Confession at Maddleskirk Abbey (18 page)

‘Understood.’

And so it was that the monkstables gathered once more for a briefing; Nick was with them as Napier burst in and asked them to be seated.

‘Thanks for mustering so quickly,’ he praised them. ‘My own officers would have taken far longer to get organized. Now this is the situation. We’ve had reports of a sighting of a lone monk on Whinstone Ridge, near the old chapel of St Aiden. The call came from a hiker who rang the control room at police headquarters from a kiosk. He refused to give his name because he’s sneaking off work and away from his wife for a day out with his girlfriend. They spotted the monk up near the chapel, an old man as he was described, looking lost or bewildered. Oddly, he was wearing his habit with the hood raised, and seemed distressed. That was about twenty minutes ago. He wondered if
the monk was from this abbey so the call was transferred to me because of our ongoing enquiries. However, the caller rang off before I could get more details such as the time he saw the monk or whether or not he was injured. From the tone of his conversation he seemed a down-to-earth person with a local accent and I have no reason to believe it is a hoax or a false alarm with good intent. Search and rescue teams are being called out; they’re always keen to have practical experience. An experienced team of police officers will also conduct a search and we shall join them. If we don’t find him, we’ll consider the use of police dogs or even a helicopter. The RAF Search and Rescue team might use theirs; if they do, they will refer to it as an exercise. It means you must all head up to that location immediately and get yourselves organized into a search party. Assemble at the ruined St Aiden’s Chapel, it’s on the map.’

He paused to allow them a few moments to digest his words, then added,

‘A local police inspector – Inspector Carter – is on his way and he will be in overall charge. Make yourselves known to him. You have transport?’

‘We have our own personnel carrier,’ said Prior Tuck.

‘Right, on your way! I’ve spoken to the abbot and he agrees that you should join the search. I will be in touch with the inspector-in-charge by radio during the search. If it does prove to be Father John, let me know as soon as possible but bear in mind he has been missing since Saturday and might require hospital treatment. Also, if he has been dossing down in that old chapel, we need to know whether he was alone – there may be signs of multiple occupancy or the remains of food and so on.’

‘Can I ask one thing?’ asked Nick Rhea.

‘Shoot but be quick!’ said Napier.

‘Will the press be informed?’

‘Yes, I’ve spoken to the force press officer and he is issuing an immediate news release via the Press Association so that all newspapers, radio and TV stations, local and national, are
aware of this search. We’ve also issued a fairly recent photo of Father John taken last year when he was repairing an old dry stone wall in the grounds. In addition we need to search this immediate locality in case Father John has made his way back to the abbey. It all means he could be in danger and, as he’s been missing since Saturday, he could be ill, mentally or physically – so do your best.’

And so Prior Tuck, map in hand, instructed his team to equip themselves with suitable clothing and footwear for a moorland search. They made a swift search of all likely places in the abbey and its surrounds with no result and then the prior led them out to the abbey transport department where a personnel carrier was waiting.

Prior Tuck ordered, ‘Whinstone Ridge as fast as you can, Stan, and try to get as close as possible to St Aiden’s Chapel – some of the tracks up there aren’t very good for motor vehicles.’

The driver understood. ‘I know the old chapel.’ He smiled. ‘Hang on to your hats, we’re off!’

‘H
AVE YOU SEEN
this?’ Geraldine shouted to her husband, who was working in his study.

‘Seen what?’

‘There’s a big search underway on the moors – police, rescue services and others – all looking for an old monk who’s missing. It’s on the news.’

Michael left his work for a moment, going through to the small lounge where the local TV news was being broadcast. He stood and watched as the camera highlighted a search party with dogs making their way across the moors. Others, men and women, with protective clothing bearing the name ‘Moorland Search and Rescue’ were doing likewise in the distance, and there were police officers searching in the background.

‘Why do you think I’m interested in this?’ he asked.

‘Two reasons. First, you’re always telling me you’re keen to take advantage of opportunities for advertising with our helicopter. It’s got to earn its keep, you keep telling me. So why don’t we offer to help with that search? Free of charge. If we don’t get in there first, some other enterprising businessman will beat us to it. If this search continues, Michael, you might get
Linneymoor Ceramics
on television. Think of all that free advertising! That must be worthwhile even if it’s only on the regional news but
some of these big searches can get national coverage. It’s in our patch of Yorkshire too! And secondly it would establish us as decent people who are willing to help the community. It’s important for us to gain some kudos and get accepted by the locals. You’ve always said you want respect from ordinary people.’

‘Yes I do but do you honestly think it’s a good idea, getting involved in matters of this kind? High-profile events? With those coppers all around and an audience that might contain rivals who’ll try to take me out? You never know what might happen if we stick our heads too far above the battlements!’

‘Michael, have I ever given you bad advice? Our legitimate business needs to appear legitimate! Openly legitimate, especially in the public eye. I’ve always been at your side, guiding you in our private and business life, making sure you do the best for both of us. This is another of those opportunities we can’t afford to miss. All businesses big and small want to publicise themselves. And what about those air ambulances? You see them all over the place, rescuing people or taking injured people to hospital. They’re supported by charity, like the lifeboats – people are prepared to dig deep into their pockets at the sight of a helicopter doing charitable work. That kind of image is now within our reach, Michael.’

