A Killer in Winter (4 page)

‘Everyone thinks that,’ said Bartholomew. ‘When he came to live here, after the plague took his own family, his uncle immediately
assumed he would inherit the family business, since Dick was intent on remaining Sheriff. But I suspect Norbert was never
asked what
he
wanted.’

‘Norbert was a nuisance,’ said Michael unsympathetically. ‘He was on his final warning – one more night of drunken debauchery
would have seen him banished from the University for ever. Still, it looks as though he will not be troubling us any more
now.’

They reached the knot of people – Tulyet in his fine winter cloak, and the Franciscans shivering in their thin grey robes
– and joined them in a wordless inspection of the body that lay, still partly buried, in a mound of snow near the door. Blood
had flooded from an injury in the dead man’s back and spread like wings into the snow around him. Bartholomew saw that Tulyet
was right to assume his cousin had been murdered: there was no way the man could have inflicted such a wound on himself.

‘Norbert might have remained covered until spring, if stray dogs had not sniffed him out,’ said Ovyng’s principal, Father
Ailred, gesturing to several yellow mongrels that lurked hopefully nearby. As if the mangy beasts reminded him of his students,
he turned and flapped large-knuckled hands at his flock, shooing them back inside the hostel. However, the death of a classmate
was an interesting event, and Bartholomew noticed they did not go far. They hovered
out of sight, but within earshot, on the other side of the door.

The physician turned his attention to Ailred. He had known the Franciscan for some years, and saw him almost daily, since
Ovyng used St Michael’s Church for its offices, although neither had sought to develop the acquaintance beyond a nod and a
polite word when their paths crossed. Ailred was tall, with an ugly, blunt face and a lot of yellowish white showing at the
bottom of his eyes. His head was bald, except for a frizzy grey crescent that hugged the back of his skull. He had a reputation
for sober, painstaking scholarship that was precise and rarely in error. Bartholomew also knew that he was from Lincoln, and
that he never tired of making comparisons between his grand city and the squalor of Cambridge.

‘Norbert told me he was going to visit his uncle’s house,’ Ailred was saying, watching Tulyet nervously out of the corner
of his eye as he addressed Michael. ‘When he did not return, I assumed he had found somewhere warmer and more comfortable
than our hostel.’

‘When was this?’ asked Michael. ‘Last night?’

‘It was not,’ said Tulyet, shooting Ailred a cool glance of reproach. ‘I have just learned that Norbert has not been seen
since Tuesday – the day before yesterday. I was not even aware that he was missing.’

‘Neither were we,’ objected Ailred miserably. ‘He often left and did not return for days. You know that. I used to report
his absences, but you seemed as tired of hearing about them as I was of telling, and I thought we had reached a tacit agreement
not to bother each other with his transgressions.’

‘I suppose we did,’ said Tulyet with a sigh. ‘But it is unfortunate he was not missed sooner. Then he might have been saved.’

‘It would have made no difference,’ said Bartholomew, kneeling to inspect the body. ‘Both injuries are fatal ones, and finding
him sooner would not have changed the outcome.’

‘Both injuries?’ questioned Michael. ‘I only see a wound to his back.’

Bartholomew parted Norbert’s hair, frozen like old fur, to reveal an indentation in the skull. ‘It looks as if he was stabbed
and tried to run away – there is enough blood to suggest he did not die immediately and that he spent his last moments on
the move. His assailant delivered the blow to the head when he reached the hostel door, although the knife wound would have
killed him anyway.’

Tulyet closed his eyes. ‘Horrible! It seems that whoever did this was determined that poor Norbert should die. But I suppose
we should consider ourselves lucky to find the body today.’ He cast a mournful glance at the leaden sky. ‘More snow will fall
this afternoon, and who knows when it will melt?’

‘I have never known such weather,’ agreed Ailred, obviously grateful to discuss something other than the awkward subject of
the death of a student in his care. ‘I am certain winters were not so hard when I was a boy in the fair city of Lincoln.’

‘Who do you think did this?’ asked Michael of the friar, indicating the corpse with a nod of his head. ‘Norbert made a nuisance
of himself with my beadles, and few regarded him as pleasant company – I am sorry, Dick, but it is true – but can you think
of anyone who disliked him sufficiently to want him dead?’

Ailred was startled. ‘Why are you asking me? It is obvious that Norbert visited some tavern, and his drunken tongue landed
him in trouble with a townsman.’

‘That is not obvious at all,’ said Michael sharply. ‘And I shall be obliged if you keep those kind of thoughts to yourself,
Father. We do not want the University rioting because it believes one of its number has been killed by an apprentice – especially
now.’

‘Why especially now?’ asked Ailred, puzzled.

