“The point is that someone must have been out in the middle of the night, which is against the rules. Someone has been sneaking out. This must be addressed.”
“Alberon, what time were you outside, and for what purpose?” Cédric asked steadily, curious to see his colleague’s reaction.
“I was collecting herbs,” the younger monk sighed, “to make a potion for my arthritis. I suppose it was sometime around four-thirty or so.”
As though to prove a point, Alberon touched the base of his spine tenderly with one hand and rubbed gently, leaving it there for effect.
“Interesting,” Brother Bénédict tutted. “You have great knowledge in extracting just the right ingredients for your medicinal cures, Alberon. Tell us, Brother, are you also familiar with the poison digitalis, that the policemen spoke of?”
“Yes, of course. You know that I have studied botany, chemistry and herbalism. The poison of which you speak is extracted from wildflowers that grow nearby. What are you getting at?”
Brother Bénédict turned to Cédric and raised his bushy dark eyebrows. “This is exactly the knowledge that the Dutchman’s murderer would have known.”
Alberon’s faced turned bright pink with rage, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair in which he sat. “How dare you accuse me?” he bellowed. “I will not tolerate it!”
Cédric stood, although not with any speed, and banged the palm of his hand flat on the desk. “Brothers! Do you think that Abbot Arnaud would approve of our arguing? Is this the way we should behave in the house of Our Lord? I asked you to join me in order to resolve our problems, not to cause additional ones.”
Alberon was not to be pacified. “Brother Cédric, I will not sit here and be accused… of… of… murder!”
“I am sure that Brother Bénédict was not blaming you, Alberon. Now, perhaps you should return to the infirmary where your administrations are greatly needed amongst the sick, while Bénédict and I resolve some issues. And thank you for your support.”
Alberon rose, but not before lifting his chin in Brother Bénédict’s direction.
“An apology might be in order,” he muttered, waiting for a reaction.
“Brother Alberon,” Bénédict sighed, a flush reaching his temples as he sought out the right words, “I am sorry and take back what I have said. It was thoughtless of me.”
Closing the door softly behind Brother Alberon, and then waiting until he heard the other man’s footsteps disappear down the corridor, Cédric poured out two glasses of water from a stoneware pitcher and passed one over to Bénédict.
“You don’t seriously believe that Alberon could have been involved in the young man’s death, do you? The very idea is absurd.”
Brother Bénédict sipped the water and shifted to get his large frame comfortable in the rather small chair. “I was merely stating facts, Cédric. Alberon has the knowledge to extract the poison and works constantly in the infirmary. He also had plenty of opportunity to administer it.”
“But no motive,” the other man sighed, trying to press his point across.
“Admittedly – or no motive that we know of, at least.”
“Well, let us have no more talk of it for now. Alberon is no more guilty than you or I. We three have to stick together, Brother, it simply won’t do for us to be up in arms against one another.”
“I will say no more on the matter. Let the police do their work. What about Arnaud?” Bénédict pressed. “The map you told us about last night, where does it show and what does it lead to?”
Cédric shrugged his shoulders. “I have absolutely no idea. I only know that it’s important to the abbot, but as we could find no trace of the map in his quarters, I suggest we forget about it for now.”
“Perhaps you could press the abbot about it...”
“And cause more upset to our fragile old Father? My dear Bénédict, I really don’t think it was important. Perhaps no map exists. It could merely have been the ramblings of a dying man. Let us think no more of it unless he asks again.”
“But what if it is something of great significance?” the monk asked, coming over to lay both hands upon the shoulders of his comrade, his old eyes moist in the dull morning sunlight that streamed through the only office window.
“Bénédict, not now. I must prepare to return to the hospital. Would you be so kind as to locate Brother Ernest? I shall need him to drive me to Saint André’s.”
“Very well, as you wish. But we must continue this conversation later, just you and I, agreed?”
The plump old monk sighed. “Very well, but I hope it doesn’t stir up trouble.”