‘I don’t want to look like a dim-witted bighead showing off his wealth! That can happen, you know. People can be very jealous, and we don’t want that. You never know what it might lead to: bad things, too much exposure … risky exposure. We’re fairly new here, remember, we want to settle in and become an accepted part of the community. We don’t want people to freeze us out of their lives just because of boasting we’ve got money and success. Acceptance is important to me.’

‘Exactly, and that’s why I think this would be a good idea. You’d be seen to be helping the community in a very humane exercise. We – the business, I mean – can only benefit from this and you’d be doing a real service to the community. Trust me, Michael.’

‘You’ve got a point, I’ll grant you that. So who is the chap they’re looking for?’

‘That’s the real reason we should help. He’s an elderly monk from Maddleskirk Abbey, he’s not been seen since Saturday. He’s Father John Attwood.’

‘Attwood? Are you sure? Why would a helicopter be needed to look for him?’

‘He’s wandering and vulnerable. I thought you’d want to rescue him!’

‘You don’t really mean
rescue
, do you? Catch might be the better word. Yes, I would like to get my hands on him – so where was he seen? It seems your confession and stiletto trick flushed him out … wonderful, wonderful … just what we need. This might be the perfect opportunity to catch him, to deal with him once and for all. We’ll never get another chance like this. OK, I’m convinced. What next? Remember I have a consignment to deliver later today.’

‘That can wait. There’s an old ruined chapel on those hills, St Aiden’s Chapel, and according to the news they think he might have been sleeping rough there. Then it seems he got lost. He’s not been seen since Saturday until today when he was spotted by a hiker near the old chapel. They think he’s lost and wandering – you can easily get lost on those moors, Michael, they’re wild and inhospitable with very little shelter, very dangerous for an old man. You need to show sympathy for him.’

‘Sympathy? After what he did to us!’

‘You’d be seen as a very caring person, Michael, and I’m sure there are places safe enough for a helicopter to land. Others have been used in rescues and searches up there. There are acres of open space surrounded by coniferous forests.’

‘But ours is not a search-and-rescue machine, Geraldine. We’ve no heat-seeking equipment and no space for a stretcher. …’

‘Now you’re making excuses! It’s a helicopter and it can fly low while searching. It can hover, it provides a good view from up aloft and I’m a good pilot – we’d just be looking for him!
Helping the search. You and me. There’s seating for two more passengers – ideal for a rescue attempt and perfect for us to pick him up and rush him off the hospital. By then, we’ll have got him! And remember this, Michael, I want him to suffer for what he did to my little girls. It’s my time for revenge, my turn to put matters right. We’ve a radio and could say we’re taking him to York Hospital but once away from there, we could dump him in the sea or somewhere … we’d say he opened the door and fell out. He’d never be found if we weighted his body … or we could tell the police we left him on the York helipad with a member of staff and don’t know where he is now It’s the chance I’ve been waiting for, Michael. We can’t let this pass without doing something so shall I ring the police and make an offer? We must act quickly.’

‘I hope you know what you’re doing! You realize I don’t want to get too close to the police; they may know more about us than we believe. We can’t get too involved in such rescues. If we do it once, we’ll be expected to do it again.’

‘We’ll be lost among other searchers but the fact you volunteered will mark you as an honourable sort of chap, part of a public-spirited team.’ She smiled knowingly. ‘It’s always worked before; you’ve always established your credentials to work your way into acceptance by the community … people are not concerned how you make your money, Michael, just that you’ve got a lot and you’re not afraid to spread it around for the benefit of others! It’s a perfect way of concealing our true mission in life.’

He waited a long time before answering, then said, ‘All right. Let’s do it, it’s always worked before. We can make it work again.’

And so Geraldine made the call.

Out on the moors, Inspector Carter’s mobile phone buzzed. ‘Carter,’ he responded.

‘Sergeant Tanfield, control room, sir,’ responded a voice. ‘We’ve a businesswoman on the line, she’s offering a helicopter
and pilot to help in the search for that monk.’

‘What’s the catch?’ asked the inspector.

‘Catch? None so far as I’m aware.’

‘Who is she?’

Sergeant Tanfield told him, ‘She’s a director of Linneymoor Ceramics, name of Rachel Morton. Her husband Joe is her business partner. They’re located in the Old Brickworks at Linneymoor – the ‘copter’s got “Linneymoor Ceramics” in big letters on both sides. Cream-coloured body with terracotta lettering.’

‘She’s after a bit of free advertising then? Well, so long as she understands we can’t pay for its use, that the pilot and aircraft must be comprehensively insured and that all the air navigational rules are obeyed. And we need to liaise with Gold Command.’

‘Leave that to me. She has promised that all the necessary conditions will be met. She will be the pilot and will bring documents to be checked.’

‘Sounds OK. Do we know anything else about them?’

‘Nothing, sir. They’re new to the district but they’ve not come to the notice of the police. I did the usual CRO check.’

