Murder at Maddleskirk Abbey

by Nicholas Rhea

  ‘I fear the death in the crypt is going to ruin all your expectations, Father Abbot. Once the inquiry gets underway with teams of detectives asking questions, there is bound to be media interest – and a missing pupil is relevant. I fear this story will reach the press unless he is found quickly.’

  ‘The monkstables are quite capable of dealing with a normal absence, I’m sure, and doing so without publicity. That is what I would wish. Surely there is some way you can keep his disappearance out of the newspapers and other media?’

  As I sipped my coffee, I wondered why the college authorities did not want to call in the local police or their experts from headquarters – or seek help from the press and other media. In most cases when a pupil disappears, every possible source of help is utilised. If the county police – apart from the murder investigation – were to undertake a professional search for a pupil, teams of officers would be deployed and police dogs would be called in to check the huge expanse of the grounds and the surrounding area. Certainly there would be publicity in the press and on radio and television and this would inevitably result in an organized and thorough examination of all buildings, old and new, along with checks on buses and taxis and enquiries in the neighbouring towns and villages. In that way, thousands of extra eyes and ears would be on the lookout for him.

  I explained all this to the abbot with due emphasis on the added burden of a murder investigation on the premises. He listened intently but I gained the impression he still seemed reluctant to associate the missing boy with the murder or to involve the media. His attitude pointed to the possibility he was not being completely open.

  ‘You’re holding something back, Father. Am I not in full possession of all the facts? Has this something to do with child abuse? Is it something sexual? Involving a monk? Or member of staff? Is there a major scandal brewing behind the scenes that I don’t know about? Could that be why he has run away? Or is it why we have a mysterious dead man in the crypt? Is anyone else missing? Teacher? Monk? Another pupil? Someone from the village, a girl perhaps? Someone from the domestic staff?’

  ‘I sincerely hope it’s nothing like that, Nick. I have no reason to think it is any of those things, but let me tell you why this is such a delicate matter. And now, to change the direction of this discussion, how familiar are you with the history of Poland?’

  ‘Completely unfamiliar!’ I wondered why on earth he had suddenly introduced Poland into the conversation.

  ‘Like many more millions!’

  ‘I think most of us forgot poor old Poland long before it was lost deep within the Soviet empire. But I know it emerged anew in 1968 and is now regarded as a vibrant and progressive nation. The election of Pope John Paul helped a lot. Poland has got some of its old sparkle back.’

  ‘That sums it up, Nick. Now, the Polish royal family was the Waza dynasty which was in power until 1668. The last king was John II who abdicated in that year, and, officially, the line became extinct. That was in 1672.’

  ‘I note you say “officially”?’

  ‘The family line survived, but did so in secret and in exile. Now, with Poland’s emergence onto the world scene, there is a move to reinstate the monarchy.’

  ‘So you’re saying the line did not die out?’

  ‘That’s right. Legitimate descendants are very much alive. The family trees have been thoroughly checked by experts. A new King of Poland, descended from the earlier dynasty, is possible. That could – and would – happen if the national desire is there.’

  ‘Really? So how will they manage to resurrect their royal family?’

  ‘There is a young man with pure Polish royal blood in his veins, Nick, one whose ancestry can be traced right back to that time. And his father is dead. He was killed in England some fifteen years ago as the result of a traffic accident.’

  ‘A real accident, or a staged one?’

  ‘That was never determined. The police investigation concluded there were suspicions about the cause of the accident but nothing was proved against the other driver. He was not charged with any offence.’

  ‘That sounds ominous. Are you saying this missing boy is the legitimate heir?’

  ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I am saying. It means this young man, or one of his descendants, would be the next King of Poland if the monarchy is ever revived. But there are some people who are not Polish nationals – and others who are – who do not want a Polish royal family under any circumstances.’

  He paused as I realized the seriousness of what he was telling me. He continued, ‘Let us say these anti-royalists are prepared to take any steps necessary to prevent that happening.’

