‘You know this is a false name and address?’ Napier put to her.
‘Yes, one of your officers told me earlier when I showed this to him. So far as I know, this is the only form he used. I don’t know why he would do that.’
‘Did you know him as Mr Thorpe?’
‘We all did. He told us to call him James.’
‘How did he pay?’
‘He paid in cash, Mr Napier. Ten and twenty pound notes. He said he had been saving up for years. He paid when he arrived and the bank accepted the notes. Here’s the receipt from the bank, and we gave Mr Thorpe a receipt of his own. He seemed quite happy about it.’
‘You don’t ask for a booking fee in advance?’
‘We’ve never felt the need. He enquired by phone and booked immediately.’
‘It certainly looks as if he was determined to conceal his true identity. So why would he do that for a course of this kind?’
‘I just don’t know. He seemed such a pleasant little man, chatty and open, and keen to benefit from what we offer.’
At that point, I remembered that Harvey, the sculptor, also paid everything in cash … could there be some kind of obscure link between them?
‘That’s something for us to work on,’ said Napier. ‘Now, let’s compare this handwriting,’ and he placed the strange note beside the application form. ‘Quite different. I’d say there are no similarities between them. His writing here is strong and clear, whilst the mystery note’s writing is smaller and more delicate.’
‘I’d say they were not done by the same person,’ I added.
‘I don’t think we need an expert calligrapher to tell us that, but we’ll have them both expertly checked anyway. I’ll need that original form, Mrs Morley – can you make a copy for your files and let me have the original?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘We’re checking his fingerprints and DNA but we’ll also need to establish why he came here to look at old ruins. One other thing, Mrs Morley, has he attended any previous courses here? Or shown a special interest in the old legend?’
‘Not to my knowledge. When I registered him, the name didn’t ring any bells in my mind, nor did it do so when I ran a computer check. And I didn’t recognize him when he arrived to book in. But he would only have to grow that beard and moustache to conceal his face … but having seen that address, it’s reminded me that he spoke with a north-eastern accent.’
‘I’ll get my teams to check him thoroughly. He might have a criminal record with one of the north-eastern police forces. We’ll send photos too. It’s vital we get him identified.’
‘Is there anything you think we’ve missed?’ I asked Mrs Morley.
‘There was one odd thing when he arrived,’ she told us. ‘The clothing he was wearing didn’t look like hiking gear. He wore a jacket, clean plain shirt and smart trousers but later he changed into hiking gear.’
‘We’ll go through the clothes he’s left behind,’ said Napier. ‘Now, Nick, is there anything you want to ask Mrs Morley – about that missing lad?’
‘You know about Simon Houghton?’ I put to her.
‘Yes. We’ve had your monkstables here, but Simon never came, although we often get college boys attending our courses. But not him.’
‘If you do remember anything about him, for any reason at all, can you let the cop shop know?’
‘Yes, of course.’
As we returned to the main building Chief Superintendent Napier told me he was impressed with Mrs Morley’s responses, adding that he wished other witnesses were so alert and clear in providing their evidence. He was impressed too that she had pondered over the mode of the man’s arrival and agreed it was a very good question. Now it was time to search Simon’s room in some detail.
We had no trouble locating John Saxby, his housemaster, who was marking papers in the teaching staff’s common room. He suggested we go up to Simon’s room straight away.
As we ascended the staircase, I asked whether Simon’s room had been thoroughly searched for evidence – I knew it had been examined to see whether he was asleep in bed, or perhaps ill, but I mentioned personal papers and belongings.
‘No, we didn’t do that kind of detailed search,’ confirmed Saxby. ‘I just checked to see whether he was here.’
‘I think we should search it, Mr Napier.’
‘No time like the present,’ he said. ‘Who knows what we might turn up – a link between Thorpe and young Houghton perhaps?’
‘People often have secrets, as we know. Do we need to be careful where we put our feet? Or how we disturb things?’
