Confession at Maddleskirk Abbey

by Nicholas Rhea

‘If you say so, Mr Rhea. They won’t think I did it, will they?’

  ‘Not if you stay here with me. But they might think that if you go away.’

  ‘Then I’ll stay.’

  First to arrive was Detective Sergeant Jim Sullivan in whose local area of responsibility the body lay. Led by Father Alban, he was closely followed by the Scenes of Crime team, police photographers, a doctor and a forensic pathologist.

  All had apparently assembled somewhere nearby to be sure all reached the correct place.

  ‘We meet again, Nick,’ said Sullivan. ‘I thought this was miles from murder and mayhem! First a dead man in the coffin in the crypt, now a man lying in a remote area of woodland. Show me the body and tell me what you know, then I’ll start the interviews whilst the experts do their stuff. So who is this chap? Any ideas, anyone?’

  ‘No idea,’ said Barnaby, and the others echoed his words.

  ‘He’s not a local then?’

  ‘I’ve never seen him around,’ said Nick.

  ‘I’ve never seen him around,’ echoed Barnaby.

  And so began the formal examination of the corpse, with the doctor pronouncing him dead but not attempting to determine the cause. That was not his job. Then the forensic pathologist began his preliminary but detailed examination of both the body and the nearby woodland. Under his direction, the Scenes of Crime team began their search of the area they had already cordoned off with bright yellow tape, albeit with the body in situ. They would be looking for evidence among the undergrowth, even a weapon of some kind or something discarded by the killer or killers. The body remained exactly where it was until all the experts felt it and its clothing could be examined and searched, in an attempt to find documents or evidence of identity. A much more detailed scientific search of the body and its clothing would be made in the forensic laboratory but the detectives needed a starting point before the body was removed.

  As the scientists and Scenes of Crime experts worked, Detective Sergeant Sullivan took Barnaby to one side.

  ‘So, Barnaby,’ he said, smiling, ‘what can you tell me about all this?’

  ‘Nothing, sir.’

  ‘There’s no need to call me sir. I’m a sergeant. Detective sergeant actually.’

  ‘Right, sir, I understand.’

  ‘Tell me how you found this man. Show me where you were when you first saw him, and then, once you had found him, tell me what you did next. Take your time, Barnaby, you’re not in any kind of bother. We just need to know all about it. As much as you can tell us. The more you can tell us, the easier it will be for us all.’

  ‘I see, sir, so I do,’ and he took a deep breath.

  He then launched into a rambling account of how he had been bird watching in the woods that morning when he had noticed the man lying there, at first thinking he was asleep. But after a time the man had not moved and so Barnaby had approached him to see if he was all right, then realized he was dead. He’d walked around to look at him from a distance, which was when he’d noticed the blood beneath his head.

  ‘Scenes of Crime will want to look at your boots, Barnaby, to take scrapings and perhaps imprints of their soles, just to see whether anyone else had been attending the body before you found him. We don’t suspect you, Barnaby, but we are trying to prove that you are innocent; we want to eliminate you from our enquiries.’

  ‘If you say so, sir.’

  ‘So before you found the body, did you see or hear anybody else in these woods this morning?’

  ‘No, sir, not a soul. Honest, nobody.’

  ‘And last night? Or yesterday?’

  ‘I wasn’t here then, sir, not yesterday. I was working over at Ploatby, helping with the harvest.’

  ‘Ah, which farm?’

  ‘Throstle Nest, sir. Mr Hendry’s place.’

  ‘So when was the previous time you were here?’

  ‘Oh, it would be some weeks ago, sir.’

  ‘Obviously before this man arrived?’

  ‘It must have been, I never saw him until this morning, lying where he is now.’

  ‘That agrees with what I think. I’d hazard a guess that he’s been here only for a day or two at the most. There’s nothing to indicate how he got here unless he fell or jumped off that cliff. Or was pushed. Thanks for your help, Barnaby. Will you be around if we want a chat?’

  ‘I’m here for another few days. I sleep in the old barns just down the road then I’ll be moving, I don’t know where. Helping with a harvest. Not far away.’

  ‘Will anyone know where to find you?’

  ‘Mr Greengrass might.’

  ‘Claude Jeremiah lives at Aidensfield,’ Nick told the detective. ‘I know him well enough.’

  ‘Thanks. Now when our officers have finished their initial examination, we’ll transfer the body into a mortuary for a more detailed scientific examination. It might take some time. You can all leave if you wish.’

  ‘Can I stay to see what goes on?’ Barnaby asked. ‘In all my born days, I’ve never seen this sort of thing, so I have not.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ responded Sullivan, much to everyone’s surprise. ‘We might want more help from you as we go along, so stay as long as you want but don’t stray into that area inside our yellow tape.’

  ‘No, sir, I won’t, I promise I won’t. Thank you for letting me stay, I’ve never seen such a thing in my life, never.’

  With Sullivan’s consent, everyone remained as a tight little bunch of observers as the meticulous work proceeded. It was a splendid display of police work that benefited the monkstables watching. Sadly, they could not all be there to witness the work at a crime scene but Father Alban said he would relate his experiences to his colleagues.

  The examination and ground search of the area began, including the stately beech trees and the top of the small cliff that overlooked the death scene. The official photographer recorded everything including the removal of soil samples and the collection of leaf-mould for forensic analysis. In all, the examination continued for about two hours. It was fortunate that DS Sullivan provided a running commentary to explain what was going on, and why such a detailed examination was necessary.

  ‘Detective Chief Superintendent Napier is on his way,’ he told them after taking a call on his mobile. ‘He’ll want to examine both the scene and the body in situ. There’s little more we can do until he arrives and I’m sure he’ll call out the full murder team. The stretcher is on its way and once Mr Napier has viewed the body, it will be placed in a mortuary vehicle to be taken to Middlesbrough for a forensic post-mortem.’

  There was a brief lapse of activity, then everything changed. Puffing through the undergrowth with his large size and famous big feet trampling shrubs and crushing plants, Detective Chief Superintendent Roderick (Nabber) Napier arrived with Detective Inspector Brian Lindsey at his side. They were quickly followed by the stretcher party consisting of four powerful young policemen, and after they had placed the stretcher close to the body, the pathologist, along with Napier and Lindsey, came for a closer look. No one said anything as the party toured the area around the corpse, sometimes checking the ground before standing on it and sometimes moving aside ferns and other undergrowth.

  ‘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 t
he 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.’

  Chapter 3

  THE 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.’