Michael JECKS - The Crediton Killings

Adam smiled back. His back ached, his feet hurt, and he had nicked his thumb with his thin knife, but the sun was warm on his face, the ale tasted good, and there was little more for him to do that day. His apprentice could get on with things alone. “Yes, sir. It feels good to sit in the sun for a change.”

“It must be hot work in this weather,” Simon said, nodding toward the gantry where the apprentice sweated as he worked on the dead pig.

“Oh, not so bad, sir,” Adam said indulgently, pouring himself more ale from a jug beside his stool. “It’s all right out here. It’s when we have to work inside it gets a bit warm.”

“Are you out in the open most days, then?”

“Most mornings. Afternoons we spend indoors, jointing and cutting up. Then there’s the salting of the pork, and hanging of cattle to make them tender, and preparation for smoking, and sausage-making, and all the other tasks. It takes ages. People always think the killing’s the hardest part, but that’s only the beginning for us.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Roger saw the apprentice curl his lip as his master spoke. The rector was convinced that the “us” was not necessarily indicative of an equal share in effort. He restrained a smile with difficulty as Simon continued, “Were you here yesterday – last afternoon?”

“Yes, sir.”

Baldwin tried to control his excitement as Simon casually asked, “Here in the street?”

“Yes, right here. My boy there,” he jerked a thumb at the assistant, “was inside with some chickens and capons, but I had to take a rest. The noise they make goes right through my head.”

“Did you see anyone up there, by the windows to the inn?”

“What, there?” Adam asked, pointing and squinting a little.

“Yes, outside the living quarters to this side of the hall.”

“No. People keep away when there’s bits of offal in the road. I wasn’t here all day, but no, I didn’t.”

“Were you here for the early part of the afternoon, then?”

“I was here from about…” he glanced blankly at his apprentice as if for inspiration “… a couple of hours after noon, I suppose, until maybe four hours after. I got too hot then, and went in to the cool.”

“What about you – did you notice anyone round here? Anybody who shouldn’t have been here, or who was hanging around for some time?” Baldwin said to the apprentice.

“Me, sir? No, I was working in the room all afternoon.”

“It doesn’t look out over this street?”

The boy pointed to the window near Adam’s shoulder. “Yes, sir, but I was working. I didn’t have time to look out.”

Adam was nodding contentedly as he spoke, and Simon had the impression that he would, for all his easy smiles and cheerfully rotund features, be a hard taskmaster. “Very well,” he said with disappointment. “Thank you for your help.”

“Wait!” Adam said, and both turned to face him once more. The butcher smiled and went into his shop, returning with a short string. “You’ll try some of my sausages, gentlemen, won’t you?”

Tanner answered the door quickly, a disgruntled, unshaven figure in dirty russet tunic and hose. A strong and stolid man, he had dark hair and a square jaw, which now jutted with irritation as the visitors pushed past him. He walked with them to the curtain at the back of the room.

Beyond was the trapdoor in the floor. It was held in place by a large iron clasp, and locked by a wooden peg. Tanner wandered over to it and kicked the peg free before bending and lifting the trap. He slid the ladder over and lowered it into the depths.

Roger winced at the stench coming up from the cell below. It was not only the cold, dank air, it was the scent of unwashed and fearful bodies. The town jail usually held people who were waiting for punishment, and all too often there was only the one punishment available. It smelled as if the fear of hundreds of prisoners over the centuries had impregnated the walls of the jail with their expectation and dread.

Philip Cole was different. In the past, when Simon had waited here and watched as a prisoner clambered up the ladder, he had felt sympathy wash over him. Philip Cole needed none. He hopped from the ladder with a degree of agility that surprised Simon, then stood silent and still beside it, staring at his interrogators.

Baldwin had learned over time to be wary of first impressions: in his experience people were rarely either as simple or as complex as they appeared, and yet…

This man was suspected of murder and robbery, two of the most heinous crimes possible, and if he was guilty, he should be betraying some of the symptoms of his conscience: nervousness, an inability to meet an official’s eye, twitching and biting his lips. Baldwin had known some criminals who were practiced in their craft and who could keep their anxiety hidden, but they were rare and usually a great deal older than this man.

Philip Cole stood defiantly, his arms behind him, and met their stares with what looked like near-anger. He displayed none of the signs of contrition which were to be expected of a man who had murdered a young woman like Sarra. If he was a knave who had killed to hide a robbery, Baldwin mused, he was a very good actor. His forehead was unlined, giving him an air of probity, his eyes had a guilelessness which fitted well with his simple clothing, marking him out as a farmer, and the way he stared back at his three jailers held more contempt than remorse.

The knight had to remind himself that this man, even if not a murderer, was at best a willing mercenary; he had joined a band of men who were little better than outlaws who held legitimacy purely by the force of their arms.

“Well? Have you come here to release me?”

Simon moved over to join Roger by a wall. Tanner leaned against the doorframe in case the lad attempted to escape. The bailiff of Lydford had no authority here; this was Baldwin’s area, and he must conduct the enquiry.

“You know why you are here?” Baldwin asked.

“Two men have accused me of stealing. It’s stupid! Where is all this silver I’m supposed to have taken? Search my bags; look through all my things. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“The thief was well-prepared, even had an accomplice. Such a man would find it easy to conceal what he had taken.”

“Oh? And where, then, am I supposed to have put all this silver?” Philip exploded. “I don’t even know anyone here.”

Studying his face, Baldwin still could not discern a trace of nervousness. He paused a moment. “Yesterday you were at the inn all day?”

“Yes.” He sounded irritable, as if such questions were foolish.

“Yet last night you were found some miles from the town, on a road heading south. What were you doing there?”

“Nothing. I was attacked here, in the town.”

“What?”

“I was attacked. Knocked on the head.”

“Where?”

“At the inn, in the yard behind it. I was sitting near the rear door when I heard something out at the stables. The horses were making a racket, and I went out to see what was upsetting them. That’s all I know.”

“What happened?”

He shrugged, and for the first time looked a little ill-at-ease. “I remember crossing the yard. No one else was about, and I didn’t hurry, there seemed no point. There’s the one big door and separate boxes set out on the left, and I think I just got inside the door when something caught me. I fell, and I can remember being dazzled; it was dark in the stable, and I’d been trying to get used to it when I was struck. When I fell, I rolled, and the sun was in my eyes.”

“Did you see who had struck you?”

Cole reached up and touched the hair above his left ear. “No,” he admitted wryly. “I wish I had.”