  ‘So are you saying the future king is the pupil who’s missing?’ The enormousness of that statement was almost unbelievable.

  ‘Yes. He’s one of our boarders. Here he is known as Simon Houghton, and that is the name on his passport. He was born and brought up in this country, so his English is perfect. You’d never know he had any other ancestry. The security services have done a good job in maintaining his disguise.’

  ‘Now I understand your caution!’

  ‘Good – and I cannot over-stress that great caution is constantly required.’

  ‘Well, it seems to have worked for the past seventeen years or so.’

  ‘Yes, but legally the lad is not yet an adult as he is under eighteen. Young Houghton has had that name since infancy and has never been known by any other. That was done particularly so that he cannot inadvertently reveal his true name and future role.’

  ‘So even he doesn’t know his own real identity?’

  ‘No. He is completely unaware of who he is. I was informed because we – the community of monks, the college – are acting in loco parentis. His mother though is acutely conscious of his true heritage.’

  ‘So does she know he’s missing?’

  ‘No, not yet. We thought we should do all we can to find him before we tell her – hence the very thorough search. If we find him safe and sound, she need never know of this adventure.’

  ‘What a huge responsibility. For her and for you.’

  ‘Absolutely. His real name is Wladislaus Sobieski and it must never be revealed to the public in case the wrong people find him. We don’t want publicity under any circumstances. Now, you can see our problem.’

  ‘I can and I understand everything now. But could his real name ever be uncovered if the lad himself is unaware of it?’

  ‘The short answer is “yes” and that is the problem. There are agents at work in this country, Nick, and elsewhere. One problem is that more and more people from Poland and other parts of Europe are coming here to settle or to find work and we have reason to believe that some are using such stories as a cover for their real purpose. It is known there are those who are determined to seek out and identify descendants of the former Polish royal family and eliminate them. Such people know that a possible heir exists and they are determined to destroy him. The motives of many are not always supportive of a revived monarchy! I’m telling you this so you can fully appreciate the problem that’s confronting us. In view of your experience and contacts, I hope you can co-operate with us in this drama.’

  ‘I must say, Father Abbot, once anyone tries to deceive the press or the police the truth has a nasty habit of emerging. If it is really necessary to conceal or disguise the truth we could say that the hunt for young Houghton is merely a training exercise for our monkstables without naming the pupil who has volunteered to go into hiding! But Detective Sergeant Sullivan is already aware of Simon’s absence. At the moment, the media is unaware of it, but if it is shown that the man’s death in the crypt is the result of murder, then a continuing absence of Simon will be of increasing importance to the investigation – he’ll be considered a suspect or perhaps another victim. It will not be easy keeping such information from the media.’

  ‘Can you offer a solution?’

  ‘I favour honesty when dealing with the media but I see no reason to inform them o
f Simon’s name or home area. We could merely say he is a juvenile so we cannot publish his name. I would be in favour of investigating his absence with all possible help from the media but with absolutely no hint of his background. Perhaps one solution is to inform Detective Chief Superintendent Napier of Simon’s background? No one here, apart from you, me and his housemaster knows his true identity, so there is no reason why it should emerge during this investigation – after all, he is merely a seventeen-year old pupil who hasn’t turned up for lessons. I am sure Mr Napier will respect our wishes without informing the wider public of the true situation.’

  ‘I still feel there is a risk, Nick, if the wrong people read about the case and begin delving….’

  ‘There is slender hope for us, Father. That fact that Simon is under eighteen means that, in some cases, such youngsters’ names are not revealed by the press.’

  ‘That’s a good point and it may offer the best solution. Thanks for that.’

  ‘I still think we should inform Detective Chief Superintendent Napier to ensure his co-operation.’