Returning to his room to retrieve a woollen cloak to wear outdoors, Brother Cédric lifted the corner of his bedframe and pulled out a piece of folded white paper. Holding it carefully between two gnarled fingers, he unfolded the map that he’d found in the back of Noel Van Beek’s Old Testament Bible.
The edge of one side was ragged, as though it had been torn from a larger piece, and the roughly drawn ink sketch had faded with time. There were a few numbers in the top right corner that could have been dates or co-ordinates, he was uncertain which. For a few minutes, Cédric stood wondering whether to take this drawing to Abbot Arnaud, just in case it bore a resemblance to the old man’s own map that he had mentioned, but a knock at the door forced a split second decision and he tucked the paper hastily back into its original hiding place between the mattress and sheet.
“Brother Cédric,” a slightly high-pitched male voice called out, “I’m ready to take you to the hospital now. The van is warmed up, the heater is on full.”
“Then come along, Brother Ernest,” the old monk smiled, opening the door wide with his cloak hooked over one arm. “Let us commence our journey.”
CHAPTER TWELVE – OPEN TOMBS AND SHALLOW GRAVES
Max Mallery stumbled to the kitchen rubbing his eyes and yawning. His mouth felt as dry as the inside of a sand-pit and his caffeine levels were seriously low. Scattered on the breakfast bar were copies of the four monk’s profiles, the men who had been left on their suspect list after Luc had inputted his magical algorithms. Max had spent hours going through the papers the previous evening, looking for some clue as to why one of the brotherhood would want Noel Van Beek dead. Unfortunately, the inspector’s concentration levels had been lacking somewhat as, every hour or so, Vanessa had phoned him from the ladies’ toilets of some soirée that she was attending with her husband. It was a poor distraction and, for the first time ever, Max had become annoyed at his lover and eventually, after the third giggling conversation, told her to stop calling. Now, in the cold light of day, he reckoned that there would be repercussions in the form of a few harsh text messages from Vanessa and, on top of the complex murder investigation, he felt like doing nothing more than going back to bed. Thankfully, ten minutes in a hot shower and two strong espressos hardened his resolve and Mallery was on his way into the police headquarters.
Across town, Jack Hobbs was in the kitchen filling a plastic container with a few home comforts that his mother had posted over the previous day. Opening up the parcel, the Englishman had delighted in finding a box of Yorkshire Tea, some Kendall Mint Cake and half a dozen Eccles cakes. Jack’s wife, Angélique, had turned her nose up at the sweet treats, so now they were being packed into his rucksack as a mid-morning snack for the team.
“Are you sure you don’t mind me going?” Angélique trilled, smiling up at her husband as she spooned baby food into their young son’s mouth.
“Of course not,” Jack replied honestly. “Why not enjoy yourself with your best friend while I’m working to keep a roof over our heads?”
The slim, dark Frenchwoman threw a stuffed rabbit across the kitchen and stuck out her tongue. “Come on, it’s not my fault.”
“No, but it’ll be your fault if I’m late. So, if you want a lift to the train station, we’d better get a move on. Get Tom’s coat on and I’ll take your bag down.”
Angelique wiped the little
boy’s mouth and eased him out of the highchair. “Bien, mon bébé, laisse aller à la maison de Grand-mère.”
Arriving in the police station car park at the exact same moment, Mallery and Hobbs greeted each other cheerily and headed towards the door.
“This is quite early for you, Jacques,” Max commented, turning up his collar against the wind, “it’s not even eight-thirty.”
“I know. I had to drop my wife and son at the station. Angélique’s taking Thomas down to stay with her parents for a few days while she spends the weekend in Nice with a friend.”
Mallery instinctively picked up on the tone of his colleague’s voice. “Don’t tell me, you were supposed to be going, but then this case, huh?”
Jack nodded. “Yep, exactly. Never mind though, there’ll be other weekends.”
Max stole a glance at the younger man and winked. “I know there will.”
