Murder at Maddleskirk Abbey (14 page)

‘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.’

J
UST 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 anything 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.’

‘We have the use of police radios,’ I told him. ‘We can keep in touch.’

‘I wouldn’t know which button to press,’ he laughed. ‘I’ll find you all, this isn’t a very large area and we’re all making plenty of noise.’

‘Now it’s your turn, Claude,’ I told him.

We followed Claude and Barnaby into the dark green depths of the wood, avoiding fallen trees and boulders and Claude reminded us that we were walking over treacherous ground, some of which was hollow beneath our feet. It was a difficult trek but Claude and Barnaby knew the safest route. Then Claude halted.

‘Now Constable Rhea,’ he said, with uncharacteristic
seriousness
, ‘I’m standing directly above the centre of the cloister. To the north, east and west under here there are rows of old cells with the remains of the monks’ tiny gardens, all buried under tons of rocks, earth and rotten trees. Behind me to the south, is where the old priory church is buried, badly damaged I must warn you. But I’ll bet it would be recognizable as a ruined abbey if it was excavated.’

‘One day perhaps,’ I said, more in hope than expectation.

‘Right,’ continued Claude. ‘The hillside behind that wood will need to be stabilized if people start coming here in numbers. It’s unstable now and liable to produce an avalanche at any time without warning. I think there’s a water-course under here too, the flow from the old holy well sometimes emerges near where we are now. To the south of the church is another row of half-a-dozen cells – it is their walls, badly damaged but still surviving, that form two underground tunnels.’

‘You’d make a good guide, Claude. How many cells are there in total?’ I asked him.

‘Twenty-five mebbe. Summat like that.’

‘You do know a lot about it, Claude, and all so very useful.’ He glowed beneath Elaine’s praise.

‘Aye, well, I’ve lived here man and boy for more years than I care to remember. You learn your way around as a lad, and never forget.’

Elaine now asked, ‘If I can find an entrance to the
underground
maze under our feet, can the dogs make a complete search?’

‘I would say they can, so long as they don’t get trapped. A lot of those tunnels link up but there are some dead ends. Very narrow in places an’ all, due to fallen rocks and stuff. And there’s allus water about, deep in some places. Anyroad, I’ll take you to a good entrance.’

He led us to the remains of a massive oak that had toppled over many years ago and the roots of which stood upright from the earth like a giant wheel against the leafy background. The lower end of the roots disappeared into the earth and he showed us lots of apparently bottomless holes that had resulted from the tree’s fall. He indicated one of them, the largest.

‘When I was a lad, I used to crawl down there,’ he told us. ‘It opens into a network of tunnels, some with gaps that let the light in and some being part of the old cells. There’s flowing water in some parts but the waterways can soon get blocked with rubbish and falling soil, so the water has to find other ways out. Sometimes it doesn’t, and so you get a flood,
sometimes
deep, sometimes shallow.’

‘Won’t things have changed since you were an adventurous lad?’ I asked.

‘’Course they will, but those cells were so well built they’ll still be standing there, providing the framework. It’s the same conditions, just moved around a bit. These dogs will have no trouble down there.’

‘That’s good news,’ smiled Elaine.

‘It’s the best entrance,’ nodded Claude. ‘There’ll be more entrances and exits they can use, but I’m not going down there now, I’m past that kind of adventuring. The dogs will do it far better. But before you send them in, I’ll shout to see if Simon can hear us.’

He bellowed into the echoing depths of the hole but there was no response.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘It’s up to you now, Elaine.’

As she despatched Sherlock and Holmes into the dark hole with a command to seek, Claude, Barnaby and I set off to locate more entrances. In such a large area it was possible there were more entrances and dead ends, but Claude seemed to know his way around. Barnaby merely followed like a lost sheep. As we worked, we could hear the approaching monkstables in the trees; they were checking every inch of ground and calling out to satisfy themselves that Simon was not hidden nearby. Only when satisfied, did they move forward. We became aware of Prior Tuck heading our way with Oscar and Alf beside him, but he raised his arms to signal they had not found Simon.

Then Elaine’s radio crackled into life. She responded. It was Blaketon calling on behalf of Prior Tuck. I could hear his voice, ‘Elaine, Prior Tuck suggests a rendezvous and a good place would be right where you are now. Can you remain there until we arrive?’

‘Will co,’ she responded.

‘I’m enjoying this,’ beamed Claude. ‘It’s better than selling scrap bikes.’

And then we heard a dog barking somewhere deep
underground
.

‘Quiet please! And stand still!’ shouted PC Elaine Newton. ‘Listen….’

Everyone stood still and listened. We heard the deep barking again, a double woof clearly underground but I found it
impossible
to gauge the direction from which the barks came. Clearly the dog was deep below the surface and a long way from where we were standing.

‘That’s Sherlock, he’s found someone!’

‘You know that?’

