C.J. Sansom - Revelation

'Dorothy. I am so sorry. But I must ask. What happened at the meeting;'

'Nothing. The man never turned up. But then another letter arrived, pushed through the door on Good Friday, apologizing that the client had not been able to get to the tavern and asking Roger to meet him yesterday night, at the same place. I did not see that letter either,' she added in a small voice.

'And Roger went, of course.' I smiled sadly. 'I would not have done.' Something struck me. 'It was cold last night. He would have worn a coat.'

'Yes. He did.'

'Then where is it?' I frowned.

'I do not know.' Dorothy was silent for a moment, then went on. 'I was surprised when it got to ten o'clock and he had not returned. But you know how he would get caught up in something and stay talking for hours.' Would, not will. It had sunk in properly now. 'I was tired, I went to bed early. I expected him to come in. But I drifted off to sleep. I woke in the small hours, and when he wasn't beside me I thought he had bedded down in the other bedroom. He does that if he comes in late, so as not to disturb me. And all the time—' She broke down then, burying her head in her hands and sobbing loudly. I tried to think. The client had asked to meet Roger at Wych Street, on the other side of Lincoln's Inn Fields. The easiest way to get there was to go through the orchard. So he would have taken his key to the orchard door. But why had the man not turned up on Thursday? My heart sank at the thought that Roger, like any barrister, would have taken his letter of instruction with him. There was little chance it would have been left on the body, and the coat he would have worn was gone. But at least we had the name, Nantwich. An uncommon one.

I looked at Dorothy, my heart full of pity. Her sobs ceased. She glanced at me and I saw an anger in her eyes that reflected my own.

'Who has done this?' she asked quietly. 'Roger did not have an enemy in the world. Who is this devil?'

'I will see him caught, Dorothy. I promise you.'

'You will make sure?'

'I will. On my oath.'

She scrabbled for my hand, gripped it fiercely. 'You must help me with things now, Matthew. Please. I am alone.'

'I will.'

Her face crumpled suddenly. 'Oh, Roger!' And then the tears came again, great racking sobs. Margaret put an arm round her mistress, while I held her hand. We were still there, like some pitiful tableau, when Elias came in to say the coroner was below, and must see me at once.

ARCHIBALD BROWNE, the Middlesex coroner, was an old man and a sour one. He was one of the old corrupt breed, who would leave a body lying stinking in the street for days till someone paid them to hold an inquest, not one of the more competent paid officials the Tudors had brought in. Small, bald and squat, his round face was pitted with smallpox scars. When I came out he was standing beside the Treasurer, arms in the pockets of his thick coat, looking down at Roger's body. Passers-by stopping to stare were being moved on with curt gestures from Treasurer Rowland. I saw the sun had melted most of the snow now. I wondered wearily where Barak was.

Rowland gestured to me. 'This is Brother Matthew Shardlake,' he told Browne. 'He had the constable roused.'

'I hope I'll get more sense out of him than those two lads.' Coroner Browne grunted. He turned bleary eyes on me. 'You've spoken with the widow?'

'Yes, sir.'

'How is she?'

'Weeping,' I said shortly.

'I'll have to question her. You can come with me if you know her. Now, tell me what in Jesu's name has happened.'

I told him about finding Roger's body, about Barak following the footprints and what Dorothy had told me about the strange client.

'Nantwich?' Treasurer Rowland frowned. 'I've never heard of him. I thought I knew most of the solicitors.'

Browne's eyes narrowed as he studied me. 'Shardlake, I know that name.' He grinned. 'You're the Lincoln's Inn man the King made mock of at York a couple of years ago, aren't you? I recognize the description.'

Of a hunchback, I thought. That story would haunt me, I knew, till I died. 'We need to find out who Roger was meeting,' I said coldly.

Browne looked down at Roger's face, then he stirred the awful head with his toe. I clenched my hands with anger. 'This is a dreadful business,' he went on. 'Putting him in the fountain. He looks very calm. Couldn't have cut his own throat, could he?'

'No. He was a happy man.'

'Then it's a strange one.' He shook his head. 'A fountain turned to blood.' He addressed the Treasurer. 'You should get that drained.'

I frowned. That phrase, a fountain turned to blood. I had heard it before somewhere, I was sure.

'Where's this man of yours who went to follow the prints?' Browne asked.

'I don't know. He set off half an hour ago.'

'Well, have him report to me when he comes back. I shall have to visit the King's coroner before impanelling a jury.' I recalled that the King was at Whitehall now, and cursed the fact. Any murder within twelve miles of the royal residence and outside the City of London boundary — even just outside, like Lincoln's Inn — came under the authority of the King's coroner. He would have to be involved along with Browne.

'That will cause delay,' I said.

Browne shrugged. 'Can't be helped.'

'How long will it take to impanel a jury?'

'Depends if the King's coroner agrees to impanel a jury of lawyers. And it's Easter Sunday. Doubt we'll get an inquest before the middle of the week.'

I set my lips. It was vital in any murder to investigate at once, before the trail went cold. As Barak had said, most murders were solved quickly or not at all.

'I think the lawyers of the Inn will want the inquest to be held as soon as possible,' I said. 'As one of their own is involved.'

Treasurer Rowland nodded in agreement. 'Yes, we shall want an inquest soon.'

'We need to hunt this solicitor Nantwich. Could you do that, sir — just a general query under the Treasurer's authority?'

Rowland nodded. 'Yes. That must be done.'

And if I may suggest something else,' I said to the coroner, pressing home my advantage. 'The manner of his death is so strange, apparently knocked unconscious and kept that way till he was put in the fountain, it might be good to have the body opened.' It was a grim thought, but Guy might find something that would help us. 'I know Dr Malton, who does that duty for the London coroner. His fees are low. I could send him to you.'

'Oh, that old Moor.' Browne grunted. 'And who's to pay?'

'I will, if need be. Roger Elliard was my friend. And could I please ask' — my voice rising — 'to have him covered up?'

All right.' The coroner casually pulled my coat back over Roger's face, then turned to me, rubbing his pudgy hands together.

'What was the deceased's name again?'

'Roger Elliard.'

'Right. I'll see the widow. That body can be taken away now. Master treasurer, have a cart take it to my shed.'

DOROTHY HAD somewhat recovered her composure when old Elias, dressed now but stricken-faced, led us to her parlour. She sat by the fire, staring into it as she held the maid Margaret's hand.

'Dorothy,' I said gently. 'This is Coroner Browne. He would ask you some questions, if you feel able.'

The coroner looked at the frieze above the fireplace, the carved animals peering through the branches. 'My, that is a fine thing,' he said.

Dorothy stared at it. 'A piece got broken off when we moved back here,' she said dully. 'Roger got it replaced but it was badly done.' I noticed a corner of the frieze was rather poorly executed, a slightly different colour.

'It is still fine,' Browne said, clumsily trying to put Dorothy at her ease. 'May I sit?'

Dorothy waved him to the chair where I had sat. He repeated the questions about the pro bono client, and asked about Roger's recent movements, in which nothing else unusual was revealed. I saw the coroner was not taking notes, which worried me. He did not look like a man with great powers of memory.