Murder at Maddleskirk Abbey

by Nicholas Rhea

  ‘Where did he go? Did he tell you where he was heading?’

  ‘No, he just rode off down the valley towards the back entrance of the grounds, that one near the old barns.’

  ‘On that bike?’

  ‘Yes, he rode away on it with his lunch in a haversack on his back. Nice, pleasant lad, always polite. Tall, dark and handsome. Well bred, as you’d expect. He often does this – you have to book your packed lunch the previous evening and we make it up on Sunday. So he was going off for the day, quite a few of the lads do it.’

  ‘Alone, was he?’

  ‘Yes, quite alone. Not many booked pack-ups this weekend due to the storms on Saturday and then Sunday. In fact, I think he was the only one.’

  ‘Do you have his name?’

  ‘Hang on, we keep a list and tick them off when they collect their packs.’ She looked behind the door of one of the cupboards and picked off a single sheet of paper.

  ‘Here we are, Brother George. A lad called Horton. One extra-large packed lunch ordered before mass on Sunday. And it was collected.’

  ‘Horton?’ I butted in. ‘Do you mean Houghton?’

  ‘Houghton, Horton, it’s all the same to us, Mr Rhea. It sounded like Horton to me, I took the booking.’

  ‘That’s how Houghton is pronounced by the family, Nick,’ said Brother George.

  CHAPTER 7

  WE WERE PLEASED with the result of our enquiries although they had taken rather longer than expected. When I drove back to my parking space near the crypt, I found it occupied. Likewise, the area set aside for the murder team’s vehicles was full, so I emulated Harvey, the sculptor, by leaving my car behind the kitchens where he usually left his van. I hoped none of the monkstables would put a ticket on it although I was half-hoping Harvey might arrive so that I could question him. But there was no sign of him. Brother George and I entered the abbey via the main door into reception and headed for the cop shop where Father Will was on duty. In the background I could now hear the monks chanting the Te Deum.

  ‘Ah, there you are.’ It sounded as if our presence had been sought. ‘They’ve all gone to SALT. It’s going to be used as the murder incident room. Chief Super Napier asked if you could join them when you return – the scientific examination of the body and the crypt is underway. The whole area is still sealed off. At this very moment the murder room is being set up with computers, phones, tables and chairs, desks and so forth, so you might get a job shifting furniture.’

  ‘So where are Prior Tuck and the other monkstables?’ I asked.

  ‘Searching the campus – it’s rather a cursory search of likely hiding places with a few questions of staff and pupils. They’ve not found Simon or any trace of him and no one has reported seeing him,’ said Father Will. ‘This marks the real beginning of the murder investigation and Mr Napier wants to address his detectives and then allocate actions. He’s decided to include the monkstables so we’ve been summoned to the meeting. I’m trying to trace them all as it seems he has a role for us.’

  ‘That’s encouraging. I expected we’d be left out of it!’ I admitted.

  ‘He knows we can contribute. Things are delayed because they’re awaiting the outcome of the scientific examination of the crypt. Refreshments are being provided for everyone, by the way. Lunch for the murder team will be in St Jerome’s Room from twelve noon – you can join them, Nick. The monkstables will use the monastery refectory.’

  ‘Things are moving at last,’ was all I could think of saying. ‘But we have some news of Simon Houghton, Father Will. We’ll inform Chief Super Napier but you should know that he booked a packed lunch to take out yesterday. He collected it after mass and then used a bike to ride down to Ashwell Barns. The bike is there now; we’ve seen it; it’s fairly old and battered but still serviceable. But there’s no sign of him. Why he would want to ride a bike for such a short distance is not known. We’ve searched the barns and found a tinker called Barnaby Crabstaff who’s been dossing down there for a few days. He hasn’t seen Simon.’

  ‘It’s odd he cycled there when he could have walked in five minutes,’ mused Will. ‘Is it possible he met someone at the barns and got a lift from there, leaving the bike for his return journey?’