‘It’s not too important, Simon’s just a missing pupil, not a murder victim – or so we hope. But let’s be careful how and what we search. Handwriting examples are what we need – and a look in his diary. That should settle both our interests.’
It did. When we looked in his daily desk diary we found an entry for Sunday and it said simply, ‘Woods’. The handwriting was distinctly backward sloping and when we checked other entries it was always in that form in black ballpoint. It was evident he kept a detailed diary about his various appointments and lessons, even including trips to the dentist or barber and we found entries listing sightings of various birds especially the scarcer ones. One entry for March showed he had seen a buzzard hovering over the college fields, and another recorded seeing a nightjar in Ashwell Priory Woods.
‘Is he left-handed?’ Napier asked Mr Saxby.
‘As a matter of fact he is.’
‘Meticulously organized too, judging by his diary-keeping. And, you’ll note, his spelling is not faulty.’ He laid the police note beside the diary. ‘This note was not written by him, that’s obvious.’
‘I agree,’ I nodded, then added, ‘There’s one point that’s just emerged from this. Where was he yesterday? According to his diary, he was in the woods. Which woods? And why? Because he’s keen on ornithology? There are bird books on his bookshelf. Or did he meet someone for another reason? Has he a girlfriend for example? One of the maids? It’s frowned upon for a pupil to socialize with the domestic staff, especially girls. If he was meeting a girl, he hasn’t put it in his diary – probably because such a friendship needs to be kept secret. Unless she wasn’t a member of staff? Like the work experience girl in the infirmary?’
‘A secret liaison, then? Have any of the local woods been searched?’ asked Napier. ‘And who could she – or he – be?’
‘I’ll have to ask Prior Tuck to ask more questions around the college,’ and I recalled that I was the owner of Ashwell Priory Wood that adjoined the estate. ‘It may be significant that the bike he used was abandoned just across the road from Ashwell Priory Wood. Just the one bike; if he’d had a friend with him there could have been two.’
‘Unless his friend met him there,’ said Napier. ‘If she was a member of the domestic staff, she might not have been working yesterday, being Sunday, so she could have travelled from home along this back lane to meet him at the barns. So are there any girls of his age on the staff?’
‘I’m not sure, but there’s definitely that one in the infirmary,’ confirmed Saxby. ‘A teenager on work experience. She’s a very pleasant girl.’
‘How would he get acquainted with her?’ asked Napier.
‘Fairly recently, Simon visited the infirmary for treatment to a badly cut hand. I’m not sure how he cut it but the dressings had to be changed regularly – or so he told me. I know he always returned with a happy smile on his face – and a freshly bandaged hand!’
‘That information offers possibilities,’ smiled Napier. ‘You must pursue your monkstable enquiries there, Nick, and let me know the outcome.’
‘There was that terrible storm yesterday,’ Mr Saxby reminded us. ‘Trees down, sheds blown apart, rivers flooded … I doubt if anyone would have ventured out in such conditions. It’s probably cleared away a lot of ash trees with that die-back disease. We might have to rename Ashwell Woods….’
‘The estate sta
ff have searched them,’ I reminded them. ‘And we have no reports of a missing girl or any other pupil.’
Napier said, ‘Well, whatever’s happened, it’s my belief that the area needs to be properly searched with police dogs. Remember, we are anxious to talk to Simon. He’s definitely in the frame, so I’ll call in the team. I’ll see that their handler contacts Prior Tuck, and the monkstables can help in the search. I can leave this to the dogs and the monkstables while I deal with other matters. Thanks for all this, Mr Saxby, most helpful. Keep your eyes open for Simon’s return. Meanwhile you’d better come with me, Nick.’
CHAPTER 10
BY THE TIME we returned to the murder room with its POLICE – NO ENTRY sign outside the door, it looked like a call-centre with its banks of screens, computers, filing cabinets, a large map of the campus and even a couple of blackboards bearing ever-changing details in white chalk. Most of the detectives, men and women, were out making enquiries whilst others were working at computers. I thought the combination of old and new was fascinating – clearly it was effective.
