As the banter went on around us and as the time began ticking away with worrying speed, I wandered away from the rescuers who were now standing around and chattering to no useful avail. We needed actions, not words. Sherlock maintained his barking every few minutes with encouraging responses from Elaine but I was acutely aware we were making absolutely no progress. From a short distance I looked upon the rescue site hoping against hope for some inspiration that might get things moving. Even if Father Will turned up with a contact phone number for a rescue specialist, it would take time for him or her to reach the area.
I became increasingly concerned that darkness would envelop us. We must execute an immediate manoeuvre if our mission was to be successful. As we awaited Father Will, I sought somewhere quiet to think – and think hard. As I walked down the lane for about a hundred yards, I found an elevated but safe piece of land on the edge of the woods and climbed onto it to get a wider and better view of the rescue site. From this distance, there were clearer signs of the problem. I could see the new scar down the cliff-face where the recent landslide had deposited tons of rocks, trees and soil on top of the old priory that was now imprisoning the boy.
Had he been trapped by that new fall? Or had he stumbled into a situation that had been there for a long, long time?
I descended from my vantage point and hailed Barnaby Crabtree.
‘Barnaby, can I talk to you again, over there?’ and I indicated the path of land I had just vacated.
‘Sure, Constable Rhea,’ he said, and I climbed back to my vantage point with him close behind. ‘What are we doing?’
‘See all that fallen earth, rocks and stuff, Barnaby?’
‘Sure I do, Constable Rhea. Quite an avalanche – and it came down only yesterday. I heard the rumble, I’m glad I was nowhere near it.’
‘Barnaby, I want you to think carefully and be honest with me – you are not in trouble, I am not trying to catch you out or get you into bother – but when you told Simon about the bird hide so that he could conceal himself to see the nightjars, was it under there, under where all those rocks and trees and sliding earth came to rest only yesterday?’
I hoped he wouldn’t think I was trying to get him into some kind of trouble and was relieved when he responded. ‘Yes, it would be about there, Constable Rhea. Under there somewhere. Not in other parts … In fact one of those trees that slid down the hillside is the one where the nightjars would have been roosting….’
I began to feel my heart pounding. ‘Barnaby, we must be sure about this, so do you think Simon could be under that part of the wood? It’s very important that I know.’
He looked at me and I could see tears of fear in his eyes. ‘Yes, Constable Rhea, I’m sure of it. I shouldn’t have told him to hide down there … if he’s anywhere, he’ll be down there….’
‘So we need to get him out, don’t we? And that means we must find him soon! Where was the entrance to the hide before the landslide?’
He hesitated, and I thought he would not answer for fear of being blamed.
‘Will you show me?’
He nodded again and walked towards it with me following. I don’t think any of the others had observed our short diversion and at this stage, I did not want any of them to accompany us. This was between me and Barnaby. He led me to a huge outcrop of rock on top of which there grew a massive beech tree the roots of which encircled the rock as if holding it in position like the tentacles of a giant octopus. The landslide had missed it even though much of it had come to rest nearby.
‘Under there.’ He pointed to a dark, narrow entrance which appeared to disappear deep into the earth beneath the rock; it was the sort of hole that I would have thought was a fox earth or badger sett.
‘How far down does it go, Barnaby?’
‘It used to lead right beneath the surface, Constable Rhea, turning back on itself but branching out in all directions into several different passages, with the walls of the old monks’ cells still standing with no roofs…a real warren it was, you had to know your way in and out.’
‘Do you think it’s still open?’
‘No,’ he said, with more than a hint of finality. ‘No, the landslide has made the roofs collapse. You can see the dents in the old floor of the wood that cover them … maybe a dog could get in here and search … but if the lad’s in there, he’ll have to be dug out.’
‘Barnaby, you’re a treasure.’ I shouted Simon’s name into the hole but got no response, so I told Barnaby, ‘I’m going to see if that police dog can go in through this entrance.’
With Barnaby following, I returned to the throng who were still awaiting the return of Father Stutely and sought Elaine.
‘Is Sherlock still underground?’
‘Yes, and still speaking to us to say there’s someone down there.’
‘Can I ask him to test another entrance? Can you recall him? Or Holmes?’
‘Yes, of course, Mr Rhea. I’ll recall Sherlock. I still don’t know what’s happened to Holmes. Sherlock might give us a clue as to where he’s been, depending which way he comes out.’
And then Father Prior came to my side. ‘You look excited, Nick, it shows in your face.’
‘I think Barnaby could have found Simon for us.’ In view of the circumstances, it was a bold statement so I explained my theory. Father Prior listened intently and nodded.
‘I understand what you are saying, Nick, well done. What do you suggest now?’
‘I would like Sherlock to go down here to see if this is where Simon went in. I must admit that when I heard Sherlock speak earlier, he sounded a long way off. If this landslide has locked Simon in, he could be much closer than we realize – and Barnaby does say this is the site of the hide Simon would have used to watch the nightjars from underground.’
Elaine recalled Sherlock from his earlier success and this time indicated the hole beneath the beech tree on its massive rock. ‘Seek,’ she commanded.
