaller trees had toppled down as the ground had collapsed beneath them. The shifting trees had carried tons of earth, rocks and even huge boulders onto the roof of the hidden priory which, in places, had collapsed beneath the sudden impact, shock and tremendous weight.
‘That big oak and those little ’uns all came down yesterday, Mr Rhea … and some of those rocks … new falls, they are.’
‘You mean he’s somewhere down there?’
‘He could be, that’s all I can say, but I think it’s likely.’
‘Did you see him go down any of the openings? There’s quite a few – it’s difficult knowing where they lead to.’
‘No, I never saw him after he walked away from me, but I warned him not to go down into the old priory, so I did.’
‘I’m sure you did, Barnaby. So I repeat my question: how do we get in to find out if he’s there.’
‘He is there, Mr Rhea.’ Elaine had no doubt in her mind. ‘My dog tells me and dogs cannot lie. Even if Simon can’t speak to us, Sherlock is telling us that he – or someone else – is down there. Alive.’
Barnaby stood at our side looking thoroughly miserable. He shrugged his shoulders and I could see tears in his eyes. ‘It wasn’t my fault, Mr Rhea, it wasn’t, God knows that. I did warn him….’
I placed my arms around his thin shoulders. ‘No one is suggesting you’re to blame, Barnaby. You’re not. But we must find out where Sherlock is, then set about getting Simon and the two dogs out.’ I now addressed the others. ‘Has anyone any idea how to do that among those unstable rocks and trees?’
‘I don’t know, God above knows I don’t know,’ sniffed Barnaby. ‘I wish I did. I wish I could help—’
‘You’ve helped a lot, Barnaby.’ I patted him on his back. ‘I mean that.’
By this time, Prior Tuck had moved closer with his monkstables as they continued to inspect the ground beneath them. They were close enough for me to address Father Will. ‘Father Will, you are a caver, I believe?’
‘A retired caver, I think! It’s not going to be easy, even for the most experienced of cavers. We are not dealing with a solid rock roof and well-used routes, we’re talking of an unstable ceiling full of dangerously loose earth and rocks, uprooted trees, probably water somewhere along the route … we need experts.’
‘At this moment, we haven’t got experts: you’re our expert. So what can you suggest?’ I tried to remain calm as I felt a tense situation building up.
He thought for a while and then said, ‘We need someone to enter the passages with a radio, a torch and something to drink or eat, with a rope trailing behind so someone else can follow. We need to find a way through the labyrinth so we can carry out the rescue. Then, once we’ve found him we’ve got to get him out. That won’t be easy especially if he is unconscious or injured. And we must be aware we are at risk from further roof falls. Our mere presence could trigger them off.’
Father Will’s caution created a few moments of silence as we all began to understand the awesome task that lay ahead.
‘Can’t we dig down to him?’ asked Claude, anxious to be useful.
‘No, the pressure of digging and any movement above the place he is lying could cause the ground to collapse and bury him. Or a falling rock could crush him.’
Father Prior took control. ‘Father Will, do you belong to a cave rescue team?’
‘No, Father Prior, it became impossible due to my monastic responsibilities.’
‘But do you know whom to contact? We need an expert to guide us as we could do more harm than good if we try to get him out.’
‘I’m still in contact with my former colleagues through newsletters.’
‘Good. Then can you call some of them to see if anyone can come to guide us or even work the depths?’
‘I’ll ring from the cop shop. Immediately.’
‘I’ll drive you across the valley in my car,’ offered Blaketon.
And so we had to stand around for a few minute
s whilst Sherlock continued to bark at intervals to remind us of our responsibilities.
‘Can you tell from Sherlock’s barking whether it is a person he’s found and not a badger?’ I asked Elaine.
‘Oh yes, it’s definitely a person. He wouldn’t bark for a badger.’
‘Is the person dead or alive?’ I knew the answer but needed her reassurance.
‘Alive, definitely. But the person could be asleep or unconscious. One bark means a corpse.’
‘How can we trace the victim’s whereabouts by using the dog?’
‘If the injured person is able to communicate, we could send a length of white rope tied to the dog’s collar; if the person is able, he could detach it and attach it to himself, then we would recall the dog. Or we could order the dog to stay. A person experienced in caving or mining would then descend and follow the rope – there are phones that operate underground and other devices from which we could get a fix. In this case, we can’t do that right now. We might, if we had more time before dark.’
‘It’s not possible to get a fix on Sherlock’s barking, is it?’ asked the prior. ‘If we could, we could begin to dig or excavate … very, very carefully of course.’
‘It’s obvious the tunnels are wide enough and high enough for Sherlock to find his quarry,’ I added. ‘That makes it seem to me that a small person could crawl through to him.’
‘A small person might reach him, but we’ve still got to get him out,’ said Elaine. ‘You can’t rely on dragging a casualty along a tunnel, especially someone who might be badly injured. We have no idea what conditions are like but know it will be dark, wet and cold. From what I know, the only way to get him out is to dig down.’
‘But that creates its own extra dangers,’ I reminded them.
‘I think,’ said Father Prior, ‘that we must establish his position as closely as we can in the circumstances – I am sure we have, or can acquire, the technology to do that and then we can start to excavate as closely as we dare.’
‘A good idea,’ said Claude. ‘I once saw a Jack Russell dug out of a rabbit warren like that – we go in by another entrance, listen to Sherlock barking to get the directions established and bingo, the lad will be saved. It worked with that terrier.’
Murder at Maddleskirk Abbey Page 16
