Susanna GREGORY - The Mark of a Murderer

‘There they go,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘I knew they would not linger once we had gone. Come on, before the Franciscans arrive for their vigil.’

He grabbed the physician’s arm and hauled him back to St Michael’s, where he barred the door to make sure the Oxford men did not return and catch them unawares.

‘Hurry,’ he ordered peremptorily. ‘We do not have long, and I need answers.’

‘I am not sure about this,’ said Bartholomew unhappily. ‘Duraunt asked me not to determine whether the death was suicide or murder, because he wants Spryngheuse buried in the churchyard.’

‘We shall put him there regardless,’ said Michael. ‘The wretched man was terrified out of his senses these last few days, and we always bury lunatics in hallowed ground, no matter how they die.’

‘He claimed a Black Monk was following him,’ said Bartholomew, making no move to comply.

‘Then that proves he was addled,’ said Michael. ‘I know every Benedictine in this town, and none is in the habit of stalking people. Spryngheuse imagined this spectre, which is why no one else ever saw him. Come on, Matt. I need to know what happened.’

Bartholomew examined the marks around the dead man’s neck, trying to be fast and thorough at the same time, eager to be done before Polmorva or Duraunt returned. It was not long before he had learned all he could. He turned to Michael.

‘When we stood by the tree, looking at Spryngheuse’s body, I noticed fresh scratches on the bark, and here you can see corresponding marks on his shoes. They suggest he climbed the trunk of his own accord. His hands are not tied, and there are no signs of a struggle. Also, the noose’s knot is just behind his ear. I have noticed it is nearly always there when death is self-inflicted, whereas it tends to be at the back when someone else lends a hand. Can you see the bruising caused by the rope is in an inverted V? With murder it tends to be more of a straight line, although there are exceptions, of course. However, in this case, I am almost certain it was suicide.’

‘When did it happen?’

Bartholomew knew from experience that time of death was difficult to estimate with any degree of certainty. ‘He was last seen at dawn – so some time between then and when we found him.’

‘Thank you, Matt. However, I had worked that much out for myself. Can you not be more specific?’

‘Not really. The body is cool to the touch, blood has pooled in its hands, and it is beginning to stiffen around the eyes and jaws, so I suppose he died closer to dawn than to now.’

‘And he perished by hanging? You will not later claim there was a bite in his throat or that he was knocked on the head?’

‘It is difficult to be sure about anything you do not actually witness, but you can see for yourself that his throat is intact.’

‘Polmorva claimed that Spryngheuse did not want to die, and we saw for ourselves that he was terrified, which does indicate a desire to live. Why would he suddenly give up on life?’

‘It was not sudden: remember what he was doing at the Great Bridge on Sunday? Perhaps he decided it was better to die than to live too frightened to eat, sleep, or even go for a walk.’

Michael sighed. ‘There is only one thing that is clear in this case: all our victims are connected to Oxford. It started with Gonerby, bitten during that city’s riots. Next was Okehamptone, an Oxford scribe, whose murder was disguised to appear as a fever. And now Balliol’s Chesterfelde and Merton’s Spryngheuse – two men accused of instigating the St Scholastica’s Day disorder – are dead.’

‘None of Okehamptone’s companions examined the body, not even out of curiosity,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘Do you not think that is odd?’

‘Most folk do not share your fascination with the dead, Matt. And anyway, the University’s Senior Proctor and a Corpse Examiner came to do that for them. So, what does this tell us, other than that their trust in my abilities was sadly misplaced?’

‘That the killer was relieved when his plan passed off without a hitch. Do you recall any odd reactions among the Oxford men that day?’

‘They behaved then exactly as they have done since: Duraunt with wounded saintliness, Polmorva with smug superiority, Wormynghalle with aggression, Eu with indifference, and Abergavenny with tact. And Chesterfelde grinned and doffed his cap like a lunatic. Did he kill Okehamptone and Gonerby, do you think, and then someone dispatched him?’

‘We have two distinct methods of execution: Okehamptone and Gonerby died from wounds to their throats; Chesterfelde bled to death from a cut to his arm. There could be more than one killer.’

‘But they both involve incisions and bleeding,’ mused Michael. ‘Perhaps the murderer was aiming for Chesterfelde’s throat but got his arm instead. I know you said a knife caused the wound, but perhaps he did not have time to use teeth, so resorted to his dagger instead.’

Bartholomew shook his head. ‘That does not sound likely. However, with this latest death, our list of suspects is down to Polmorva, Wormynghalle, Eu and Abergavenny.’

‘I note you do not include Duraunt, even though he has lied to us. But these are not the only ones with Oxford connections. We have Hamecotes, gone to Merton to buy books, and who sends messages about his purchases to his room-mate Wormynghalle, who has also studied in Oxford.’

‘Duraunt said Merton would never sell a book, even though Hamecotes cited a specific volume by Heytesbury. Do you remember Heytesbury, Brother? He visited us himself not long ago.’

Michael nodded, but preferred to continue his analysis of the current case, rather than wallow in memories of past ones. ‘We also have Dodenho, present in Merton during the riots, and who knew Chesterfelde well enough to invite him to his room. And there is Norton, who has stayed at Oxford Castle, and who knows so little Latin that you have to wonder why he is here.’

‘Wolf, too,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He also spent time at Oxford.’

‘And we do not know where he is now,’ mused Michael. ‘The three explanations we have been given are the pox, his debts and a lover. You saw him at Stourbridge – where another of our suspects currently resides, by the way – so you must have noticed whether he was covered in lesions.’

‘Not really,’ said Bartholomew, reluctant to disclose a man’s personal medical details.

Michael regarded him irritably. ‘Do not be coy with me, Matt, not when we are trying to solve murders. Tell me what was wrong with him and I promise the information will go no further.’

Bartholomew considered: Wolf had given no indication that he craved secrecy, and the truth was not especially awkward or embarrassing. ‘He had a mild ague – the kind most of us ignore. To be frank, I thought he was malingering, and assumed he just wanted a respite from teaching. I am surprised he is still away, because medically, there is no reason why he should not have returned.’

‘Perhaps he has been too busy killing old enemies from Oxford,’ suggested Michael, going to unbar the door before someone demanded to know what they were doing. ‘I do not like scholars disappearing without permission. Why do you think I tightened the rules about that sort of thing? It was so I would know where every clerk should be at any given time.’

‘Was it?’ asked Bartholomew, amused. ‘You told everyone else it was so arrangements could be made to cover their classes before they left. I did not realise it was all part of the Senior Proctor’s plan to create an empire in which he controls every man’s movements.’

‘Well, you do now,’ said Michael, unrepentant. ‘But here is William, come to pray for Spryngheuse. Do not tell him we have a suicide, Matt, or he will have the carcass tossed into the street.’