Confession at Maddleskirk Abbey (12 page)

‘No, not a chance. They were too far away, speaking in soft voices.’

‘Now, can you describe her?’

‘Well, I didn’t take a lot of notice. …’

‘Claude, I know you from the past. You’ve a sharp eye, you’re observant and you’re always interested in what goes on around you. That’s why you are such a successful businessman. I am sure you noticed something about her.’

‘He’s a very successful businessman, is Mr Greengrass.’

‘Not young,’ said Claude. ‘Not as young as the lad she was with. Middle into her forties, I’d say. Well into them as a matter of fact. I’m not very good at guessing women’s ages, Mr Rhea, but she was older than him. Dressed in summer gear. It was a lovely warm September morning.’

‘Summer gear?’

‘Jeans. Light green jeans and a light brown top of some sort. Fair hair, short and rather curly.’

‘Was she carrying anything? Camera? Hiking stick? Haversack?’

‘Nothing. She was empty handed. Not even a handbag. It’s not often you see women out and about without a handbag of some kind, is it?’

‘Definitely not,’ Nick agreed.

‘Definitely not,’ added Barnaby.

‘So how had they got there? Together? Did they arrive separately? Were cars involved? Or other transport?’

‘I’ve no idea, Mr Rhea, I just happened to be up there when I heard them chattering as they came towards St Valentine’s Well, so I did my usual trick and vanished into the bushes. That’s survival instinct, Mr Rhea. I’m good at evasive action, disappearing when trouble might be on its way. Keeping out of bother.’

‘So then what happened? Did you show yourself?’

‘No, I did not! I had a meeting down in Elsinby at the far side of the pond, so I waited until they’d gone, then I continued my way to Elsinby, down through that woodland away from the Maddleskirk entrance. They would never know I’d seen them and they would not have seen me.’

‘What about you, Barnaby? Did you see them at the pond?’

‘No, Mr Rhea, I only saw the man when I found him like I told you, but he was dead by then. I never saw the woman, so I did not.’

‘Claude.’ Nick looked him in the eyes. ‘This is vitally important to the murder inquiry. You need to repeat this to Detective Chief Superintendent Napier, just as you’ve told it to me. And look at a photograph from the abbey CCTV. I will relate what you’ve said, but he’ll need to hear it from you.’

He screwed up his eyes, and twisted his head around as if his neck was hurting. Nick knew he was going through agonies at the idea of having to help the police.

‘Will there be a reward?’ he asked. ‘Did I ask that?’

‘You did and there isn’t, but your co-operation will be noted in police circles. That might do you some good in the future.’

‘You’re not trying to bribe me, are you?’

‘Would I dare, Claude! So can I tell Mr Napier where to find you?’

‘I’ll be here for the next day or two – me and Barnaby are sorting out the good stuff from the bad. I’m going to have a big sale. Sale of the century.’

‘It’ll be the sale of the century,’ added Barnaby.

‘Then you’ll need publicity? Maybe I could reward you by offering to publicize your enterprise?’

‘Now you’re talking, Mr Rhea. This sounds like a very businesslike proposition.’

‘It’s a very businesslike proposition, Mr Rhea,’ said Barnaby.

‘This could set me on the road to my first million, couldn’t it? All right, Mr Rhea, tell that detective chap he can come and talk me here.’

‘I will, and thanks, Claude. You’ve no idea how important this is to the inquiry.’

‘Aye, well, we do our best to help the constabulary when they’re in great need … just as I’m in great need now of earning some extra cash.’

‘Good deeds are always rewarded, Claude.’

‘Not in my world, they’re not, but I do keep trying. Just tell that detective I’ll talk to him.’

A
FTER LISTENING TO
Nick's account, Detective Chief Superintendent Napier lost no time in heading for the Greengrass ranch to interview Claude. Meanwhile Nick remained in the Postgate Room for an hour or so before going home; he wanted to check the value of the information the monkstables had gathered. Some of it may prove of interest to the murder room teams; Nick would act as intermediary.

As both enquiries were settling into their momentum, Detective Inspector Brian Lindsey arrived at the headquarters of Greater Manchester Police. The force headquarters had recently moved into a new state-of-the-art building at Newton Heath, to the north of the city.

The clerk at reception asked for confirmation of his identity then inspected his warrant card before ringing the CID offices to announce his presence. He was then told that Detective Chief Inspector Hammond was expecting him and she would come down to escort him up to her office, complete with his ‘Authorised Visitor' name-badge. She was a tall dark-haired young woman in her early forties, slim and elegant with dark hair and a ready smile. She was smartly dressed in a dark navy jacket and skirt, white shirt and black shoes and exuded an air of calm efficiency. He thought she looked more like a business executive than a senior detective.

‘Hi.' She extended her hand for him to shake. ‘I'm DCI Pauline Hammond, Mr Lindsey. Call me Pauline.'

‘I'm Brian,' he told her.

‘Follow me, I've a pot of tea and cakes organized in my office – they'll help after your journey. You'll be pleased that I've found the file you want to examine. I must tell you that this crime happened before I joined the force so I hope I can help.'