‘Nothing more than that? No other checks?’ asked the inspector.

‘No, sir.’

‘All right, it’ll certainly be a big help but she must be told that the pilot must take orders from the officer-in-charge of the search with approval from Gold Command. If she agrees, I see no reason to refuse the offer. It could search a huge grid in the fraction of the time we’d do it on foot so it will need an observer on board. The pilot must be told we’ve had no further sightings of the monk. Tell her the control point will be the ruined St Aidan’s Chapel near Whinstone Ridge on the North York Moors. It’s on the map and with bags of space for a landing site.’

‘I’ll get her to take the chopper to the old chapel, say, within the hour, unless the monk is found in the meantime? The pilot
and any crew will be fully briefed on arrival.’

‘Right, I’ll be there, I’ll hear and see their approach.’

‘Right, sir. I hope this proves valuable to your search.’

‘I’ll make sure it does, Sergeant!’

At that stage, Detective Chief Superintendent Napier had no intention of going to the search venue; his presence was needed in the murder room as new information was received and fresh problems arose. Most if not all of the incoming information was negative but it did serve to terminate various unproductive lines of inquiry.

Much depended upon the outcome of the forensic pathologist’s examination of the remains of the murder victim but he considered it significant that, apart from his clothing, he had no personal belongings with none being found at the scene or elsewhere. It suggested his death was the work of an experienced assassin.

Professional villains knew how to conceal or destroy evidence but they’d left his clothing untouched and enquiries had established it had come from retailers in the area where the victim had lived.

It was a small matter but important when confirming his identity. The injuries to the body after death bore all the signs of a fall from a considerable height and so it was necessary to examine the scene again, this time concentrating on the ground at the summit of the nearby cliff.

Despite the apparent lack of positive progress, Napier was satisfied he knew the identity of Inspector Radcliffe’s killer – the method of killing had revealed that even if it was normally used against other drug dealers. So had Radcliffe defected? Had he become involved with the dealers, working with them instead of against them? Lured by thoughts of wealth? It was something to consider very carefully.

His chief concern now was to ensure that the case against Michael Goddard for the double murder of the girls could be
proven beyond reasonable doubt and that would require the reopening of the original investigation and the inquest. So where was Goddard and what was he doing these days? Had DI Radcliffe been working for him? Or even pretending to work for him? Had he got too close, with catastrophic results? As he pondered his next moves, he wondered about the progress of the search around Whinstone Ridge and called Inspector Carter.

‘Napier here, Inspector. Just a check call to see what developments there’ve been in your hunt. You’ve contacted Gold Command, I take it?’

‘Yes, sir, all’s in order. We’re in radio link with their control room.’

‘Splendid, we must follow the rules – most of the time, that is! Any sign of Father John?’

‘Not yet, no further reported sightings, no discarded clothes or signs of him dossing down in the old chapel. I wish that chap who reported it was around to be quizzed a bit more; we’re not sure exactly where he spotted Father John.’

‘It’s a big open area, Inspector, so do your best. It’s probably better to prove that he’s not there instead of finding him dead or very ill.’

‘We might be in a position to do that, sir, I’ve just had an offer of a helicopter from a firm trading as Linneymoor Ceramics.’

‘Have you now? So what have you learned about them?’

‘They appear genuine. A man and wife team, Joe and Rachel Morton from Linneymoor village deep in the moors. We’ve checked them out, they own the Old Brickworks in Linneymoor and have revived it to provide clay for their ceramics. It seems there’s still a lot of good-quality raw material in the old clay pits and its perfect for making floor tiles, brooches, dishes, plates, gift boxes, garden ornaments, plant pots, table ornaments, teapots, chain pulls, bathroom fittings – you name it and they seem to make it in their distinctive ceramics. It sells well, even overseas.’

‘And they can afford to run a helicopter from that village enterprise?’

‘So it would seem, sir.’

‘Then I’m in the wrong job! Why are they offering their machine?’

‘Free publicity, I guess. They’ll get their helicopter with its business logo in the newspapers and on television. And they might even find the missing man.’

‘On the other hand, they might not,’ muttered Napier, adding, ‘When do you expect the ‘copter?’

‘Within the hour. The pilot is the owner’s wife, Rachel Morton. He’s called Joe. They need to refuel it and do the usual pre-flight checks before take-off.’

‘Then I’ll come along to meet the Mortons and their helicopter. They sound interesting people. If they arrive before me, persuade them to do a circuit or two over the area you’ve not covered, and let the media take its picture. I’ll see you soon.’

Before doing anything else, Detective Chief Superintendent Napier found a quiet corner and called Inspector Lindsey on his mobile phone.

‘Napier here, Brian. There are interesting developments. I think the Goddards have taken the bait. This is now much more than just a search. I suggest you terminate your business around York and get here as fast as you can. I’m heading for Whinstone Ridge, there’s an old chapel of St Aidan up there. You’ll find me somewhere nearby. If anyone – such as the media – asks what’s going on, say we’re searching for Father John Attwood and we’ve a helicopter joining the hunt.’

‘Attwood? He’s not there, is he?’