We all stood, watched and listened as Sherlock’s wagging tail vanished from sight somewhere among the debris. The wait seemed interminable. Then he spoke again with those two distinctive barks. This time, they sounded much closer.
‘He’s in there,’ Elaine sounded delighted. ‘He’s not far away either.’
‘All we have to do is get him out,’ said Prior Tuck.
He relaxed just a little as I saw Father Will returning with Oscar Blaketon.
‘Sorry to be so long,’ apologized Oscar. ‘We had to make lots of calls.’
‘And all without success,’ admitted Father Will. ‘Would you believe the rescue team is already out on a job in the Dales, so everyone’s committed. It seems a team of cavers are missing down one of the caves near Ingleton, flood waters trapped them yesterday, another result of the storm.’
‘I think, under the circumstances, we can manage,’ I offered. ‘We have all those diggers and earth moving machines on the construction site, with a lot of willing hands, I am sure. We can make good use of them and their operators….’
‘A good idea, Nick. Leave it with me,’ smiled Prior Tuck, and he set off to discuss the problem with one of the site supervisors. As he left I could see Elaine gazing around the site with a look of concern on her face.
‘Problems?’ I asked.
‘Holmes still hasn’t returned,’ she told me. ‘I’ve not heard a whimper from him. It’s not like him, Mr Rhea. I hope he hasn’t got himself trapped down there. The problem is he won’t bark unless it’s a person, dead or alive, which means we have no idea where he is and what he might have found. I’ve tried recalling him but he hasn’t responded. I am now very worried – for both Simon and Holmes.’
CHAPTER 15
ELAINE PRODUCED A dog whistle from one of her pockets and hurried to the entrance hole that had been first used by both dogs. She halted beside it and called Holmes’s name then blew hard on the whistle, its pitch being so high that I could not hear it. But it was Sherlock who responded with two barks; she recognized his voic
e and ordered him to remain on guard. He barked again in response and I had to admit his voice did not sound very far underground. I recognized the hope in his bark, and so did most of the others.
‘He’s OK, he knows what to do but I’m worried about Holmes. We should have heard something from him. I’m going to try some of the other access holes.’
I motioned to one or two helpers who set off with her, but advised them not to follow. If she was going to try and locate the dog guided only by his sounds, she would need as much silence as possible. And so we all hung back and gathered on the roadside, awaiting the return of Prior Tuck. Most of us felt we should be doing something positive rather than just standing around, but there was nothing anyone could do. Hopefully, Prior Tuck would return with a willing contractor who could help to extricate Simon and at least one police dog. For what seemed an eternity therefore, we waited and waited although it was probably not more than twenty minutes at the most. I moved to a bank of higher sloping ground within the wooded area so I could look across towards the construction activity within the grounds. Brother George joined me as we gazed across the scene before us – a graceful church fronted by sports fields and surrounded by woodland, and before it a conglomeration of vehicles, huts and part-buildings which was producing noisy drilling, clatter and loud music. It was not a peaceful image.
During those few moments Brother George stood at my side, I gained the impression he had something important to say. But he kept quiet as the noise from the construction site filled the air. There was constant movement as the sophisticated machines carried out their complicated and specialized roles. A dizzying number of white vans buzzed around too, apparently aimlessly. I knew they were not wandering around without purpose – they would be fetching and carrying necessities and personnel, bringing in new supplies, or removing unwanted rubbish, or equipment that had completed its functions on site. And all the time there was movement by workmen as they went about their tasks.
I did not wish to interrupt Brother George’s contemplative silence as I wondered if he was praying, but conversely I wondered if he wished to talk to me or whether something was troubling him. As we stood quietly, I could see the knot of helpers and monkstables chattering among themselves. The panorama could be an industrial scene anywhere in England, not a peaceful living abbey full of monks in the depths of the North York Moors.
During the time I had been the village constable at nearby Aidensfield, and since purchasing my own house in Maddleskirk – a period of some fifty years – the expansion of the abbey and college had never halted. New buildings were constantly being added and one of the valued aspects of its presence was that people living in the vicinity could take advantage of its facilities. It was like having a benevolent uncle living nearby. The newly constructed sports centre, with its swimming-pool, indoor tennis, badminton and squash courts and the gymnasium, was available to members of the public, adults and children alike. They gained admission when they became members of the Maddleskirk Abbey Sports Club. The public could also attend concerts either in the church or at the sports centre when its indoor courts became an auditorium. Even the school theatre offered invitations to the local people for plays or films. Looking upon the huge campus from this distance made me realize it was far bigger and infinitely busier even than its neighbouring village of Maddleskirk. It really did need its own private police force.
These thoughts occupied my mind as I found myself thinking of the contrasting ruined priory. In its heyday, before its destruction by Henry VIII and before his successor, Edward VI ransacked Catholic churches and destroyed their treasures, that old abbey would have been a similarly busy and important place. The modern Maddleskirk Abbey was an amazing recovery from those dark days, second only to its sister abbey at Ampleforth. In the silence of those few minutes while Elaine tried to re-establish contact with Holmes and we awaited a response from the contractors, I was trying to comprehend the impact of the Reformation upon my life and the lives of others. In simple terms, much of it had been glossed over in the history books but old records revealed a sorrowful period with faults on the side of both Protestants and Catholics. As I stood in deep contemplation, one result of those times lay directly beneath the damaged woodland behind me – but we had no time to worry about the past.
