A Killer in Winter

‘Perhaps he sold copies on his way to Cambridge. They cost two marks when he arrived, and they are now three, so, he must have sold some, or he would not have raised the price.’

‘Only a fool would buy one,’ said Michael authoritatively.

‘Very possibly. But he sells them in taverns, where men gather to drink ale and wine. I imagine some only realise they have made a poor purchase when they are sober.’

‘There is Oswald Stanmore,’ said Michael, pointing to the merchant, who was hurrying towards them. ‘What is he doing out on a cold day when he could be by his fire?’

‘I hoped I would meet you,’ said Stanmore breathlessly. He cast a nervous glance behind him, as though worried that he might have been followed. ‘I need to tell you something.’

‘In here, then,’ said Michael, opening the door to a small tavern called the Swan, which was famous for the size of its portions of meat. He leaned inside and inhaled deeply, detecting roast boar and spiced apples among the enticing odours that emanated from within. The King’s Head pig seemed to have been totally forgotten.

‘I do not have time,’ said Stanmore, drawing him back out again. ‘Edith is expecting me home, and I do not want to leave her for long. I have asked Cynric to stay with her while I am out.’

‘Why?’ asked Bartholomew, bewildered by his brother-inlaw’s rapid gabble.

Stanmore peered around him again. ‘I do not think the deaths of Turke or his manservant were natural,’ he said, agitated. ‘I am sure Philippa knows something that she is not telling us.’

Bartholomew exchanged an uneasy glance with Michael. It was not long since they had discussed that very issue themselves.

‘Such as what?’ asked the monk.

‘I do not know,’ said Stanmore. He ran a hand through his hair and Bartholomew felt a lurch of alarm when he saw that the normally sanguine merchant was shaking. ‘Turke’s death has been on my mind. Perhaps I am just unused to seeing men die, but it has plagued my every waking thought. Because of this I found myself drawn to the Mill Pool, where he fell in. The more I studied it, the more I was certain no sane man would have skated there. I can only conclude that Turke never intended to go skating, and that something terrible happened to him.’

Michael regarded the merchant with sombre green eyes. ‘I remarked at the time that the skates were improperly tied, and Philippa herself told us that Turke was not a man to go gliding across the river at a moment’s notice. However, Matt examined the corpse, and he says Turke’s death was exactly as it appeared: the man fell in the river and died of the cold. It does not matter whether he did so while he was skating or while he was doing something else.’

‘I think it does matter,’ insisted Stanmore. ‘You see, if he was not skating, then it means that someone tied the bones to his shoes – wrongly, as you say – after he was dragged from the water. And that means someone wants us to believe that he died skating when he did not.’

‘Perhaps he was just inept with his laces,’ Bartholomew suggested.

Stanmore waved a dismissive hand. ‘Then what about Gosslinge? You said yourself it is unusual for two members of the same household to die in such rapid succession, and you must see that neither death was exactly normal.’

‘It is winter,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘People do freeze to death and fall through ice at this time of year. It is unfortunate that both are dead, but not necessarily sinister.’

‘“Necessarily”,’ pounced Stanmore. ‘You have already considered the possibility that there is something odd here, and you are right: there is something sinister – to use your word – going on. Think about what Turke muttered as he died. It clearly meant something to Philippa, because she was a different woman afterwards.’

‘That is true,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘But what do you suggest we do about it? I cannot begin an official investigation, because Turke’s death is outside my jurisdiction.’

‘Jurisdiction can be bought these days,’ said Stanmore grimly. ‘Leave Morice to me.’

‘I suppose corruption has its advantages,’ said Michael with a sigh. ‘I was obliged to offer him some money myself recently. His men were trailing my every move while I investigated the death of Norbert, and were making it impossible for me to work. The only way to get rid of them was to pay Morice with coins from William’s fines chest.’

Bartholomew was unhappy that either of them should be involved in bribing one of the King’s officers. He knew such matters had a habit of being raised at later dates – such as when Morice decided he had not been paid enough and demanded more, or when Morice himself was eventually called to explain his dishonesty to the King’s justices. ‘Even if you do buy Morice, Philippa will not want us prying into her business,’ he warned.

‘I do not care,’ said Stanmore. ‘I want you to look into it. You have solved so many cases before that I am sure this one will present you with no problems.’

‘Where do you want us to start?’ asked Michael.