‘He must have carried some money!’
‘We know he paid for his course on arrival – in cash. That behaviour is quite normal if he was trying to be anonymous. But if he carried a lot of cash it might have been noticed by an unsavoury character – and that suggests a possible motive for his death – robbery.’
‘That makes sense.’
‘On Friday he attended a lecture in the library at three o’clock. It lasted about an hour and there was refreshments afterwards. We think he left the library shortly before five and returned to his room, then he later turned up for supper in the dining-room of the retreat centre. That was at eight.’
‘And the other attendees?’
‘All the other course members were there too. After the meal, they sat around in the lounge chatting and showing photos of some of their discoveries.’
‘All fairly normal for that kind of event, eh?’
‘Absolutely. Then, shortly before ten Mr Thorpe bade everyone goodnight and went to his room. Alone.’
‘So he’s had no meetings with anyone? No long walks in the evening?’
‘That’s something we don’t know, Nick, but it appears not. He came down for breakfast on Saturday morning and attended a lecture from nine thirty until ten thirty, and then joined a group that went to Whitby Abbey with a tour of the area afterwards. They returned late that afternoon and had supper at seven thirty. Thorpe was there but no one has seen him since.’
‘And Sunday?’
‘No one reports seeing him on Sunday. Sunday was a free day but it is expected that visitors will attend mass at ten, and join the monks for coffee afterwards. Lunch is provided for those who wish to remain on the campus and places like the libraries and sports facilities are open to all. The fact no one saw him on Sunday didn’t cause alarm – some people do make use of the centre as a base for exploration. They treat it like a B&B and do their own thing. It is quite feasible to go off on one’s own without causing concern, especially on a Sunday.’
‘Was he a Catholic?’ I asked.
‘We don’t know. There is no indication he was – there was no missal or other Catholic artefact in his room or upon his body. Being a Catholic is not a condition of acceptance for the course.’
‘And his body was found this morning.’
‘Right, Nick. Timing a death is not a precise science. Even though the pathologist thinks he was killed early on Sunday morning, he could have died on Saturday night or any time on Sunday. He can’t be more specific except to express a belief he died very early on Sunday. But that is just an opinion, not a fact.’
‘So have your teams managed to find out anything about the archaeologist?’
‘We haven’t done in-depth research into him – he’s not entered the frame and our initial enquiries suggest he’s genuine enough. There’s nothing remarkable about him. The particulars he gave to the abbot’s office when he applied to carry out his excavation have been checked and verified. He’s a well-known independent operator; we’ve also checked his helpers. They’re all students at York University, all listed in the records with no convictions. So no problems there. They come and go each day in a people carrier, Rawdon remained alone on site over the weekend to finish off some important tasks. He’s not sure when they are going to leave – it depends on what they find. And we know his van – borrowed from a friend – is taxed, tested and insured. Its registered keeper is Leonard Larkfield from Newcastle-on-Tyne. We’ve been to his address – which is genuine – but Larkfield isn’t at home. His neighbours don’t know where he’s gone. Apparently, he’s often away for long periods.’
‘Thanks for all this, Brian. It helps me when I’m dealing with our monkstables. I’m going to Ashwell Priory now as they begin their concentrated search for Simon.’
I decided to take my car across the valley and leave it there in case I needed it. As I passed through the gently downward sloping valley I could see the wooded area that contained the ruined priory. My two barns were prominent against the background of trees and hills and I could just discern movements of the white helmeted monks as they began their search. I drove onto the area in front of the barns, parked, and decided this was a good place to await PC Elaine Newton and her police dogs. I had a good view of the mainly deciduous woodland being searched and I wondered if any progress was being made. Perhaps it was too early to expect a result? My initial impression was that many trees appeared to be unstable, including some suffering from ash die-back. Several had crashed to earth during last night’s storms and were lying at awkward or even dangerous angles against huge boulders and stronger trees. Was it feasible that Simon could be among them? And still be alive?
Then I heard a voice hailing me and someone tapped on the driver’s side window. It was Barnaby Crabstaff and he shouted, ‘Hello, Mr Rhea, have you come to look for more nightjars?’
