Free Murder at Maddleskirk Abbey by Nicholas Rhea Page A

office, I asked if he knew the whereabouts of all the monkstables who werehunting for Simon, Brother George in particular. He explained, not surprisingly adding that Brother George had gone to search the abbey’s farm buildings. As an ex-farmer who had also grown up on a farm, he knew all the likely hiding places around farm premises, such as places that might attract tramps wanting a night’s sleep or even tired schoolboys. It was about a mile from the abbey church, but I wanted to talk to Brother George, so I took my car.
    I was also hoping that whilst I was there I might sneak a quick look at my inherited piece of land. One of its boundaries bordered some fields of the farm although most of it bordered the abbey estate itself. The farm was managed on behalf of the trustees by a husband-and-wife team, Richard and Susie Seaton.
    ‘Good heavens, Constable Nick!’ responded Richard, when he answered my knock on the kitchen door. Years earlier, he had managed a farm at Aidensfield where I called regularly to check his stock registers. ‘What are you doing here? Not on police duty, I’m sure? Is it about the missing lad? Brother George told us.’
    ‘It is,’ I told him. ‘I’m looking for Brother George. Is he still here?’
    ‘He’s had a busy time searching all over the place, all our sheds and outbuildings, stables and cowsheds. I helped him but he’s back in the kitchen now, having a nice cup of coffee and a slab of fruit cake. Then he says he wants to wash up the pots. He regards washing-up as an offering of thanks to God, so he says. Susie is happy for him to do that. Anyway, come in.’
    Brother George, sometimes known as Greenfingers due to his gardening expertise, was a jolly fellow with red cheeks, thick grey hair and the gait of a farmer. He had the reputation for creating gardens out of the most barren pieces of land, but he liked to wash up after meals following a heavy day’s work – it was his form of relaxation and a way of thanking God for another day on earth. There were times when I wondered if he got in the way of the permanent domestic staff, but seemingly, no one criticized his efforts. When I entered he was sitting atthe bare wooden kitchen table chatting to Susie, and both had whopping big mugs before them. I joined them for cake and coffee and after some good-natured banter, I said, ‘Brother George, I need your help.’
    ‘Me, Richard and Susie have searched this place from top to bottom, Nick, inside and out, and there’s no sign of young Simon. I’m confident he’s not been here this weekend. No one has seen him around the place.’
    ‘Thanks; we can cross it off our list. But there’s another reason I want to talk to you. I know you’ve been diligently recording car numbers that come onto the abbey grounds – especially white vans.’
    ‘Yes, it’s too easy for a plain white van to get onto our site when all this construction work is going on. It can easily lose itself among all the others. Now we have those archaeologists and they’ve got a white van too. A camper-van, but white nonetheless. A couple of rogues in a white van can soon nick a few valuables and vanish before anyone knows the stuff has gone. I want to catch them – and their white vans!’
    ‘I can understand that, but I’m interested in the sculptor’s white van. Harvey he calls himself, just the one name. We need to trace him, Brother George. We should be able to do it through his van registration number.’
    ‘You don’t think he has kidnapped young Simon, surely?’
    ‘No, nothing like that. We just want to talk to him about the body that was found this morning.’
    ‘I’ve been telling Richard and Susie about it.’
    ‘Well,’ I now addressed the couple, ‘it was in the crypt not far from where Harvey was working, so we need to find out if he saw or heard anything. He’s gone now and no one knows where he lives or where his studio is, so we thought his van number would tell us