A Killer in Winter

‘I shall do my best,’ said Michael. ‘But this will not be an easy case to solve. Norbert was not popular, and I shall have to sift through all kinds of petty rivalries and dislikes in order to identify who took a fatal dislike to him.’

‘I know,’ said Tulyet tiredly. ‘But I will help you in any way I can, and so will Ailred and the Ovyng students. I take it I am right to promise this, Father?’

‘Of course,’ said Ailred with a sickly, anxious smile. ‘You can question them now, if you like, Brother. They are inside, waiting for lessons to begin.’

Bartholomew glimpsed a shadow flicker inside the door when the students were mentioned, and saw they were still eavesdropping on the discussion. He wondered whether Norbert’s killer was among them.

‘Who first saw the dogs uncovering the body?’ asked Michael, who fully intended to interview Ailred’s students, but in his own time.

‘My assistant, Godric,’ replied Ailred. ‘We were returning from celebrating a mass when he spotted the dogs digging. When he went to drive them away, he saw they had unearthed a hand. He fetched a spade and we all watched while he completed what the mongrels had begun.’

‘Did you observe any particular reactions among your charges?’ asked Michael, without much hope. ‘Any guilty glances or unease?’

‘We were excavating a corpse, Brother,’ replied Ailred acidly. ‘Of course there was a degree of unease. We did not know whom we were about to discover. However, I can tell you for certain that I saw no “guilty glances”. We were shocked, but none of us will prove to be your culprit.’

Michael watched while Bartholomew carefully pared away the rest of the snow that covered Norbert, hoping that the killer might have abandoned the weapon he had used, and that it might lead them to its owner. However, the culprit had done no such thing, and the physician had nothing to show for his painstaking excavation. The student had died face down, probably after a violent attack from behind. There was nothing to suggest he had known his assailant, but nothing to suggest he had not. The stab wound was wide and deep, indicating that it had been caused by a fairly large blade, but not one of abnormal size that would be easily identifiable.

Bartholomew sat on his heels and tucked his frozen hands under his arms in a vain attempt to warm them. He thought about the fear the young man must have felt, as he staggered towards the hostel already fatally wounded, and wondered why he had not shouted for help. The thought jarred something buried deep in his memory.

‘You say he failed to come home on Tuesday night?’ he asked. Ailred nodded.

‘Why?’ demanded Michael immediately. ‘What have you found?’

‘Nothing, but I was summoned to tend Dunstan the riverman then. He has an affliction of the lungs that produces an excess of phlegm, and-’

‘We know,’ interrupted Michael, forestalling what might prove to be a detailed description of some particularly unpleasant symptoms. ‘You have been dragged from your bed for Dunstan several times since the weather turned sour. Did you see Norbert on Tuesday night?’

‘I heard something: a screech. Then a man jumped out of the shadows and knocked me over. I told you about it the next day.’

‘You did,’ said Michael thoughtfully. ‘But if you heard this scream, and an instant later someone knocked you head over heels, it was not the killer you encountered: he was murdering Norbert at that precise moment.’

‘And there is no reason to assume the killer had an accomplice,’ acknowledged Bartholomew. ‘At least, not one that would be lurking so far away. It was just a thought; I was wrong.’

‘It may be important,’ said Tulyet, reluctant to abandon what might be a clue. ‘Perhaps Norbert called for help, and you were the only one who heard him. Was it very late?’

‘Past midnight,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘But the sound I heard may have been from an animal, not a person.’

‘There is no reason to assume it was not Norbert,’ pressed Tulyet doggedly. ‘I know he left the King’s Head at midnight on Tuesday, because the landlord hunted me down yesterday and insisted I pay the debts he had incurred. It must have been him you heard, and he was murdered as he walked home. Damn! Why did he have to die like this?’

Bartholomew was surprised to see the glitter of tears in Tulyet’s blue eyes before he turned away to look towards the High Street – not surprised that Tulyet should show compassion, but that a man like Norbert should warrant it.

‘Even if I had gone to his aid I could not have saved him from wounds like this,’ he said gently. ‘The man who pushed me was probably a beggar looking for somewhere to sleep, who had nothing to do with Norbert’s murder.’ He winced as he rubbed his frozen hands together. ‘But I have done all I can here. The killer has left us no clues.’