I climbed out and immediately saw Claude Jeremiah Greengrass descending the ladder from Barnaby’s flat – or hayloft as we might describe it.
‘Not nightjars this time, Barnaby. We looking for that student I mentioned to you. There’s still no sign of him.’
‘Now then, Constable Rhea,’ as unkempt as ever with long hair and a grey beard, Greengrass had now joined us, still wearing his old ragged army coat. ‘What brings you here? Not checking on us, I hope – you know, me and my pal here have just been talking about old constables and troublemakers, and then you turn up. Amazing. Have you been eavesdropping?’
‘Give over, Claude! Who would want to spy on an old rogue like you? You’ll be retired now—’
‘Retired? How can I afford to retire, I have to make a living. I don’t get a pension like coppers do. I’m a busy general dealer, Constable Rhea, and me and Barnaby like to have business meetings now and then. Which is what we were doing when you turned up.’
‘Claude, I have far better things to do than worry about your dodgy business ventures. So what do you know about this missing pupil? And have you seen a big dark-haired fellow dressed in black? We’d like to find him as well.’
‘There’s nobody here but us….’
‘You can search the barns, Mr Rhea,’ invited Barnaby.
‘We’ve a team of police dogs arriving any minute, we’ll get them to search properly,’ I told the old fellows.
‘You’re not looking for stolen property, are you?’ asked Claude. ‘Because nobody’s daft enough to dump it in those woods. It’s not safe in there, besides it’s all fenced off. Then there’s tumbling boulders, falling trees, landslides and all them dark and dangerous tunnels with floods … you take your life in your hands if you go in there, storm or no storm.’
‘Underground tunnels? What do you know about them, Claude?’
He stood before me, blinking like a startled owl but he said nothing.
‘Claude, I’m not interested in your smuggling operations, past or present. I’m not a police officer any more, I am here to help find a missing pupil and that big man dressed in black. So if you know anything, I hope you’ll help me.’
‘Help the police? Me?’
‘I’m not a policeman any more, Claude. This lad has been missing since midday yesterday, he might be trapped or lying injured. We must find him.’
‘Will there be a reward if I find him?’ Those cunning old eyes blinked again. ‘Me and Barnaby know these woods like the backs of our hands.’
‘Do we?’ Barnaby sounded startled. ‘I never go in there, Claude, I’ve told you that. It’s not safe. All those tunnels and running water and trees falling down even when there’s no gales … rocks tumbling … I keep well clear of the old priory.’
‘Aye, well, mebbe so, but I live at Hagg Bottom, it’s far enough away not to know of such goings on, but I used to explore these woods as a lad, Constable Rhea, and that tells you how long ago it was. I knew every cave, shelter, rabbit run, badger track, foxhole, pheasants’ nesting areas, water course … but I couldn’t get into any of them small spaces now, I’ve expanded here and there.�
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‘What do you mean by shelters, Claude?’
He blinked hard again. ‘Did you say a lad was missing?’
‘A youth of seventeen, Claude. He’s not a child, so where could he be?’
‘Would that be his bike, Mr Rhea?’ asked Barnaby. ‘That one that was here until those chaps took it away this morning?’
‘We’re sure he rode it here, Barnaby. It’s not his but when a pupil leaves the college, he usually leaves his old bike behind for others to use. No one claims them so anyone can use them. He probably spotted that one outside the kitchen and helped himself to it. That’s how the system works. He didn’t steal it.’
‘Did he not?’ and Barnaby’s eyes open wide.
‘The college sells ’em off eventually,’ smiled Claude. ‘There’s allus a good market for second-hand bikes. I do ’em up and polish ’em; they earn me a few quid.’
‘Well, someone has to get rid of them, Claude, so you’re doing a good job.’
‘I do my best, in spite of nosy coppers. Anyway, why would that lad want to ride that bike down here, then leave it? What’s he want, coming into these woods? Especially on a day like yesterday? They’re out-of-bounds to students anyroad.’