‘Dogs have different voices, just like humans. And that’s definitely Sherlock. Two barks tell me he’s found someone alive! He must have separated from Holmes down there. Holmes must still be seeking. I hope he hasn’t got lost.’

‘Will he also bark?’

‘No, it’s Sherlock who’s barked, which says everything, even to Holmes.’

‘What will he do?’ I asked. ‘Holmes, I mean? Will he stop searching?’

‘No, he’ll continue to work as Sherlock remains where he is, guarding his discovery and continuing to bark twice at
intervals
. He’ll keep doing that until I order him to stop, or until we locate the target,’ said Elaine. ‘Hopefully, Holmes will join him but he will not bark – unless, of course, he finds somebody else! Then he will also deliver a double woof.’

Instead of cheering loudly at the news we lapsed into silence at what she was telling us in such a calm, matter-of-fact way. Then Sherlock barked again, twice. But we all noted there was no human voice from those depths.

‘Can you tell where they are?’ asked Claude. ‘It’s a dangerous warren down there. Some dogs can get lost just like humans. I’ve spent hours digging terriers out of rabbit holes.’

‘We can’t dig down to find him without knowing exactly where the dog is. And we don’t know where or how deep below the surface he is or how dangerous it is down there….’ Barnaby was standing at my side, wringing his hands.

It was Claude who said, ‘The lad might not be able to help … if the dog says he’s alive, he could be unconscious or badly injured.’

His words jerked us all into remembering that this exercise might not have the successful conclusion we all hoped for, but then I had an idea.

‘Barnaby, you remember when you showed me the nightjar, all those years ago….’

‘I do, Constable Rhea, indeed I do.’

‘Do nightjars still come to these woods?’

‘Oh, they do, sir, yes they do. Every year, regular as
clockwork
… they’ll be here now but they only fly at dusk.’

‘I’m sure Simon would know all that if he’s a keen bird watcher … and he asked for extra food in his packed lunch. Obviously he expected to be late back—’

‘I think it was him who once asked about the nightjars,’ frowned Barnaby, as he tried to recall the occasion. ‘It was a young lad from the college, tall, with dark hair and specs. He’d never seen one, he told me, when he was out walking down here – not recently, a week or two ago.’

‘Where was he going?’

‘He said he was heading for the woods, so I told him the nightjars only came in spring and went back to Africa by October. I think he often came down here after that, always alone.’

‘Did he know where to find one?’

‘He seemed to know they came to this wood. They don’t visit many woods around here, although I believe some get into Dalby Forest near Pickering and there’s organized parties there who go looking for them at night…’

‘What’s a good time to see one?’

‘At dusk onwards, Mr Rhea. Once it starts getting dark they’ll be flying around catching moths and flies.’

‘And at daytime?’

‘At nesting time, they sleep on the ground, you’d never notice one on its nest or sitting among dead leaves, but after nesting time they’ll roost in the trees, sitting lengthways along a dead branch, very hard to see, Mr Rhea. Well camouflaged.’

‘Do they come back to the same place year after year?’

‘I’m not sure about that, Mr Rhea, me not being an expert, but I do know that they can be seen in these woods at this time of year, if you’re lucky. Before they go back to Africa.’

‘Did you help the lad to find a suitable place to wait and watch?’

‘I told him where the birds could be seen, yes, and told him to hide because they are easily scared if you get too close, but I said not to go into the holes under rocks around here … but I didn’t wait around with him as he wanted to be alone.’

‘But clearly you had a lot of contact with him, Barnaby?’

‘Not all that much, Mr Rhea. Sometimes I’d see him coming down here on his bike and he’d leave it in the old barns while he went bird-watching, telling me he’d borrowed it….’

‘You told me you’d never met him and had no idea who’d brought the bike here.’

‘I didn’t want to get him into bother, Mr Rhea, if you
understand
, with you being a policeman and that mebbe it not being his own bike….’

‘All right, Barnaby, I understand. And I’m not a policeman now. Anyway, it seems there is someone alive underground not far from here. How can we reach him? Can we get into those passages and, more to the point, can we get him out?’

‘I’d say not, Mr Rhea. Too narrow for adults – dangerous for dogs and children, falling rocks and things, unsafe roofs, deep holes, pits, dark places….’

‘You don’t make it sound easy, Barnaby.’

‘It’s downright dangerous, Mr Rhea, and I told him to keep out, that was another time when I saw him. I did tell him, Mr Rhea, truly I did.’

As we chatted, the others stood and listened, not entering this two-way conversation between me and a tramp I’d known for years. Barnaby and I seemed to have a sort of
understanding
and, in truth, I liked the fellow. But if he thought he was in trouble of any kind, he would produce devious answers; interviewing him was a case of gaining his momentary trust and that was never easy. He seemed to spend his entire life defending himself against continuing but imaginary
accusations
.