  ‘That’s feasible,’ I agreed. ‘But as Simon is linked to the murder enquiries, if only for elimination purposes, the forensic team and photographers will want to examine the bike. So if he had arranged to meet someone, who was it? The murderer? A pal? If it was one of the students, he’d be absent too, but there are no such reports. So, did he meet a teacher, member of the domestic staff, a girl? If that’s what happened I’m sure we’d be aware of it by now.’

  ‘Unless he met a total stranger?’

  ‘Why would he go off with a stranger?’

  ‘Who knows? It’s something we must check. If he has gone off with a stranger, voluntarily or otherwise, we need to know,’ suggested Father Will. ‘And we need to know the reason. Did he meet someone who persuaded him to accompany him? Or was it pre-planned? And has his housemaster searched his room – not for the lad, we know he’s not there, but for clues? Does he keep a diary for example? Letters?’

  ‘The room was checked to see if he was there, that’s all,’ was my response. ‘I doubt if his housemaster looked for his diaries or private correspondence. But you’re right, we need to look at them. Leave that with me.’

  ‘OK.’

  Brother George now entered the conversation. ‘Nick, perhaps you aren’t aware of the College system? When a student brings his own cycle he can store it in any of the racks around the campus, and he’s responsible for its security. However, when a student finishes here it’s customary to leave his old bike behind.’

  ‘Permanently you mean?’

  ‘Yes, as a sort of parting gift. By that stage, though, the bikes are fairly battered, but they may still provide transport for someone without one. So they become runabouts, you jump on and ride it to your destination, then leave for someone to pick up and go elsewhere. Then, every few years, we have a clear-out of bikes that are really done for and Claude Jeremiah Greengrass takes them off our hands.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ I said. ‘Well, Brother George, I think it’s time we joined the others.’

  ‘You know, Nick,’ said Brother George as he walked away. ‘I can’t understand why our monkstables didn’t search those old barns – but even if they had, they might not have realized the importance of the old bike.’

  ‘I think I can explain that. Follow me, we’ll call in at our own incident room at the Postgate to see if there are any messages before we join the others.’

  And so we did. The Postgate Room was temporarily deserted but a digital map of the campus was on display with more green patches having been added.

  ‘What do you make of that?’ I asked Brother George.

  ‘It seems our colleagues are doing their duty in completing their searches.’

  ‘Does anything else strike you?’

  He cupped his chin in his hands and stared at the image before him for a few moments, then shook his head. ‘No. It’s just a map of the buildings and grounds, with areas marked off when they’ve been searched.’

  ‘Right, but just recently, Brother George, you and I visited two important places, both of which are not shown on that map – Abbey Farm and Ashwell Priory barns. Abbey Farm is owned by the abbey but it is rather too far away to be included on the map, and Ashwell Priory barns are not owned by the Abbey, so they are not on the map.’

  ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘So when the jobs are allocated, those places not marked on the map could be overlooked – not deliberately, but simply because they are not visible. So we need a more comprehensive map?’

  ‘We do. And we need our monkstables to start thinking beyond the boundaries. Even within the grounds there are lots of people who are not connected with the abbey – building workers, people coming and going on business, visitors, tourists, and now those archaeologists.’

  ‘All to
be interviewed?’

  ‘Yes, the CID will want to interview each one of them, And so should we if we want to find Simon, who could be miles away by now – he’s been missing for twenty-four hours. So having established that, let’s join the others.’

  When we entered the St Alban’s Lecture Theatre, the place seemed in turmoil. Noisy men and women were organizing the position of furniture, computers, large video screens, internal telephones and maps. The theatre though had been custom-built for lectures aided by computers and photographs, either stills or videos. Despite the high technology, there was a pair of blackboards beside the speaker’s lectern and brief particulars were chalked on them – the name of the venue, the name of the detective inspector who had been appointed murder room manager and the date of discovery of the body and by whom. A plain clothes officer approached us.

  ‘Yes, can I help you?’

