Giordano Bruno Thriller Series Books 1-3: Heresy, Prophecy, Sacrilege. S. J. Parris
there is the weapon,’ Slythurst said decisively, entering the room and pointing at the wall beneath the window, where a handsome carved English longbow, inlaid with green-and-scarlet tracery, had been left leaning beside an empty quiver decorated in similar fashion, as if the killer had placed it there calmly and carefully when his work was done.
‘But that is Gabriel Norris’s longbow,’ the rector croaked in disbelief. ‘I told him to have it locked away here the other morning, after he shot the dog.’
‘Then we have our killer,’ Slythurst asserted, nodding a full stop to his pronouncement.
I took a couple of paces towards the body, crouching to peer up at the face.
‘These arrows did not kill him,’ I said.
‘Oh? You think he died of a fever?’ Slythurst seemed to have regained his old manner remarkably quickly; I sensed his impatience with my presence in what he regarded as his domain.
‘Quiet, Walter,’ said Underhill sharply, and for once I was grateful to him. ‘Go on, Doctor Bruno.’
‘His throat has been cut,’ I said, and clenching my teeth I grasped Coverdale’s abundant hair and lifted the head so that the dreadful face was visible. The rector gave a little squeal into his handkerchief; Slythurst winced and turned away. The dead man’s eyes were half closed, a rag stuffed into his mouth as a gag, and his throat had been sliced straight across. The wound pulled open as I lifted the head, and from its sticky edges I could see that the incision was a botched job, though it had, in the end, achieved its aim; his neck was scored with the nicks and scratches of aborted cuts, as if the killer had taken several attempts to hold his knife steady and in the right place, suggesting that he was not a practised assassin.
‘Who would have such a weapon?’ the rector asked tremulously. ‘All the university men are forbidden to carry daggers in the city precincts.’
‘A razor could have done it,’ I said grimly. ‘Or a small knife, if it was sharp enough.’
‘Then why shoot him like a boar afterwards?’ asked Slythurst, daring to step slightly nearer. ‘And the picture – is that a message?’
‘The rector has already told you,’ I said. ‘For show. This is a parody of the martyrdom of St Sebastian, just as Roger Mercer’s death was supposed to mimic the martyrdom of St Ignatius. I do not think you can pass this one off as an accident, Rector,’ I added, turning to Underhill, who had sat down heavily on one of the sturdy chests, his face in his hands.
‘What arrant nonsense!’ Slythurst exclaimed, now fully over his initial shock, it seemed. ‘Roger is attacked by a dog and you read into that the mimicry of a martyrdom? What murderer would go to such lengths? I rather think your brain is fevered, Doctor Bruno. This, I grant you –’ he gestured at the punctured corpse of James Coverdale hanging from the candle bracket – ‘is clearly some horrific violence against poor James by a madman, but these fanciful patterns will not help us catch a dangerous intruder! I can only guess that someone tried to break into the strongroom, James tried to stop him, and this was the result.’
He paused, breathless, hands on his hips as if daring me to challenge this hypothesis.
‘A thief who stopped to paint pictures in a dying man’s blood?’ I said, returning his insolent stare. ‘And none of the doors have been forced, nor have these chests been tampered with. You said yourself that both the strongroom and the door to the outer room were locked when you returned this morning,’ I reminded Slythurst. ‘Who would have had a key to the strongroom?’
‘The three of us,’ Slythurst said, indicating the rector and the bloody corpse in the corner of the room. ‘Each of us has a key to open the strongroom door, but the principal coffers here have three padlocks apiece, so that the rector, the bursar and the sub-rector must all be present to open them. We call them the chests of the three keys. The bulk of the college funds are kept in these. The trunks containing account books and deeds I can open alone.’
‘A safeguard against embezzlement,’ the rector added.
‘So Doctor Coverdale must have unlocked the door himself and let the killer in,’ I mused, ‘and his killer could have locked it afterwards using Coverdale’s own key.’
‘He must have been forced to open it at knifepoint by a robber,’ Slythurst speculated.
‘But that would have been fruitless if he could not then open the coffers on his own,’ I said.
‘A robber would not know that. Perhaps that’s why he was killed,’ Slythurst said. ‘The thief flew into a rage because he did not believe James couldn’t open the chest. That must be it!’
He seemed remarkably keen to discount my theory that Coverdale’s death was connected to Roger Mercer’s, I thought, and wondered if that was just because he could not stand to concede that I might be right in anything, or because it suited him to throw up a false trail. After all, he was one of the two people alive with a key to the strongroom.
‘When were either of you last here?’ I asked.
Slythurst glanced anxiously at the rector, who appeared lost in his own thoughts and was making every effort to avoid looking at the body.
‘With respect, Doctor Bruno, have you been appointed to investigate this crime, that you should start questioning us as if you were the magistrate?’
‘Oh, just answer him, Walter, he is trying to help us,’ said the rector wearily, to my surprise. ‘For myself, I have not been up here since last Tuesday, when we took out the monies and papers for the college attorney. Is that right, Walter, was it Tuesday?’
‘That was the last time we were all here together,’ Slythurst agreed, shooting me a look of distaste. ‘I was last here on the evening of Saturday, just before the disputation, when James let me in to collect the papers I needed relating to the management of our estates in Aylesbury, together with some money for the journey and sundry expenses when I arrived. I left for Buckinghamshire first thing on Sunday morning and have not been near the strongroom until my return just now, which you witnessed. There – am I in the clear?’ he added, his eyes flashing sarcasm.
‘That is not for me to say.’ I shrugged. ‘What time did you collect the papers on Saturday evening?’
‘Just before the disputation, I told you, so I suppose some time around half past four. I wanted to have everything in order for my journey the next day because I knew the dinner at Christ Church would end late and I did not want to have to disturb James when I returned.’ He flicked a brief glance then at Coverdale’s bizarre corpse and lowered his head.
I crossed the room back to the body with its protruding arrows and considered it again from various angles, touching my finger to the bloodstains on the shirt, which left a thick residue.
‘This body could well have been here since Saturday night,’ I said. ‘The blood is dry and the stiffness that sets in after death has already passed – he is beginning to rot. If the weather had been warmer the decay would be more advanced, we would not be able to breathe in this room. But I have remembered something – Doctor Coverdale was summoned early from the disputation, one of the students brought him an urgent message. I wonder then if he was lured back to his death.’
‘I do recall that he did not attend the dinner for the palatine that night,’ the rector murmured, ‘and I thought it strange because he had been looking forward to it – he likes to make an impression on men of state. Liked.’ He corrected himself quickly, shaking his head. ‘Oh, God in heaven!’ It was a cry of genuine anguish, though not, I felt, of grief for his colleague, and his voice rose to a frantic pitch. ‘You are right, Doctor Bruno, we shall not be able to keep the manner of this death secret. There will be a full investigation, the coroner and the magistrate will be called – the college will be ruined! I can think of several of our benefactors who will not want their names associated with a place of such iniquity – they will withdraw funds and give them to other foundations less blighted by evil deeds. This is truly