  ‘I will speak to him, but here I must be straight with you: according to the latest intelligence we have received, certain parties are aware that the Polish heir is now masquerading as an English student at an English Catholic public school. And please remember his father died in suspicious circumstances. If this boy’s name gets into the national or international media, I fear the truth will emerge. We cannot risk that, murder or no murder investigation.’

  ‘So is his Simon Houghton alias completely secure?’

  ‘Nothing is ever completely secure, Nick. That’s my concern.’

  ‘Surely that’s all the more reason to behave absolutely as normal?’

  ‘Then I shall speak to the senior detective. So, Nick, despite a murder on our premises, the fact remains that we have to find that young man before someone else does.’

  CHAPTER 5

  WITH THE MONKS’ chanting clearly audible, I left the abbot’s office and went directly to the Postgate Room to find Prior Tuck and Detective Sergeant Sullivan. Prior Tuck had been busy. He had found a blackboard, now standing near a lectern, and on the wall behind was a large computer screen bearing a detailed map of the entire campus. Small green areas showed places that had already been searched and declared clear. Facing the screen were about twenty chairs arranged in rows as if awaiting a lecturer and upon each was a pad of paper and a ballpoint pen. Prior Tuck expected his monkstables to make full use of this room as their own assembly point.

  ‘This is the monkstables’ operations room,’ he beamed, recalling his own police experience as he addressed the detective sergeant. ‘The CID murder room will be in SALT – St Alban’s Lecture Theatre – near the library. Their equipment and personnel are en route. Meanwhile all our monkstables have responded and are searching for Simon. Father Robin has organized them into two-man teams. Father Will in the cop shop will deal with anything that arises and we have both computer and telephone contact with him.’

  ‘Good. So have there been developments with the murder enquiry?’ I asked.

  ‘We’re awaiting the official photographers, police doctor and the forensic pathologist; when they’ve finished in the crypt we can move the body. There’s very little we can do just now.’ Detective Sergeant Sullivan was carrying a mug of coffee as he wandered up and down the central aisle. ‘I’m expecting my boss any minute but meanwhile the crypt remains sealed. Your cops are doing a good job.’

  ‘Some were pupils at the college which means they know their way around – and all the hiding places! They’re all are very keen. So is there any sign of Harvey?’

  ‘No. I’ve managed to make a few enquiries, but no one seems to know where he has established his studio, or where he might have gone. He does a lot of his work on his triptych away from here so his studio can’t be far away. I’m working on it – we must talk to him as soon as we can.’

  ‘Do we know any more about him?’ I asked Prior Tuck.

  ‘I’ve spoken to the procurator,’ he replied. ‘Even he knows very little about him. He’s a loner, very much a mystery figure and most elusive. He calls himself by one name – Harvey – and won’t give his full name or address to anyone, nor will he say where he has based his studio. He’s paid cash from funds donated by a benefactor in Cannes, through the abbey accounts. The donation – a large one that covers his fees and expenses – has been banked and the abbey pays him an agreed amount at the end of each month. He insists on cash and signs the receipt as Harvey, but refuses to commit anything else to writing. I must say he works hard; he’s not a slacker or a work-dodger.’

  ‘So how do we contact him?’

  ‘By leaving notes on his work-bench in the crypt – he can read! We never know what time he’s expected there; he comes and goes without warning and never visits any other place on the campus, except the procurator’s office around month end. Even then, he can vary his visits. You can’t plan a meeting with him, and have to rely on a chance encounter, or hope he responds to one of those notes.’

  ‘Well, he’ll have to change his tactics now.’ Detective Sergeant Sullivan sounded emphatic. ‘We’ve bolted the north and south doors from the inside so if he wants access to his creation he’ll have to ask me and that won’t be granted until we’ve forensically examined the entire crypt.’

  ‘If he can’t get in, he’ll ask at reception. He’ll be told what’s going on.’

  ‘Yes, and I have the key. We don’t want him moving around the crypt before we’ve finished with it. Don’t forget he’s a prime suspect – lots of his tools would make good murder weapons. We need to examine those and then interrogate him.’