‘He’s a keen birdwatcher, Claude. I think he might have been hoping to spot something interesting, like a nightjar, just as Barnaby showed me one many years ago. So if that was his intention, where would he go?’
‘Hiding somewhere,’ offered Barnaby. ‘If you come to look for rare birds, you need somewhere quiet to hide and plenty of time to spare.’
‘There’s plenty of good places in them woods, Constable Rhea,’ Claude joined in. ‘Ancient ruins underground, old cells the monks used, little stone houses all buried now but some surviving – they’re the shelters I mentioned. If you know your way in there, you could hide for ever. It’s like a giant mole-run.’
‘That’s right, Mr Rhea,’ nodded Barnaby. ‘But you’d be daft to go into those woods in storms like yesterday’s.’
‘Those cliffs behind the wood aren’t safe either,’ added Claude. ‘Boulders keep coming loose and crashing down, felling trees as they go. It’s usually after heavy rain, all that ground becomes unstable. You’d never catch me going in there.’
‘Well, we’ve a party of monkstables searching for him and they have an experienced guide.’
‘They’ll need him!’
At that point, I heard the sound of a motor vehicle. It turned towards my parked car. It was a blue and white van with POLICE DOG SECTION emblazoned on the rear panels, and I noticed the protective grilles behind the front seats.
It parked and a petite young policewoman emerged with her short fair hair tucked into her uniform cap. She seemed to be in her late twenties. She approached me.
‘Are you Mr Rhea?’
‘I am.’
‘I thought there was a party of private constables here too?’
‘They’re searching the woods over there,’ I told her, waving my hand to indicate the woodland beyond us. ‘I’m here to take you to them.’
‘Thank you. I’m PC Elaine Newton, and in the van are my two German Shepherds, Sherlock and Holmes. From our K9 department as the old joke goes!’
At the sound of their names, the dogs barked and rocked the little van until she ordered them to be quiet.
‘I’m pleased you’ve arrived,’ I said, ‘These gentlemen are Claude Jeremiah Greengrass and Barnaby Crabstaff, both local and both have knowledge of the area we have to search.’
‘Did you hear that, Barnaby, he called us gentlemen!’
‘He’s referring to me, Claude,’ laughed Barnaby.
‘Oh, I thought you had some monks helping?’
‘We have. They are the private constables you mentioned, they’re already searching the woodland, with expert guidance,’ and I gave her a full account of Simon’s disappearance. ‘But they’re not searching underground. You should soon hear them approaching, they’re at the far end of this wood at the moment.’
‘So where do you suggest I begin?’ she asked. ‘I’m to search underground.’
‘Like I said to Constable Rhea before you arrived, miss, there’s lots of underground tunnels, shelters and such in these woods. They’re in the middle bit where the old abbey used to stand … it’s covered with trees and rocks now. You’d never know there were buildings underneath, but the whole place is riddled with alleys and underground routes big enough for a young slim lad to find his way around. Mind you, he’d have to crawl on all-fours and in pitch darkness in some places.’
‘The dogs will cope. I’ve got some spare personal radio sets in my van,’ she told us, ‘which are tuned in to the Talk Through channel so if it becomes necessary we can keep in touch with anyone underground.’
‘Thanks, they’ll be useful,’ I told her. ‘I’ll take you to meet Prior Tuck now, he’s in charge of the monk-constables – he is a monk but was once a police officer in Northumbria. He’ll know how to deploy the radios. His officers won’t be searching underground for a while as they have to clear the surface areas. Now, Claude and Barnaby, can you show Elaine to a suitable underground entrance whilst I find Prior Tuck and tell him what’s going on?’
‘I’ve never been known to help the police but I can make an exception in this case,’ beamed Claude. ‘Did I ask if there was a reward if we find him?’
‘You did and there isn’t.’
‘No harm in asking. Now if I’d had my Alfred with me, he could have joined those police dogs and showed ’em a thing or two about hunting; he was brilliant at finding rabbits and things underground.’
‘So where is he?’ I asked in all innocence.
