J. Tomlin - The Winter Kill

“Clearing his head, no doubt, as I said. Or walking as he thought about his problems. It was too late to call upon a student’s family, and Vespers had rung so most priests and brothers were at their prayers.”

“He was tied to Jannet Neyn Patrik Ross’s death.”

“How? That he gave her a key to his house? Are you saying he killed her? That makes no sense since he is dead as well. Do you have even a mite of information to show that he had anything to do with it?” When Law shook his head no, Meldrum went on. “The lord sheriff telt you to look into it so I have not made up my mind, but you have to come to us with more than guesses. What evidence do you have? Any?”

“No.”

“I need to go to the Tolhouse and wait for Sir William. This cannae be put aside as Jannet Neyn Patrik Ross’s death was. The assize will declare it an accident this very day.”

Law grimaced. “I shall go with you. I need to find out whether Jannet still had that key that Kennedy said he gave her before she died.”

The heavy door of the Tolhouse banged closed behind them. “When do you think the lord sheriff will be here?”

Meldrum was unwinding his long plaid from his shoulders and shaking it out. “I dinnae ken. Soon, since it’s the song maister.”

The body already lay draped with white linen on a trestle in the middle of the vast chamber. A priest, a thin, gawky man at the head, murmured a prayer. When Law reached the table and pulled back the sheet to expose Kennedy’s face, the priest gasped. “What are you doing? Leave him be!”

Kennedy’s head lay strangely askew from his body. With two fingers, Law tilted his head even farther to expose the man’s cheek more fully. “Look.” He laid his hand on a mottled bruise, not dark, but distinct. “That is a handprint. You can even make out the fingers. It was never made by a cobble.”

Meldrum made a dismissive spluttering sound. “It would nae have killed him either.”

Law walked, beaming, around the table. He spread his arms wide. “My old friend. You are right. Certes, it would not.” He reached Meldrum and pulled him into a vigorous hug, slapping his back. Law reached up and patted the startled Meldrum’s cheek. He grabbed it and shoved Meldrum’s head back. He twisted it a bit. Meldrum yelped and tried to squirm but was held fast in Law’s grip.

A guard from the door ran toward them, shouting to stop.

Law still smiled, but his teeth were bared. “You’d be dead or at least unconscious and dying if I wanted.” He threw his hands up and stepped back, still smiling. “Are you so sure he froze to death, Sergeant?”

A banging made Law turn his head. Sir William Ruthven of Balkernoch, Lord Sheriff of Perth, slammed his hand down on a table on the dais. He shouted, “What is this to-do?”

Meldrum was red-faced with a furious glower. “I thought you were a knight. Why would you ken such a trick?”

“In France, the Douglas had us mostly fight afoot as we were the day he died in battle. I learnt every trick that I could to stay alive.”

“What trick? And what has that to do with the song maister being dead?” the lord sheriff demanded.

Law wiped the false smile from his face and walked toward him. “What it has to do with the song maister is that his neck was broken, probably just about how I showed your sergeant. You can have the body looked at by the canon from Saint Leonard’s, or the Blackfriars must have an infirmarer. But it’s clear that was not a fall that left him unconscious. No fall on cobblestones ever snapped someone’s neck and left a handprint on his face.”

“Merciful Saints,” the sheriff muttered.

Meldrum frowned thoughtfully. “So he would have already been dead.”

“Possibly, but it may have taken him a while to die. You’d be surprised how hard it is to kill someone instantly.” Law pulled the sheet up to cover the dead man’s face. “He may have been unconscious as he died. Probably.”

“This disnae prove anything about the woman’s death,” the lord sheriff said.

“He said he agreed to help her because of her consanguineous marriage. He telt me he gave her a key to a house he owned near where she died and for some papers there for the dissolution of her marriage. That was the day before her death. If you believe his story, which I did not.”

Meldrum held up his hand in protest. “Hold. Are you accusing him of her death?”

“No, not that. He was at the song school until well after the storm hit, so I don’t think it was even possible for him to reach where she died. But he was lying about other matters, what was between them for one and about why she went to the house.”

The lord sheriff nodded slowly. “She was his leman.”

The priest, who’d been looking back and forth between them in silence, yelped in protest, but a glare from the lord sheriff silenced him once more.

“From what the canoness said, that much was obvious. Nor does the story about sending to Rome make sense. You ken the gold that would take. Where would he find it? Forbye, if there had been papers he could have given them to her or sent them by messenger if he was worried about scandal. No, there was something else there that she went for, though if she reached the house or not, I dinnae ken.” He looked at Meldrum. “Was there a key with her when she was found?”

“I must admit I dinnae remember. Nothing seemed unusual to catch my attention, no coin or the like, except for a gimmel ring on her ring finger.” Meldrum motioned to the guard. “Bring her belongings here from the kist in my office.”

The priest was twisting his fingers together in distress. “I need to go to the bishop. He must be hearing of this immediately.” At the lord sheriff’s nod, he scurried out the door.

“This is a disaster,” the lord sheriff said, grimly. “The king will be drawn into it. The song maister is a position of importance. And you ken the king is already quarreling with the pope.”

“I must find this house of Kennedy’s and see if anything in it throws light on the mess. He was not meeting Jannet there, so why would he send her? That puzzles me mightily.”

“You did not ask him?”

“Of course not. I did not let on that I thought he was lying, the better to convince him to keep talking. I planned to go back after I’d snooped more, hopefully with something to use to trip him up.”

“Her death still may have been an accident, although…” The lord sheriff rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. “With this I think we can agree she did not harm herself. It may have had nothing to do with Kennedy, except that he sent her to her death.”

“Possibly, but how likely is it-?” Law broke off when the guard appeared in the doorway with a bundle of cloth in his arms.

Sir William pointed to a round table on the dais, and the guard dumped the load of cloth onto it. The lord sheriff nodded permission, so Law began to poke through them. There was a heavy woolen cloak and a woolen checked gown, the sort often worn by Highland women, wrapped around a pair of sturdy shoes. Perhaps she’d chosen the simple gown because of the approaching storm that day. She had been dressed as one who knew Highland weather would when a storm was in the offing.

When he lifted the gown, a small leather scrip, the sort one used to carry a few coins or a bit of bread, fell from within its folds. Law picked it up and loosened the ties. As Meldrum had said, there were no coins-though there might have been, Law thought, when the body was found. No way to tell now. But he dumped a key into his palm. He held it up for the others to see.

“I had no reason to pay heed to that,” Meldrum said in a defensive tone.

“And wouldn’t have kent what door it would fit if you’d paid heed to it. We need to ken if she ever reached the house. Or if whatever she was seeking is still yon. Or what she took there. It might answer some of our questions.”