  ‘You’re not honestly suggesting he’s the killer, are you?’ I asked.

  ‘It can’t be ruled out, but I’m also aware that someone else could have picked up one of his hammers and used it, then put it back or thrown it down somewhere. That’s something we’ve yet to establish – we’ll get more information about the wound once the pathologist has carried out his post mortem. Then we’ll try to match a hammer or other tool against it. If it’s none of those, we’ll have to look elsewhere.’

  ‘There’s one more thing about Harvey,’ added Prior Tuck. ‘He runs a scruffy white van which he parks at the north of the abbey near the kitchens when he’s working in the crypt. He usually enters via the north door if he has anything bulky or heavy to bring in, so he’ll borrow a kitchen trolley to carry it. The kitchen staff are quite used to him wandering through their corridors.’

  ‘And a description? Do we have a description?’ asked Sullivan who was jotting notes on a pad of paper, later to be written up in his official pocket book.

  ‘Of him or the van?’ asked Tuck.

  ‘Both.’

  ‘According to the procurator, he’s a large man, more than six feet tall and heavily built, more like an all-in wrestler than a sculptor. He dresses all in black – much of it leather, and wears knee-length leather boots with thick soles. Some of his clothing bears chrome studs. He has leather kneecaps because much of his work involves kneeling. He has a very unruly mop of curly black hair with matching moustache and large beard. He reminds the procurator of one of those Goths who go to Whitby to celebrate Dracula’s visit. It’s hard to tell his age. Late forties perhaps.’

  ‘Well, he shouldn’t take much finding, except on a dark night,’ beamed the sergeant. ‘So what about his van. Has it got his name on it? Do we have its registration number?’

  ‘Neither. It’s plain and rather scruffy, quite anonymous. I don’t have a record of its registration number but Brother George may have it.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘He’s a monkstable and well into his sixties, Sergeant,’ responded Prior Tuck. ‘He was a hill farmer before joining the monastery and lost a lot of his sheep to thieves. He got into the habit of recording the registration numbers of every car, lorry or van that came anywhere near his farm – and several thieves were caught. He has c
ontinued that practice here, especially because there are so many white vans coming onto the site due to the construction work. Building materials are sometimes stolen, and if we get a report of a theft or burglary in one of the site offices, he passes van registration numbers to the county police who then interview the drivers. He’s not an ordained priest by the way; he’s a monk, Brother George – not Father George.’

  ‘Thanks. He sounds a useful sort of man to have around. OK, at an opportune moment, I’ll see what he can tell us. I’m beginning to appreciate your monkstables more and more. I’m sure we can work together on this….’

  And at that point, the door opened without warning, crashed against a chair that was rather too close behind it and admitted a huge man with massive splayed feet. Large black shoes with polished toe-caps exaggerated the overall appearance of them. Bald-headed with a dome of white skin but with tufts of black hair around his ears and the back of his head, he appeared to waddle rather like a penguin.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Found you, Sarge. Is the coffee on? I’m parched.’

  ‘I’ll see to it,’ offered Prior Tuck who had not yet had an opportunity to don his police uniform. He was still wearing his black habit.

  ‘Thank you, Reverend, that’s a good start. I’m Detective Chief Super Napier,’ beamed the huge fellow. ‘Now DS Sullivan, I’m sure you have not spent all your time chatting and drinking coffee, so what can you tell me about all this?’

  He plonked himself on a chair, issued a huge sigh of relief and continued, ‘I must get some weight off, I feel as if I’m carrying several sacks of spuds around with me all the time. So, introduce me to your friends then tell me what I need to know.’

  Clearly in awe of the great man, Jim Sullivan first introduced Prior Tuck as the man in charge of the monkstables, giving a brief account of them and then explaining this room would be their base as they searched for Simon Houghton.

  ‘Tuck?’ frowned Napier. ‘You’re not that man Tuck from Northumbria Police, are you?’