‘I'm sure it will be useful,' was all he could think of saying as he followed her into the lift and up to the second floor.

‘In here.' She opened a door and showed him into her smart office with extensive views across the city. It contained her desk as well as a small conference table with six chairs.

‘Take a seat,' she invited, indicating a chair at the table and joining him as she organized the tea and cakes. A thick file waited on the table.

‘This is very civilized!' He sat down and placed his briefcase on the table.

‘It's our new home, Brian. We enjoy working here, it's a massive improvement after our previous old-fashioned offices at Chester House. We can even invite visitors to have tea and cakes! It's the Jacobson murders that interest you, am I right? The two little girls?'

‘That's right.'

‘We refer to them as the Jacobson murders, the name of the man who was convicted. So tell me how you think we can help your enquiries. Take as long as you wish. I work very flexible hours and I'm not going to rush off home at six o'clock.'

‘Thanks. Well, first I need to explain what has happened in our force area.' He provided her with a brief summary of the Ashwell Priory woods murder and the disappearance of Father John Attwood, at this stage refraining from any reference to the real identity of either man. She listened intently, not interrupting his narrative but occasionally jotting notes on a pad.

When Brian had completed his account, she paused and then asked, ‘So why does Chief Super Napier link the killing of
that man with the Jacobson murders? Has he any evidence to support that?'

‘He hasn't officially linked them, Pauline. Both he and I are trying to keep the two enquiries separate but the more we get into our stride, a greater number of linking strands emerge. Let's face it, the timing of the death and the disappearance of the monk, not to mention the venues, are virtually one and the same. Like most crime investigators, I don't believe in coincidences but we do need to examine events very closely.'

‘I understand. Now tell me what you know about our Jacobson murders.' She tapped a small package by her side. ‘This disc contains a summary of our files and you have my boss's permission to take it if it will be any use. It's a certified copy and your force can keep it. There's also a selection of official photographs on the disc – they might help.'

‘Thanks, it'll be most useful. So how much do
you
know about those murders?' he asked.

‘Only what I've read in this file. As I said, the murders happened before I joined the force.'

‘Can you summarize that file for me? Very briefly?' he asked.

‘I'll do my best. The case focuses on a young family called Goddard: Michael aged thirty-one and his wife Geraldine who was twenty-eight. They lived in a mid-terrace house in a street just off Oxford Road in south Manchester. A pleasant area and they owned their house, on a mortgage. Outwardly an ordinary family. They had two daughters, twins aged six. Sophie and Eleanor. Michael worked as a camera salesman selling to retailers and Geraldine did part-time work in one of the local shops – a small general store, a corner shop that sold everything.'

‘A pleasant domestic picture?' commented Lindsey.

‘It was. Outwardly, they presented the false image of a perfectly normal family, happy and well balanced. Then tragedy struck. Geraldine went out one night with her twin sister, Jenny, to celebrate their birthdays with a meal and a visit to a club in town. Michael said he would baby-sit – child-sit is perhaps a
better word – so that the women could have a good time then get a taxi home. Geraldine left the house just after seven that evening; her sister made her own way there.'

‘Did the sisters live at the same house?'

‘No, Jenny lived about half a mile away.'

‘Sorry to interrupt, but go on.'

‘About half past nine, Michael decided to pop out to get a half-dozen pack of cans of beer from a nearby off licence. It was one of his regular habits. He expected to be away for only a few minutes.'

‘So he left the girls alone?' He wanted that point clarified.

‘Yes, they were in bed and asleep when he left the house. He checked before he went out and locked the door when he left.'

‘So for a brief time they were unattended? Six-year-olds?'

‘Right, but it's not as bad as it would appear. They had a very good neighbour, a widower in his early forties, who had a key and would often baby-sit for them, or look after the house if they went away for the weekend. They did that quite regularly, often staying in caravans. Anyway, if either Michael or Geraldine wanted the neighbour to look after the kids temporarily or just to pop his head into the house to see if things were OK, they would ask, and they had a system of rapping on his front window as they left their house. Three loud raps meant a request to look in on the kids. That habit removed the need to knock on the door and disturb the neighbour.'

‘A curious practice?'

‘Yes, but they often used it and it apparently worked.'

‘How did they know he was in?'

‘He watched a lot of television in that room. They could hear it and he could hear the raps above the noise. The Goddards and their neighbour had done this for a few years. They told him in advance when they would be leaving and the knocks were confirmation they'd left the house. The neighbour would then pop around to see if the girls were OK. He had a key. He'd stay a while to read them a story if they were awake, and then go home
when they were asleep. He would sit all evening if asked but the Goddards didn't like to trouble him too much. They regarded him as an old man – he had a few premature grey hairs and a bald patch.'

‘And during those few minutes, somebody went in and killed the girls?'

‘Right. It was that man, their neighbour. John Jacobson. He was caught by Michael when he returned from the off licence.'

‘Caught?'

‘With a carving knife in his hands, both girls dead and blood all over the place. Both had had their throats cut.'

‘That's dreadful! So what was Jacobson's story?'