  ‘I’m ex-Inspector Rhea and I am advising the monk-constables on how to conduct their search for a missing pupil. This is Brother George, one of our monkstables, as call them. We have been asked to join you here. Detective Chief Superintendent Napier will vouch for us.’

  ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Detective Inspector Lindsey, Brian to my friends. As you can see things are bit hectic right now but within a few minutes, all the gear will be in the right position and our teams will be able to take their seats as they await their first address from Chief Super Napier. My job is to make sure the murder room runs efficiently as we can’t afford sloppiness or mistakes.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I worked in a lot of murder rooms when I was serving. I’m always amazed at the huge amount of information they generate. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll do a great job!’

  ‘I’ll do my best. Can I suggest you find a chair somewhere to await events? At the moment the scene of the crime is still being examined and once that’s complete our teams will be briefed with actions, tasks that have to be completed and reported back here. Each team consists of two detectives – a sergeant and a constable. I reckon you will know all that.’

  ‘It will be new to Brother George and the other monkstables.’

  ‘They’ll soon understand what’s going on. You and the monkstables will be expected to continue the hunt for the missing pupil, leaving the murder to us. It will take pressure off our officers, allowing them to concentrate on the crime. There are lots of people to interview, I had no idea this campus was so large and busy.’

  ‘There are several thousand people here during a normal working day,’ I told him. ‘Seven hundred pupils for a start … monks, teachers, other staff members … now workmen, archaeologists and tourists. But we’ve just discovered some news about the missing pupil,’ I said.

  ‘That’s good. Can I suggest you wait until everyone’s arrived then all can hear what you’ve got to say? I’ll call you to say your bit. We can then hear what everyone else has been doing and it’s a chance to ask questions. There are meal and break periods – we need them – and lunch has been arranged. We don’t usually get treated like this during murder investigations but it leaves our mobile canteen free for minor refreshments whenever they’re needed – which is always!’

  We found seats in the auditorium and settled down and didn’t have to wait very long.

  A door crashed open and DCS Napier swept in with a retinue of others trailing behind. There seemed to be a lot of plain-clothes officers, men and women. There was the inevitable scramble as everyone tried to find a seat and when Napier was satisfied everyone was settled and listening, he began.

  ‘My name is Napier, sir to you all,’ he began without a smile. ‘If you have a problem, or want to share a secret, or report a breakthrough in the enquiry, then I will listen. Or you can discuss it with DS Sullivan over there,’ – he pointed as Sullivan raised his hand – ‘and the gentleman on my right is DI Lindsey, the murder room manager. I expect diligent enquiries and the greatest possible effort from all of you.’

  He paused for a moment, then continued, ‘Now listen and watch carefully.’ He pressed a button on the console on the desk before him and the large screen on the wall behind him burst into life showing a photograph of a wide view of the crypt.

  ‘This is the murder scene: it’s the crypt below the abbey church. If you listen carefully you might hear monks chanting, real monks I mean. If you want to have a look at the crypt, talk to DS Sullivan. But not yet, forensics are still busy down there but we have enough information for us to get started.’

  He pressed another button and we saw a close-up of the coffin curtain, and then it was drawn aside to reveal the coffin and its occupant.

  ‘A solid stone coffin carved to accommodate one person; coffin’s age and origin unknown. Roman, more than likely. It stands on a knee-high plinth carved from the same block of granite and it has probably been here for hundreds of years. There is a custom that it should never be moved and to our knowledge, it never has. The occupant was recently deceased, somewhat whiskery and aged about fifty. He has greying brown hair but he’s only five feet two inches tall, a fraction over one and a half metres. A little chap. He had to be little to fit into the coffin. He might have been lying there for less than twenty-four hours. The body has now been removed to the forensic morgue at Middlesbrough General Hospital. The post-mortem has not yet started but this advance information is to get the basics up and running.

