Free Confession at Maddleskirk Abbey by Nicholas Rhea Page B

permit entry of a modicum of light. Beside it was an identical panel which was not a door and on the wall nearby was a name-board still showing ‘Father John Attwood’.
    ‘So where are the cameras?’
    Nick pointed to sites on the ceiling and around the walls, adding that some of the equipment consisted of loud speakers linked to the lectern and even the organ loft.
    ‘So who looks after the cameras, Nick? Any idea?’
    ‘Sorry, no. The prior will tell you.’
    ‘I don’t want to involve you in this, Nick. We might be talking delicate and confidential stuff here. So how does this confessional function?’
    Nick explained how the penitents awaited their turns in the pews of the south transept and when the previous person emerged from the confessional box, the next entered via the door that faced the pews. He explained that the interior comprised of two soundproofed cubicles, one used by the priest who entered via a door to the rear, out of sight from the transept, with the other being used by the penitent.
    ‘So he sits there out of sight but in verbal contact as folks confess all their sins to him, is that how it works?’
    ‘Basically that’s it.’
    ‘It’s a rum do if you ask me and I bet he gets some wonderful stories. Do you get thieves confessing to shoplifting, rioters admitting criminal damage and sex offenders explaining why they do such things?’
    ‘I don’t know, but I guess the whole world of nastiness is confessed in there, Mr Napier.’
    ‘Even murders?’
    ‘Even murders,’ Nick agreed.
    ‘Can you show me the interior of that cubicle? I’ve never examined one of these before today. Never had the need.’
    As there was no one in the abbey church except the monk now playing the ‘Miserere mei’, Nick led Napier to the door and opened it. As he did so, a small electric light illuminated the interior of the confessional, about the size of a public telephone kiosk. By holding the door open, they could see the kneeler in front of the far wall and the small grille above it, at head level for someone on their knees.
    ‘A tight squeeze for a chap like me,’ said Napier, grinning. ‘How often is it cleaned?’
    ‘Once a week I guess,’ was all Nick could answer. ‘To be honest, I’ve no idea. Why do you ask?’
    ‘I was thinking it’s a good place to hide stolen goods … you know, she nicks stuff from the school shop, hides it while she makes her confession, then leaves it to collect later. See, there’s something under the kneeler, shining in the light.’
    ‘Most folks would never think of looking in here for stolen property,’ Nick began.
    ‘I’m not most folks, Nick.’ He stepped in to lift up the kneeler. There was a lot of dust beneath it but that didn’t interest him as he stooped for a closer look. He placed the portable kneeler outside and then bent closer to examine an object that Nick could not see.
    ‘You’ll never guess what I’ve found here, Nick.’
    ‘Sweet papers? Drinks bottles? Umbrella?’
    ‘No, something much more interesting. A stiletto dagger.’

Chapter 6
    ‘D ON’T TOUCH IT !’ snapped Napier.
    Nick was at a loss for words. He wondered where the stiletto had come from, how long it had been there and who had left it; all inane questions but all desperately important. But the most important – was it the murder weapon? – could only be answered by scientific examination. Had the man in the woods been killed with that stiletto and if so how had it come to be hidden beneath the kneeler in a confessional?
    For several long silent moments Napier stood as still as a rock with his chin in one hand as he stared the stiletto, sometimes stooping down for a closer look at tiny objects he’d spotted among the dust, but not touching anything.
    ‘This could be what we’re looking for. This entire area must be cordoned off. The confessional is out of bounds from this moment, except to Scenes of Crime officers. It’s a crime scene now. Guarding it is a task