Free Murder at Maddleskirk Abbey by Nicholas Rhea Page B

something.’
    ‘I’ve got the details in my notebook,’ smiled Brother George. He hauled his diary from his pocket, flicked it open at a page in the back and said, ‘Here we are, Nick. I might add I checked it – you know when we went to Police Headquarters duringtraining last week? I was curious about that sculptor even then! I asked if the control room could check his number for me. They did. It belongs to a one-man garage-cum-petrol station in Leeds.’
    ‘A garage? In Leeds? So it’s not Harvey’s own van?’
    ‘I rang them. He hires it. They said Harvey paid cash in return for borrowing the van for a few months. It wasn’t a formal hire arrangement. They have no idea who Harvey is, but because he produced the right money in nice fivers and tenners, they let him take the van. No written contract. They told me it was not worth anything as a saleable vehicle and so were happy for him to use it for as long as he wants. He’s already paid its market value several times so they’re not bothered if its falls to pieces or if they don’t get it back.’
    ‘But surely they have his name and address?’
    ‘He gave an address in Hull when he did the deal. Later when they wanted to contact him about renewing the hire, the garage discovered it was a Salvation Army hostel. The manager had no idea who Harvey was.’
    ‘A dead end, then?’
    ‘It seems he’s very secretive. Since then I’ve asked about him here on the campus, but as you said, no one knows where he lives or where he operates from. But he’s still got the van and it is taxed, tested and insured by the garage. He still pops in from time to time with cash-in-hand when it’s due. No questions asked!
    ‘The procurator says Harvey always wants cash … no cheque, no money paid directly into his bank account.’
    ‘But even he doesn’t know where Harvey lives? Or his full name?’
    ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Brother George. ‘The only time people see Harvey is when he parks his van behind the kitchens and goes through to borrow a trolley for something heavy. Even then, he won’t tolerate being quizzed, watched or approached. He hates people putting him under pressure. He’ll simply walk away.’
    ‘Then it’s going to take him a long time to get his work of art finished.’
    ‘Maybe that’s his intention – a piece of art without an end.’
    We had chatted for a few minutes and then I felt I should leave – I wanted to take a surreptitious look at the piece of land I had inherited. It included some old buildings which could be a hiding place for the missing boy. My solicitor had suggested that at this early stage I should not mention my inheritance to any of the abbey officials, trustees or staff because I had not yet signed the relevant papers. It was common knowledge that the trustees had long desired to obtain the land in question but its Scottish owners had refused to sell it. Right now, however, I could justify my visit by claiming I was searching it in the search for Simon Houghton. As indeed I would.
    ‘Can I cadge a lift back?’ asked Brother George when I got up to leave.
    ‘You can, but I’m going via Ashwell Priory barns, I want to check them to see if Simon is there.’
    ‘I’ll come and help you,’ and so Brother George and I thanked our hosts and left, with me taking a short cut towards the south or back entrance to the abbey Estate. On the way we passed close to George’s Field and I remarked on the presence of the archaeologists, one of whom had a white camper-van.
    ‘They’ll not find anything there,’ remarked Brother George. ‘I’ve told them there’s nowt to find under that field, but the chap in charge insists on looking. But I should know, I fashioned that field out of some disused land. If there had been summat under there, I’d have found it. Anyway, I’ve noted the number of his boss’s van, just in case he does find summat valuable and clears off with it.’
    ‘Would he do that?’
    ‘Who can tell?