‘Anything exciting, Brian?’ DCS Napier asked DI Lindsey who stood beside his own computer as his boss entered.
‘Not at this stage, sir.’
‘Right, the dog section at HQ is sending a unit, they’ll be here as soon as possible. I’ll brief the handler when he or she gets here, so what’s the current situation?’
‘The teams are all out on their actions and we’ve already had some feedback. The initial computer check on fingerprints found on the bike has thrown up lots of unidentifiable prints but none with a criminal record. Those of the deceased are not among them. The checks need to be confirmed but they’re usually reliable. However, I can confirm that some of Simon Houghton’s print are there – they match those we found on a water glass in his room. The bike remains in our care until further notice.’
‘What else is going on?’
‘One team has gone for another talk to that archaeologist and his assistants, just to check their statements agree with what they told Nick and we’ve got two teams interviewing workers on the development site, concentrating on casual employees.’
‘That’ll involve a lot of work trying to get them to talk! They’ll think we’re tax inspectors!’
‘Apart from that, there’s not much else. We’ve not found that sculptor or his studio, and the crypt remains closed.’
‘Keep trying. Is there anything new from the post-mortem?’
‘Much of what we have been told confirms what we already thought: the victim died from a severe blow inflicted by a heavy blunt instrument to the back of his skull. Some cervical vertebrae at top of the spine have suffered a lot of damage and the skull is fragmented at that site – it’s called the occipital area. It’s estimated the victim was in his early fifties but wasn’t very healthy. He had a persistent heart condition but it was unlikely to have killed him. The pathologist reckons he would have been aware of it and that he may have been receiving treatment. We’ve checked at local hospitals but no one knew the name of Thorpe.’
‘I’m never sure about that sort of statement, Brian. Heart conditions can kill a lot of us sooner or later, often unexpectedly … but go on.’
‘His body is clean and well nourished, and it’s evident he looked after himself – neatly cut toenails and good natural teeth. He has a lot of brown hair, greying in places, and sports a Vandyke beard plus a moustache. His body bore no tattoos or other identifying marks or scars from old injuries; there were no operation scars either and no indications of broken bones. We didn’t find any spectacles on or near his body. In all, a very ordinary sort of chap.’
‘And the blow? Did the pathologist suggest any kind of weapon?’
‘He used the old favourite “blunt instrument”. That covers a host of possibilities, but the scale of the damage and the shape of the wound indicates something heavy but portable. He even suggested a sledgehammer, but settled for something smaller and easier to wield, such as a builder’s hammer or a stone-mason’s mallet. The wound suggests the weapon had a square-shaped head not more than two inches broad or wide – about five centimetres – but not a rounded one.’
‘He’s been very thorough,’ I commented.
‘He’s reliable, Nick,’ responded DI Lindsey. ‘He takes care over his work. He has more to do on this one though. He says he’ll examine the man’s hair and beard to see whether they contain any debris that may provide evidence, and his clothing has been sent to the Lab to be examined. It could contain fibres from his killer’s clothing or body. It will be a day or two before we get the full results. Neither the pathology team nor our SOCO found anything in his pockets. It’s odd that he wasn’t carrying anything, not even a handkerchief.’
‘Did his killer empty the pockets?’
‘It seems so. It would have been done to conceal his victim’s identity.’
‘He’s already done that for himself by providing a false name and address,’ I pointed out.
‘Even so, I doubt if he would have left his room with nothing in his pockets – no cash, no handkerchief, no notebook or pen, no key to his room … they must be somewhere. We need to find them – but that’s our problem although your monkstables might keep their eyes and ears open, Nick? Such things could be hidden anywhere, probably somewhere on campus.’
‘Point taken. I’ll let you know if we find them,’ I acknowledged.