‘He told the investigating officer he'd come to check on the girls and had found them dead in bed, with the knife on the bedcovers and blood everywhere. He'd moved the knife and did his best for the girls, then Goddard returned to find him at the bedside, covered in blood. He denied killing them but admitted he'd not disturbed an intruder. Michael, the father, had an alibi – he was in the off licence at that time. And the mother was out with her sister. Both alibis were confirmed.'

‘And Jacobson continued to deny the murders?'

‘He did. He protested his innocence and the whole affair was very thoroughly investigated. Obviously, the father – stepfather to be correct, he was not the girls' natural father – came into the frame as a suspect but apart from an alibi – a partial alibi in reality – the bloodstains on him, and his fingerprints on the murder weapon were explained when he found the girls and wrested the knife from Jacobson. Both men were bloodstained and both sets of fingerprints were on the carving knife. Forensic tests confirmed that.'

‘And there's always a strong belief that a father is unlikely to kill his own children. That unsupported belief could tip things in the father's favour.'

‘Which is what Goddard said when interviewed. He was distraught at the suggestion he could kill his own wife's offspring.
He behaved like their real father. But you and I know tragedies can happen for a variety of reasons.'

‘Goddard was thoroughly investigated, was he?'

‘As thoroughly as possible. He was a strong suspect, Brian, this file confirms that. He could have killed the children before going out to the off licence. We learned that he was under a lot of pressure at work – he depended heavily on commission as a camera salesman, but sales were going down due to the increased use of mobile phones for taking photographs. He had domestic debts too, and was behind with his mortgage payments. And we discovered he was not the natural father of those girls – his wife had been unfaithful but because he could not father children he forgave her and accepted the girls as his own. Or so he told everyone.'

‘Quite a tangled web! My own police experience has told me there are many apparently devoted fathers who have killed their children. Their motives have been varied – problems at work, loss of status, money worries, mental problems, the wife's behaviour, unfaithfulness, professional insecurity, depression, jealousy or even an ability to control themselves which results in violent outbursts … there are many cases of fathers losing control, along with motives galore.'

‘We are aware of all those, and there was more, Brian. Michael Goddard had a host of troubles and we know he used violence against his wife at times but I've not found any reports of him attacking the children. As a young man he had convictions for assault occasioning actual bodily harm and for carrying offensive weapons – knives, in fact. More importantly, he was involved in the drugs scene – when his salesman's income dwindled, he started dealing in drugs in a small way at first, in and around Manchester. Whilst maintaining the aura of a normal family, he got involved in bigger drug deals despite attempts by other dealers to warn him off, even with death threats. He realized he could beat them at their own game, and became more violent than them. Over the years, he came into the frame for
several unsolved murders, all drugs related. Nothing was ever proved. He covered his tracks and silenced witnesses but also moved house regularly to conceal any local notoriety and also took on modest jobs to give him the appearance of a family man. He was a very clever villain.'

‘So despite all that known background, he was never charged with those child murders? And John Jacobson was found guilty?'

‘He was interviewed, that was a foregone conclusion but Goddard's alibi was a key factor, Brian.'

‘Tell me about it.'

‘Before going to the off licence he was alone in the house with the girls. His alibi was his visit to the off licence which was confirmed and, of course, the fact that he had caught Jacobson in the girls' room with a knife in his hands and covered in blood. He took the knife from Jacobson and got blood on his own hands by doing so, that was his story. Goddard's fingerprints were found on the carving knife and he had blood all over his clothing and hands. It was their blood, forensic evidence proved that. Goddard's account was accepted.

‘The girls had died a bloody death; the sheets and Jacobson's hands and clothes were covered with their blood. He even had the knife in his hand as Goddard walked in. Caught bang to rights, as they say.'

‘That seems very conclusive but it does give rise to a need for closer questioning of Goddard. Do we know anything else against Jacobson?'

‘Not a lot. He was a widower with no family; his wife had died some years earlier and he had worked in the building trade. He had retired early, selling his business but then earning extra by doing odd jobs, house repairs mainly. He had no convictions and was widely regarded as a very decent man. Defence counsel tried to convince the jury that he was innocent but they heard a story of him sitting on the bed with the girls on an earlier occasion. When this was followed by the father's evidence that he
had caught Jacobson in the girls' bedroom, knife in hand and blood all over, it was enough to convince the jury. When he was convicted, people in the public gallery applauded. He was sentenced to life imprisonment with a recommendation he should never be released so long as he was a danger to children. His defence counsel helped him to sell his house on the grounds he would probably never be released. Despite all the evidence against him, coupled with the court decision, Jacobson continued to protest his innocence but all in vain. The problem was he could not prove his innocence. The evidence was overwhelming.'

‘So what happened to the Goddards?'

‘They sold the house and moved away. The girls' natural father was a drug dealer too but he was killed in a traffic accident. Informers said Goddard was responsible for setting it up – there was intense enmity between them – but nothing was proved. Goddard was questioned but never charged. After the girls' murder, they moved around very frequently, always using a legitimate business and change of address to conceal their drugs activities. We lost track of them; they never returned to the Manchester area.'