Inspector Mallery took a few minutes to heat up his own coffee machine before joining the other detectives in the incident room. He felt slightly guilty at not offering to share his superior beverages, but soon shrugged it off as a perk of his job.
“So, what do we have? I take it everyone has had time to read the five profiles. Any thoughts?”
Jack moved over to the whiteboard and drew four neat columns with the headings: Arnaud; Francis; Cédric; Alberon; Bénédict.
“Shall we start with Abbot Arnaud?” Mallery asked, gesturing to the first section. “According to the monastery records, he has been at Saint Augustin’s for over thirty years. Before that, he was briefly at the Roman Catholic school in Salbec, but we know nothing of his early years.”
“An unlikely suspect,” Luc commented, biting his pen. “He’s eighty, not very quick on his feet and, from what you said yesterday, he knows the Van Beek family.”
“Mmm, but that fact does connect him to the victim, Luc.”
“Maybe, sir, but I’m not sure that he is capable of murder.”
“Is any religious person supposed to commit a crime such as this?” Gabriella shot back. “It goes against everything they believe in.”
Hobbs nodded and scribbled some information on the board.
“Brother Francis opened the door to Van Beek and stayed in the infirmary for a while, but he didn’t go near it on the day of his death,” Thierry told the group, after checking his interview notes.
“Disregard him for now,” Mallery told them, “but keep an open mind.”
“Brother Cédric is a funny one,” Jack told the room, tapping the next column. “He seems sneaky, a bit controlling, but that’s just my gut feeling.”
“Sometimes it’s important to listen to your instincts,” Max told him. “After all, you were right about Isobel Green when we wrongfully arrested her.”
“Keep Cédric underlined for now, then?”
Mallery nodded and consulted his notes. “Now, Alberon had the most opportunity to administer the poison, as he is in charge of the infirmary and has the key to the medicine cabinet.”
“Sir, anyone could have picked those flowers and prepared the poison in another place,” Thierry jumped in. “I interviewed Brother Alberon myself and he seems very… erm… I don’t know in English… very well?”
“Genuine?” Jack offered.
“Oui, exactly, genuine. Alberon was very upset that Noel Van Beek had died while in his care. Maybe he is a good actor, but for me, I think it’s not him.”
“That would leave us with Brother Bénédict,” Max said slowly, waving his notes. “A man who told officers that, as a novice, he lived at a monastery in the Midi-Pyrenees, on the Spanish border, which strangely is the place where Van Beek had told his grandmother he was visiting.”
“Yes, but he’s also been at Saint Augustin’s for nearly thirty years,” Luc pointed out, “so it’s maybe just a coincidence, don’t you think?”
The telephone on Gabriella’s desk trilled loudly and Mallery signalled for her to answer it. The young detective put one hand over her left ear as she listened with the right, just in case the team around her used the interruption to begin chattering.
“Oui, oui, je vais lui dire, merci,” she finished.
“There has been another incident at Saint Magdalena’s Church in Salbec, she announced. “This time, three graves have been opened.”
Mallery leaned over Luc’s desk, giving him a quick rundown of clues that they might have missed, such as traffic cameras picking up Noel Van Beek’s journey, any of the monks being seen outside of the village recently and any connection between Annalise Van Beek and Arnaud, should she refuse to talk.
“Right, I’ll take Gabriella over to the hotel to speak to the grandmother. A bit of female company during afternoon tea might encourage her to tell us a bit more about that Bible. Jack, Thierry, you two get yourselves out to Salbec and find out what is going on. The last thing we need at the moment is a group of bored teenagers going around digging up the dead. See you back here around two.”
“And no going to Fabron’s boulangerie on the way back!” Gabriella shouted to the two young detectives, as she shrugged on her leather jacket.
“That’s a great idea,” Thierry whispered to Jack as they headed for the door.
Hobbs patted his rucksack and gave his colleague a conspiratorial nudge. “It’s all right, I’ve got plenty of supplies in here.”
