that could help in tracing a person’s movements and whereabouts.
When he arrived at the cop shop, Father Will was working on the computer and had left the door standing open as a means of encouraging people to enter.
‘Ah, Nick.’ He smiled. ‘Any developments?’
‘Nothing dramatic. The murder teams are assembling and already the first are busy with enquiries. The monkstables are out and about the campus, trying to get a name or sighting of the victim whilst also checking for staff absentees. We’ve not heard from the pathologist so we don’t know the official cause of death.’
‘Was he stabbed?’ As he asked the question, Father Will suddenly blushed and covered his mouth with his hand. He looked very flustered. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that! Forget I asked, Nick. Please.’
‘We haven’t had confirmation from the post-mortem yet but Mr Napier believes it could be a stab wound at the base of the skull. It’s a trademark of some gang executions linked to drugs. Can I ask why you asked that question?’
‘It was nothing, I was being silly …’ But his demeanour and the embarrassment on his face told Nick something was wrong and that it was troubling him deeply. ‘Forget I asked that, Nick. Please. You must forget I asked that question. It’s of no consequence.’
Father Will seemed to be getting himself deeper and deeper into some kind of mental turmoil and Nick felt he should offer help, especially if it was connected to his monkstable work.
‘If it’s bothering you, you can tell me in confidence,’ Nick offered. ‘If it’s connected to this murder, we need to know, whatever it is.’
‘I can’t say any more, I’ve said too much already,’ the monk insisted, still looking highly agitated. ‘Look, Nick, please ignore what I’ve just said. I must have overheard someone talking about a stabbing. People are talking, you know, about the murder. Word has got around already so I must learn to keep my mouth shut and not repeat gossip.’
‘We can all be guilty of that!’ Nick tried to make light of whatever was worrying Father Will but he could see it was causing deep concern. He tried to look him in the eyes but Will did not meet his gaze, turning his eyes away and licking his lips like achild trying to conceal some misdemeanour.
‘Sorry, Nick,’ was all he said.
‘All right. I’ll say no more, Father Will. But you know I’m always here if you need to talk. I mean that. In confidence, of course. There are times police officers are rather like confessors—’
‘Thank you.’ The monk cut off the end of Nick’s sentence.
With some reluctance, Nick left the cop shop, leaving Father Will alone with his worries. He walked slowly through the deserted corridors of the mighty abbey church towards the Postgate Room, wondering whether Father Will knew the murder victim had died by stabbing. If so, how could he know that? And would it be connected with Father John’s disappearance? Was there some kind of mischief going on within this monastic place of peace?
In the background were sounds of the monks’ choir rehearsing Psalm IV which they would later sing at Compline; the huge abbey church was filled with their singing and organ music. On the surface, everything seemed at peace – but that was far from the case. A man had been murdered very close to the abbey and one of the monkstables appeared to be deeply troubled while another monk had disappeared. Nick walked into the deserted Postgate Room and made himself a cup of coffee as the sound of monks’ distant singing created an air of unreality.
Then the door opened and in walked Father Alban. He had been visiting some college buildings to ask about missing men. He had returned to update the records and helped himself to a cup of coffee, chattering as he made the drink.
‘I’ve finished in the accommodation blocks and buildings around St Peter’s House. I’ve talked to housemasters, teachers, cleaners and students, but
When he arrived at the cop shop, Father Will was working on the computer and had left the door standing open as a means of encouraging people to enter.
‘Ah, Nick.’ He smiled. ‘Any developments?’
‘Nothing dramatic. The murder teams are assembling and already the first are busy with enquiries. The monkstables are out and about the campus, trying to get a name or sighting of the victim whilst also checking for staff absentees. We’ve not heard from the pathologist so we don’t know the official cause of death.’
‘Was he stabbed?’ As he asked the question, Father Will suddenly blushed and covered his mouth with his hand. He looked very flustered. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that! Forget I asked, Nick. Please.’
‘We haven’t had confirmation from the post-mortem yet but Mr Napier believes it could be a stab wound at the base of the skull. It’s a trademark of some gang executions linked to drugs. Can I ask why you asked that question?’
‘It was nothing, I was being silly …’ But his demeanour and the embarrassment on his face told Nick something was wrong and that it was troubling him deeply. ‘Forget I asked that, Nick. Please. You must forget I asked that question. It’s of no consequence.’
Father Will seemed to be getting himself deeper and deeper into some kind of mental turmoil and Nick felt he should offer help, especially if it was connected to his monkstable work.
‘If it’s bothering you, you can tell me in confidence,’ Nick offered. ‘If it’s connected to this murder, we need to know, whatever it is.’
‘I can’t say any more, I’ve said too much already,’ the monk insisted, still looking highly agitated. ‘Look, Nick, please ignore what I’ve just said. I must have overheard someone talking about a stabbing. People are talking, you know, about the murder. Word has got around already so I must learn to keep my mouth shut and not repeat gossip.’
‘We can all be guilty of that!’ Nick tried to make light of whatever was worrying Father Will but he could see it was causing deep concern. He tried to look him in the eyes but Will did not meet his gaze, turning his eyes away and licking his lips like achild trying to conceal some misdemeanour.
‘Sorry, Nick,’ was all he said.
‘All right. I’ll say no more, Father Will. But you know I’m always here if you need to talk. I mean that. In confidence, of course. There are times police officers are rather like confessors—’
‘Thank you.’ The monk cut off the end of Nick’s sentence.
With some reluctance, Nick left the cop shop, leaving Father Will alone with his worries. He walked slowly through the deserted corridors of the mighty abbey church towards the Postgate Room, wondering whether Father Will knew the murder victim had died by stabbing. If so, how could he know that? And would it be connected with Father John’s disappearance? Was there some kind of mischief going on within this monastic place of peace?
In the background were sounds of the monks’ choir rehearsing Psalm IV which they would later sing at Compline; the huge abbey church was filled with their singing and organ music. On the surface, everything seemed at peace – but that was far from the case. A man had been murdered very close to the abbey and one of the monkstables appeared to be deeply troubled while another monk had disappeared. Nick walked into the deserted Postgate Room and made himself a cup of coffee as the sound of monks’ distant singing created an air of unreality.
Then the door opened and in walked Father Alban. He had been visiting some college buildings to ask about missing men. He had returned to update the records and helped himself to a cup of coffee, chattering as he made the drink.
‘I’ve finished in the accommodation blocks and buildings around St Peter’s House. I’ve talked to housemasters, teachers, cleaners and students, but
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