Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette .Volume XXIII

"Oh, thanks for giving me the hard part."

Byron grinned. "That's why I'm the lieutenant."

The warehouses of the other corn factors were also along the river, so they were able to walk down the river road from one to another. One by one they interviewed the men that Herr Bunemann's accountants had mentioned. The responses varied from smarmy to coldly polite, but they did at length identify two men who had had lunch with Herr Bunemann the previous day. Their stories matched in that they were the only ones who had dined with the victim, and that he was alive and well, if a bit tipsy, when they left him after the meal.

"So much for that," Byron said as they walked down the street.

"Did you expect to find something out?" Gotthilf was curious.

"No, not really. Hoped, maybe, but I didn't expect any more than what we got. They had lunch, he got half-drunk, and they all went back to their offices. Strangulation is just not something you can set up ahead of time. Now, if he had been poisoned, they'd be the number one suspects, let me tell you. But not for this."

"So now what?" Gotthilf asked.

Byron put his hands in his pockets. "Now I think we need to make a call on Master Andreas Schardius."

It didn't take long to find the warehouse of Master Schardius. The layout of the building was similar to Master Bunemann's, with an office on the street side. There were four men at work in the front office when they entered the building, indicating that Master Schardius was perhaps more affluent than Master Bunemann. When they announced who they were, one of the men went through another door, then reappeared a moment later to beckon them.

They entered another office, surprisingly small. "Good morning, Herren." The man behind the desk stood. He was of middling height and build, with brown hair brushed back from his forehead and a neatly trimmed beard. His hands were large, Gotthilf noted.

"Master Schardius?" Byron asked.

"I am. And who are you, if you please?"

Byron introduced himself and Gotthilf, then continued with, "By order of Magistrate Gericke, we are investigating the murder of Master Paulus Bunemann."

Schardius waved at chairs, and said, "Please, be seated." He resumed his own seat. "I had heard that Master Bunemann was dead. I will send my condolences to his widow. I had not heard," the merchant frowned, "that it was murder. Do you know who did it?"

"That's what we're investigating. We'd like to ask you a few questions, please."

"By all means," the merchant responded. "I have nothing to hide." He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together over his stomach.

Gotthilf pulled out his notebook and pencil. Byron pursed his lips for a moment, then began.

"We've been told that Master Bunemann disliked you. Was the feeling mutual?"

Schardius chuckled. "No, Lieutenant, it was not. Not long after Bunemann began making contracts under his father, he accepted a proposal from me. It did not work out the way he thought it should, and he accused me of fraud and theft. It was nothing of the sort. Everything I did was in accordance with the provisions and terms of the contract. It was not my fault if he was not as cognizant of the full possibilities of those provisions and terms as I was."

"So you took advantage of him?"

The smile left the merchant's face and he leaned forward. "Be careful of what you say, Lieutenant. I do not tolerate slander or libel." He leaned back again. "No, I did not 'take advantage of him,' or whatever simile you want to use for cheat. His own father recognized that I was within the letter of the contract, or he would have taken me to court. If anything, I helped Master Paulus gain an education in the only school that counts-the school of experience."

Gotthilf made more notes.

"I… see," Byron said. "But you bear… bore… Master Bunemann no ill will?"

"No more so than any of my competitors. If anything, I admired him somewhat. He learned his lessons well. After his father's death, he took their firm and built their business until he was second in Magdeburg in terms of contracts and amount of grain factored."

"Who is first?"

Schardius smiled again. "Why, that would be me. Our family has been the largest corn factor for Magdeburg for three generations, now."

Byron steepled his fingers in front of his chest. "So you had no reason to want the man dead?"

The merchant's smile disappeared again. "Lieutenant, let me be very plain. I did not hate Bunemann. He was a competitor, yes, but I did not hate him. And trust me, if I did want him murdered, it would not have happened in his own office. He would have simply disappeared and been found floating in the river a day or two later with nothing to point to me."

"So you won't mind telling me where you were yesterday afternoon?"

Schardius made an exasperated noise. "Right here in this chair. The men out front will confirm that."

Byron lowered his hands. "Very well. We will ask them on the way out. Thank you for your time, Master Schardius."

All three men stood. Gotthilf put his notebook back in his pocket. "You've hurt your hand in the past, haven't you, Master Schardius?" Byron asked.

The merchant held up his left hand and bent his fingers into a fist. All except the ring finger obeyed him. "This? This is a memento from early in my career, the result of leaving my hand between a barge and the pier it was homing in on. Crushed the finger and left it useless. I sometimes wish I had let the doctor amputate it as he wanted to. It does nothing but get in the way."

They did stop and ask the office men if the merchant had been in his office the previous afternoon. They confirmed his statement.

Outside the building, they began walking toward the Bunemann warehouse.

"So," Byron said, "Master Schardius has a deformed left hand. That means he could be our killer. He also has an alibi, which means he probably isn't our killer." They walked on a few steps. "What did you think of our esteemed merchant?"

Gotthilf snorted. "I would not want to buy a used carriage from the man."

Byron chuckled. "I think I agree with you, partner."

Georg was posted back on the front door to the warehouse office. They nodded to him and went on in.

"Lieutenant Chieske, Herr Hoch." Lutterodt greeted them, echoed by Johan Dauth. They returned the greetings.

"Herr Lutterodt," Byron said, "come introduce me to the head man in the warehouse. I need to talk to the men, and I might as well begin with him."

The accountant pushed off from his desk almost in slow motion, gathered himself and walked toward the warehouse door. Midway a coughing spell hit him, and he stopped, one hand on the wall to support himself, the other holding his ever-present kerchief. After it passed, he straightened and led the way out.

Gotthilf looked to Johan. "Bad day?"

"Bad day," Johan nodded.

Gotthilf pulled Frau Diebes' keys from his pocket, walked to the office door and tried the keys until one of them opened the lock. He looked up to see Johan staring at him with wide eyes. Grinning, he placed a finger against his lips, went into the office and shut the door.

It was brighter in the room today compared to yesterday, because of the sunlight flooding through the small windows. The room still couldn't be considered well-lit, however. Surely there was some kind of light… ah, there it was.

On the desk stood an oil lamp. Gotthilf looked around the desktop and found the expected box of the new-style matches. He lifted the chimney, rolled the wick up in the frame, struck a match and in a moment had light. Replacing the chimney, he lifted the lamp by its handle and looked around.

Right. He was supposed to figure out how someone entered and left this room without the two men sitting out front noticing it. Okay, first things first. The windows: could someone come and go through them?