Our present dilemma was to find and rescue a young man. With Brother George at my side, I gazed almost unseeingly across the landscape as I awaited the return of Prior Tuck. I noticed in the far distance that an anonymous white van was moving slowly in front of the south door of the church. It was a long way from my vantage point but its slow movement attracted my attention. It was not unusual – contractors’ vans were constantly moving around the site – but this one continued past, then turned away and moved down the slope which would take it towards the part of the campus where the construction workers were busy. At that distance – I was probably half-a-mile away – it looked like a Ford Transit, but, as I watched, I was reminded of the white van used by Harvey. Could it him? Had he returned to the murder room and been re-interviewed by DCS Napier who had dismissed him this time? The contrite return of Harvey had been forecast by the CID but was it actually happening?
I continued to watch as the van headed in our direction. Then it vanished behind a partially constructed accommodation block so I regarded the incident as one of those many miniscule daily events that could be expected here. It was of no consequence. Because all the monkstables were gathered in the woodland awaiting the return of their prior, none would have noticed that van – except Brother George. But he was still saying nothing.
With more serious matters to occupy me, I tried to concentrate on the job in hand. Then someone called, ‘Here he comes’, and that voice broke the spell of my silent observations. I could see that Prior Tuck was on his way back in Oscar Blaketon’s car followed by a procession of other vehicles.
All the monkstables and other helpers had congregated beside the road, not far from ‘my’ barns. Then I could see the convoy of vehicles and diggers heading our way from the construction site. There were a couple of white vans among them with sundry other cars about to join us. I called to Elaine to alert her.
‘Anything from Holmes?’ I asked.
‘Not a whisper, Mr Rhea. Not a sound….’
‘So Sherlock is still down there?’
‘Yes, I would have thought he would have responded if Holmes had whimpered or made any kind of noise, but he’s not said anything. He will be guarding Simon right now.’
‘What news of Simon?’
‘Nothing. I’m so pleased these men are coming, we need to get down to him wherever he is. I do hope it’s Simon and not someone else!’
‘Reinforcements are on the way.’ I pointed to the procession of oncoming vehicles and their crews. ‘We’ll soon have all the casualties out.’
‘I could always radio for police assistance. Shall I do that now?’
‘Let’s see how our friends cope,’ I suggested. The truth was I didn’t want the police to arrange the rescue of Simon and the dog for that would surely create local publicity, which was precisely what we did not require. Until now the press and even the villagers had no idea that a murder investigation was on-going at the abbey. It was very low key probably because the forensic evidence had not yet been fully assessed and the hunt for Simon had accounted for a lot of the activity. None-the-less, I felt we had to keep the proverbial lid on this rescue operation by dealing with it ourselves. So far, my contact with the media in both incidents was nil.
As I watching the oncoming convoy, I felt sure we had the personnel, skills and equipment necessary to complete our operation. After all, it was not like a mining disaster where several men could be trapped deep underground with the imminent threat of flooding or collapsing roofs. Despite the imminent help, though, Elaine looked very worried and despondent.
‘Do you think I should radio my inspector?’ she asked me. ‘We’ve always been told not to be afraid of seeking assistance.�
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‘Let’s see how things work out,’ I suggested. ‘I know your colleagues would not wish to be diverted for something that might be over in a few minutes, or even before they get here.’
‘Yes, you’re right. But I do worry a lot….’
I wondered whether she was speaking for her dogs or Simon, or for all three, but, as we watched, the convoy of diggers and vans halted on the lane close to our location. It reminded me of an army convoy going into battle. I noticed the white van I’d seen earlier had now joined the tail-end of the convoy along with some other cars. It seemed as if everyone was heading this way….
Prior Tuck clambered out of Blaketon’s vehicle and headed my way so I left Elaine and Brother George to go and discuss tactics. She returned to the hole in the ground into which she had first despatched both dogs and called Holmes’s name. He did not respond so she moved to the new entrance in an attempt to establish contact with Sherlock. Certainly his voice sounded louder and closer when it came from this new hole but again, there was nothing from the other dog. As I watched events unfolding I had no idea how or where to commence the rescue operation and hoped that someone amongst us would know what to do. I was acutely aware of the impending dangers and the entire operation threatened to be very exhausting, tense and nerve-racking.
But Prior Tuck was in charge. I went to meet him as another man wearing spectacles, a hard hat and a bright yellow jacket joined him. From the gathering of monkstables and others who had assembled nearby, I motioned to the two, Father Wills and Father Mutch, to join me – I wanted Father Will Stutely and Father Mutch to be present due to their caving experience and Father Will Redman because of his architectural knowledge. I guessed the prior would be aware of all the valuable experience he had at his disposal.
I felt that Father Redman could be useful if the question of stresses and strains on underground timbers, walls or roofs required expert assessment. Indeed he might know a lot about underground conditions too.
Murder at Maddleskirk Abbey Page 17