‘In that place where there aren’t any dog licences but plenty of pheasants and bones,’ he grunted, slightly embarrassed by the emotion that was clear in his eyes. ‘I thought about replacing him but there’s only one Alfred. He’ll be watching us from his doggy heaven – isn’t that somewhere near the Dog Star?’
‘No,’ said Barnaby, ‘on the Isle of Dogs.’
‘Alfred would never have survived in London!’ snapped Claude.
‘He hasn’t survived here,’ countered Barnaby.
‘But he’s here in spirit, isn’t he, Claude?’ smiled Elaine. ‘And he’s going to help us find Simon.’
CHAPTER 14
JUST AS WE were leaving, a small and rather ancient blue Mini-Traveller arrived and I realized it was driven by Oscar Blaketon with Alf Ventress at his side. It must be a classic motor vehicle by now! I wondered what on earth my former sergeant and ex-PC Ventress of Ashfordly Police were doing here. Then, very swiftly, I understood – they had helped me to train the monkstables and no doubt wanted to see how they performed in this first difficult test of their skills. Clearly news of our activities had reached a wider public.
Greengrass groaned aloud. ‘What’s going on? Are all these ex-coppers spying on me? I’ve never seen so many coppers in one place…even the monks around here are dressed like coppers….’
‘They’ve come to see how their students are performing,’ I told him.
Oscar Blaketon came straight to me and asked, ‘Am I right in thinking our students are busy with a murder investigation?’
‘Murder?’ shouted Claude. ‘Nobody said anything about a murder!’
‘There’s been a suspicious death in the crypt beneath the abbey,’ I told him. ‘Detectives are there now. This is a completely separate issue – our monkstables are looking for a missing pupil. So, Oscar, how did you know about this?’
‘I’ve still got some good contacts both in the job and outside,’ grinned Blaketon conspiratorially, as he tapped his nose with his finger, as if telling us to mind our own business. ‘I’m surprised the press aren’t here.’
‘I don’t know whether they’ve been in touch,’ I admitted. ‘The murder enquiry might attract them, but I’ve heard nothing and they’ll not be interested in a schoolboy who’s dodging lessons.’
‘Nobody tells me anyth
ing these days …’ muttered Claude.
I explained events to Oscar and Alf and referred to the arrival of PC Elaine Newton with her two Alsatians, adding that Claude and Barnaby were going to guide us to the best entrance so we could search underground if Simon was not found on the surface.
‘Can we join in?’ asked Alf Ventress.
‘The more helpers, the better, especially those with police skills,’ was my response.
‘That’s us,’ acknowledged Blaketon.
‘Fine by me,’ added Ventress who followed with, ‘Come on, Claude, don’t keep your old pals waiting.’
‘Old pals?’ he stormed. ‘Who are you calling old pals?’
‘Give over, the lot of you.’ I tried to halt all the jesting and jocular teasing. ‘Let’s get started. By the way, we have the use of two police personal radio sets, which might come in useful as they’re linked to the police dog van radio.’
‘Good, then let’s join the others.’
‘Claude, if you and Barnaby are going to help, remember your old antagonists are not in charge of this operation. We’re all working together but the man in charge is Prior Tuck of Maddleskirk Abbey.’
‘Friar Tuck? Wasn’t he a pal of Robin Hood?’
‘He was, but this is Prior Tuck.’
‘Aye, right, if you say so, then you’d better lead on.’
‘First we must find him to tell him of our presence and make him aware of how we can help,’ suggested Blaketon. We all joined Elaine who was waiting with her dogs near a hole in the wire fence that surrounded Ashwell Woods; the dogs were at heel, awaiting her commands.
Once we were through the fence, Claude took over. ‘Follow me,’ he said, then led us into the trees.
We located the prior and his searchers who were about halfway through their examination of the woodland. We explained we now had the dogs and it was our intention to concentrate underground beyond the range of mobile phones.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘We’ll finish the overground search, then if we don’t have any success, we’ll join you.’
Murder at Maddleskirk Abbey Page 15