I realized that if his handkerchief and other possessions were missing, it suggested a carefully planned premeditated killing, not a sudden confrontation. However, a person who kills suddenly or expectedly will generally rush away from the scene before the deed is discovered. This killer appeared to be a very calm and deliberate operator – he’d even placed his victim in a coffin! And sent a note.
‘A body without any means of identification – other than fingerprints and DNA – always gives our teams something to work on, they welcome a challenge. Now, do we know where we can find Prior Tuck?’ asked Napier.
‘I can call him,’ suggested DI Lindsey.
‘Do that, Brian. I want to talk about extending the search for that boy because it might assist our enquiries, but I need to know exactly what has already been done. And, Nick, don’t forget to interview the work experience girl.’
‘The last thing I heard – about half an hour ago,’ said DI Lindsey, ‘was that Prior Tuck was concentrating on hidden areas around the Abbey Church but also beneath the older buildings that are still in use, like the crypt. There’s a maze of underground passages under the Abbey Church and monastery, even some tunnelling inside very thick old walls. Our ancestors loved secret passages.’
‘There are the lofts too,’ I added. ‘When I was the village bobby at Aidensfield, a boy went missing for hours here at the college and was found stuck in a gap in a loft wall that separated two parts of a building, but he was quite a tubby individual! Boys do go exploring old passages so they need to be searched professionally. Luckily some of our monkstables are former pupils and know all the hiding places.’
‘The prior’s on his way here now, boss,’ announced DI Lindsey.
‘Good.’
While DCS Napier went into his own office, I wandered around the murder room as we awaited the prior. I was amazed at the wealth of detail that had already been acquired and displayed on boards and maps. It included everything from the telephone number of the force control room to opening times of the fish-and-chip shop in Ashfordly.
There was a recent aerial photograph of the grounds and from it they had produced an enlarged copy which now showed the names of the builders operating at the new development along with their phone numbers, and those of their site offices. The presence of the archaeology team was included, with their leader’s known personal details, and even the monkstables were listed with their official shoulder numbers and names. I was listed there too. There was a colour photograph of the murder victim in his stone coffin with details of his false name and address. His head wound was als
o indicated by arrows and his height – 5' 6'' (c.165cm) – was shown too, with due emphasis on the lack of personal possessions. Where are his belongings? That question was written beside his image to remind all the detectives to consider it as they conducted their enquiries. A search had been made of the campus waste bins, but nothing had been found.
All this was vital groundwork; I had witnessed this kind of rapid but accurate response during murder inquiries upon which I had worked when a serving police officer and was constantly amazed at how the CID managed to acquire such detail in so short a time. But this was the key to a successful investigation.
Brian Lindsey announced the dog team was on its way; it had been attending the scene of a burglary at Malton and would be here within half-an-hour or so. Then the outer door burst open and a huge man appeared. He was framed in the doorway like something from a Gothic novel. DI Lindsey leapt from his seat to confront the visitor who was dressed all in black. He had a mop of unruly jet-black hair, a beard and moustache, and a large presence that demanded immediate attention and respect.
‘This is private—’ began DI Lindsey.
‘And I am a very busy man. I have been locked out of my work area. I demand to be admitted. I must continue my work.’
Brian Lindsey did not immediately realize it was Harvey, the sculptor.
‘What’s your work?’ he asked.
‘My work? I’m a sculptor. I’ve been commissioned to produce an important work for this abbey. I’ve a deadline to meet and now I’m locked out—’
‘Ah, so you’re Harvey?’
‘I am, so who are you? And what are the police doing keeping me away from my work? I asked at the cop shop and they told me to come here.’
‘I’m Detective Inspector Lindsey and this is a police incident room, Mr Harvey. There is no admittance to unauthorized persons, there is a notice outside.’
‘So how do I get answers if I’m not allowed in? The monk in the Cop Shop was tight-lipped so I came here like he said. I’m not here to cause trouble, all I want is a simple answer: why am I locked out of the crypt? I don’t occupy much space…just a corner near the Lady Chapel.’
Murder at Maddleskirk Abbey Page 11