A Summer of Discontent

‘He fell in the river while drunk and then drowned,’ mused Bartholomew, turning Glovere’s head this way and that as he examined the neck for signs of injury. ‘It is possible, but we should be absolutely sure, if you want to lay this affair to rest once and for all.’

‘Even I can see there are no marks of violence on the body,’ said Michael, too far away to tell anything of the kind. ‘I appreciate your meticulousness, Matt, but do not feel obliged to linger here on my account. Cover him. I will see you outside.’

Flapping vigorously at the winged creatures that swarmed around him, the monk was gone, leaving Bartholomew alone in the Bone House. The physician did not mind; he had found Michael’s commentary distracting in any case. He moved the lantern to a better position for a thorough examination, and began to remove the dead man’s clothes.

Just when he was beginning to think that Michael was right, and that Glovere had simply drowned — although whether by accident or deliberately was impossible to say — Bartholomew’s careful exploration of every inch of mottled flesh paid off. His probing fingers encountered a wound at the base of Glovere’s skull, just above the hairline. Bartholomew turned the body and studied it, noting that the injury was a narrow slit about the length of a thumbnail, and that it appeared to go deep. If it had bled, then any stains had been washed away by the river. Because it was hidden by Glovere’s hair, Bartholomew realised that he might well have missed it, had he not been in the habit of inspecting the heads of corpses very closely when examining them for Michael.

He took one of the metal probes he carried in his medicine bag, and put one end into the hole to test its depth. He was startled when it disappeared for almost half the length of a finger before encountering the solid resistance of bone. He sat back on his heels and considered.

He knew that damage to the whitish-coloured cord that ran from the brain down the spine was serious, and it seemed that the injury to Glovere’s neck was sufficiently deep to have punctured it. Since Glovere was unlikely to have inflicted such a wound on himself, the only explanation was that someone else had done it. It was very precisely centred, and the physician doubted that it could have happened by chance. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and then called out to Michael. The monk entered the Bone House reluctantly, but listened to what Bartholomew had to say without complaining, flies forgotten.

‘Lord, Matt!’ he breathed when the physician had finished. ‘Glovere was murdered after all? And worse, someone committed the crime with considerable care, so that his death would appear to be an accident?’

Bartholomew nodded. ‘It is impossible for me to say what happened, but it seems reasonable to assume that a blade of some kind was inserted into Glovere — perhaps while he lay drunk and insensible on the river bank — and then he was pushed into the water so that it would look as though he had drowned.’

‘And would he have drowned? Or did this tiny wound end his life?’

‘Probably the latter,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Injuries to this part of the neck often result in the loss of the ability to breathe. I do not think he drowned. If I lean hard on his chest, the water that emerges from his mouth is clear — it contains none of the bubbles that I would expect if he had breathed water.’

Michael shuddered. ‘You really do know some unpleasant things, Matt. Thank God I am a theologian, and do not have to acquaint myself with how to squeeze water from dead men and where to stab them so it will not show.’ He gazed at Bartholomew in sudden alarm. ‘Would de Lisle know about these things?’

‘What do you think? You know him better than I do.’

Michael was silent for a while, but then said slowly, ‘I imagine he might. Cunning ways to commit a murder and then conceal the evidence are no secret to men in positions of power.’

‘Then you will find it difficult to prove that de Lisle did not kill Glovere. Shall we look at the body of the other fellow who died? It was his death that resulted in de Lisle sending you a second summons, after all.’

‘As yet, no one has accused de Lisle of killing anyone but Glovere,’ said Michael. ‘And I do not want to put ideas into people’s heads by going straight from Glovere’s body to Haywarde’s, so we will examine him tomorrow. But this is all very cold-blooded, is it not? I can imagine de Lisle striking out in anger and perhaps knocking a man into the river, but I do not see him leaning over his victim and deliberately slicing through his neck.’

‘So, you think the manner of Glovere’s death means that de Lisle is innocent?’