Thierry took a sidelong glance at the bag and rubbed his hands together. “Good man, let’s go.”
Annalise Van Beek was sitting with her hands in her lap, hair coiled perfectly around her beautiful face, a teapot and three cups set out on the table before her in the hotel suite.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me today,” Mallery said with a smile, taking in the luxurious living area. “This is my colleague, Detective DuPont.”
“Under the circumstances, I should imagine we will have a great many more meetings until my grandson’s murderer is behind bars.” Annalise sighed, pinching her lips together as she began to pour out tea.
Max pushed a heavy package onto the edge of the coffee table. “Madame Van Beek, perhaps you could take a look at this Bible and tell me if it’s the same one that Noel was carrying with him.”
Annalise set down the pot and gently ran her fingertips over the edge of the plastic wrapping.
“Here, let me help,” Gabriella offered, sliding the great volume out and into sight. “There we are.”
The elderly woman put a hand to her mouth, then, with fingers trembling slightly, she flipped open the front cover and read the inscription: Find me. Papa.
She ran her manicured hands over the date and then nodded her confirmation. “Yes, Inspector Mallery, this is the same Bible.”
“You are absolutely sure?”
Annalise hefted the volume over and lifted the back cover. Her fingers stopped moving when they fell upon the paper pocket inside.
“There should be…” she murmured, gently feeling inside, pulling out a dried yellow rose, and then looking up in agitation. “There is something missing! Where did you find this? Somebody has stolen an item from inside here.”
Gabriella shifted in her seat on the sofa and glanced over at her boss.
“It was in the possession of the abbot of Saint Augustin’s,” Max told the Dutchwoman. “He lies in hospital quite ill, having suffered a heart attack and one of the monks took Noel’s Bible to his bedside.”
There was a flicker behind the woman’s eyes. “What is the name of the abbot?”
“Arnaud.”
With a look of great disappointment, Annalise fell back against the velvet cushions on her chair and shook her head. “I know no one of that name. But why would one of the monks take this from Noel’s bag?”
“Apparently, they were looking for some means of identification, an address for his family, when he was ill. Passports do not contain such details. I think perhaps they forgot to put it back.”
Annalise looked the inspector squarely in the eye. “You must find the missing piece of paper, it�
��s very important.”
“Can you tell us why?”
The woman bit her lip and lowered her gaze. “It’s only worth something to a family member, it wouldn’t be of any use to anyone else.”
Gabriella laid a warm hand on Annalise’s arm and handed over her card. “Here is my phone number. If it’s easier to talk to a woman, or you just need to find out where we are with the investigation, please call me.”
“Thank you. I have decided to stay in France until someone is charged with my grandson’s murder, so I will be here at the hotel.”
Max gave a sympathetic smile. “But Madame, it could be weeks until…”
“Surely not.” Annalise frowned. “I’m sure you can do better than that, Inspector.”
“So, what do you have to eat?” Thierry asked, rubbing his hands together and eyeing Jack’s rucksack on the back seat of the car.
“Kendall Mint Cake, which is a type of sweet, and Eccles cakes. Help yourself and pass me one.”
The young, dark detective lifted the bag over onto his lap and took out a plastic tub. He eyed the white slabs warily and then quickly made a decision, opting for the Eccles cakes.
Hobbs focussed on the road, but he stole a glance at his colleague as he bit into the flaky pastry crammed with fruit.
“What zee hell…?” Thierry laughed. “This is so strange, but… not so bad.”
“They’re my favourite,” Jack told him, taking a proffered cake in his left hand, “and not too damaged by their journey from Yorkshire, either.”
“Is this something you eat often?”
Hobbs nodded. “Every chance I get, Thierry.”
Pulling up opposite the grey granite church of Saint Magdalena, the men finished their sweet treats and brushed crumbs from their trousers. The priest had obviously been keeping watch for the detectives’ arrival, as he came striding out through the front porch with a purposeful gait.
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