  ‘I want you all to note the victim’s clothes and facial characteristics because you’ll be making enquiries to see if anyone recognizes him or has seen him around the place. We need to know who he is and where he comes from. Try the Retreat Centre – did he book in there? Has he booked out? Where is his luggage? Does he have a vehicle? Is it parked somewhere on this site? You know the sort of thing to ask. At the moment we are examining his clothes for alien fibres or DNA. As you can see he is dressed like a hiker and we’re examining his boots to see what they can tell us. He is wearing a watch – a gents’ stainless-steel Sekonda with a stainless-steel strap. Inexpensive – maybe costing sixty quid new, less second-hand. We don’t know where he bought it. There’s scope for someone to find out if we can’t identify him. And where did he buy that coloured hat, or those boots? We’ll show you close-up images with makers’ names of all items of clothing. There was nothing in his pockets, probably removed by his killer with the intention of not having him identified. He has no spectacles and no jewellery, not even a ring.

  ‘We won’t know about tattoos or other body marks or injuries until the pathologist gets him undressed and onto the slab, but there is no doubt he died from a vicious wound to the back of his skull, precisely at the top of his spinal column. It fractured his skull and killed him. There is some blood which has oozed from the wound and now lies in the bottom of the coffin, beneath where his head rested. The condition of the blood should tell us how long he’s been there. We haven’t found the murder weapon but we are examining the tools belonging to a sculptor who has been working in the crypt. The hammer used to kill him will be bloodstained and might also have hair or bone sticking to it.

  ‘We need to establish a motive for his death. Why would such an apparently harmless little chap be wiped off the face of this planet? Who would want to do such a thing to him? What was the motive? We need to establish a motive, that’s vital.’

  As he paused awhile we were treated to photographs of all the sculpting tools that lay on the table used by Harvey, the camera ranging over them slowly and resting occasionally on each of the stone hammers and mallets.

  ‘So far we’ve not found any traces of blood, bone or hair on any of the hammers and mallets but each will be subjected to a detailed forensic examination. Similarly, our first examination of the scene has not revealed any blood spots on the floor of the crypt but we shall be further testing the area immediately around the coffin because if the blow was struck nearby, then you would expect tiny spillages or splashes of blood on or near the coffin and on the floor.’

  He paused again, then asked of his audience, ‘So what does the
absence of blood spots on the ground around the coffin suggest?’

  ‘That he was killed in the coffin,’ said a male detective. ‘Maybe climbing onto the plinth then crouching to look inside it … whereupon he was fatally struck from behind with a hammer?’

  ‘Then neatly arranged inside the coffin by his assailant? Sounds possible,’ agreed Napier. ‘So the assailant’s clothing might also bear minute blood spots. I don’t think he was killed elsewhere and carried to the coffin as there would have been a trail of bloodstains en route. Maybe tiny invisible ones, but they would have been there and visible to our scientific equipment. I tend to agree he was hit from behind while looking into the coffin, perhaps upon the invitation of his killer. So is our victim a historian? Did he come here deliberately to examine the old coffin? What do we know about it? Does it have any significance for anyone? Or any organization? Or is it merely a tourist attraction? Perhaps nothing more interesting than a relic from the past? These are openings for you to consider as you are interrogating witnesses or suspects.’

  He paused once more for them to digest his words, then continued, ‘Now we need to know who has entered the crypt during the last couple of days or so. We need times, dates and duration. Check the times the doors are locked. Then check again. Were they always locked when they should have been, or has someone been able to persuade a keyholder to surrender his or her key temporarily? Remember, someone has sneaked into the crypt, killed that man and left. Who saw him? Who has keys? Where are they kept, and who is allowed to use them? What are the movements of the sculptor who might be worth a further check in criminal records? I know him from the past. Strange chap.

  ‘And I repeat that the main questions are: who is the victim? Where has he come from and what could be a motive for killing him? And why in here of all places? Why wasn’t he hit on the head somewhere outside? Like a dense piece of woodland, the isolation of the moors, or the banks of a river … but it was here, in a monastery crypt … in a coffin … why? It is all very odd, ladies and gentlemen, so you will have many enquiries to make.’