Michael made no secret of his exasperation. ‘Because it is only three days before Christmas, when students traditionally
elect a Lord of Misrule to lead the festivities for the Twelve Days. Some of these might just as well be called “Lords of
Incitement to Riot”, since they urge their fellow students to engage in all sorts of michief against the town. I do not want
to give them an excuse to justify violent behaviour.’

Ailred was disdainful. ‘I had forgotten that unseemly custom. We do not indulge in pagan traditions at Ovyng;
we
are friars!’

Michael grimaced, knowing perfectly well that clerics were just as likely to misbehave as secular students, but he declined
to argue. ‘Regardless, keep your accusations to yourself until we understand what really happened. For all we know, one of
his classmates may be the killer.’

‘No!’ exclaimed Ailred, appalled.

‘My suggestion has as much evidence to support it as the solution you proposed,’ said Michael crisply. ‘So, I suggest we all
refrain from jumping to conclusions before we have the facts. What can you tell me about Norbert?’

Ailred cleared his throat and glanced at Tulyet, clearly unhappy with the whole situation.

‘It is all right, Father,’ said Tulyet wearily. ‘Norbert’s failings were no secret, and we all know what kind of man he was.
However, giving him virtues he never possessed will help no one, so you may be honest.’

‘If you insist,’ said Ailred reluctantly. He turned to Michael and spread his large hands, as though in apology. ‘Norbert
mocked our Order. He did not enjoy lessons, and he disrupted any he attended. He was lazy, disrespectful and selfish, and
I do not think any of my students will claim him as a friend.’

‘Then why was he tolerated here?’ asked Bartholomew, who imagined that most masters would dismiss a student who was so badly
behaved.

Ailred hesitated again.

‘Money,’ supplied Tulyet dryly. ‘My father paid handsomely to have Norbert tutored here, and Ovyng is not a wealthy institution.’
He turned to Michael. ‘I want Norbert’s
killer caught, Brother. Since he was a student, his death is a University matter, and must be investigated by proctors rather
than the Sheriff.’ Bartholomew was certain he heard Tulyet add ‘thank God’ in an undertone. Tulyet was obviously as unimpressed
by his replacement as was the rest of the town.

‘I shall do my best,’ said Michael. ‘But this will not be an easy case to solve. Norbert was not popular, and I shall have
to sift through all kinds of petty rivalries and dislikes in order to identify who took a fatal dislike to him.’

‘I know,’ said Tulyet tiredly. ‘But I will help you in any way I can, and so will Ailred and the Ovyng students. I take it
I am right to promise this, Father?’

‘Of course,’ said Ailred with a sickly, anxious smile. ‘You can question them now, if you like, Brother. They are inside,
waiting for lessons to begin.’

Bartholomew glimpsed a shadow flicker inside the door when the students were mentioned, and saw they were still eavesdropping
on the discussion. He wondered whether Norbert’s killer was among them.

‘Who first saw the dogs uncovering the body?’ asked Michael, who fully intended to interview Ailred’s students, but in his
own time.

‘My assistant, Godric,’ replied Ailred. ‘We were returning from celebrating a mass when he spotted the dogs digging. When
he went to drive them away, he saw they had unearthed a hand. He fetched a spade and we all watched while he completed what
the mongrels had begun.’

‘Did you observe any particular reactions among your charges?’ asked Michael, without much hope. ‘Any guilty glances or unease?’

‘We were excavating a corpse, Brother,’ replied Ailred acidly. ‘Of course there was a degree of unease. We did not know whom
we were about to discover. However, I can tell you for certain that I saw no “guilty glances”. We were shocked, but none of
us will prove to be your culprit.’

Michael watched while Bartholomew carefully pared away the rest of the snow that covered Norbert, hoping that the
killer might have abandoned the weapon he had used, and that it might lead them to its owner. However, the culprit had done
no such thing, and the physician had nothing to show for his painstaking excavation. The student had died face down, probably
after a violent attack from behind. There was nothing to suggest he had known his assailant, but nothing to suggest he had
not. The stab wound was wide and deep, indicating that it had been caused by a fairly large blade, but not one of abnormal
size that would be easily identifiable.

Bartholomew sat on his heels and tucked his frozen hands under his arms in a vain attempt to warm them. He thought about the
fear the young man must have felt, as he staggered towards the hostel already fatally wounded, and wondered why he had not
shouted for help. The thought jarred something buried deep in his memory.

‘You say he failed to come home on Tuesday night?’ he asked. Ailred nodded.

‘Why?’ demanded Michael immediately. ‘What have you found?’

‘Nothing, but I was summoned to tend Dunstan the riverman then. He has an affliction of the lungs that produces an excess
of phlegm, and—’

‘We know,’ interrupted Michael, forestalling what might prove to be a detailed description of some particularly unpleasant
symptoms. ‘You have been dragged from your bed for Dunstan several times since the weather turned sour. Did you see Norbert
on Tuesday night?’

‘I heard something: a screech. Then a man jumped out of the shadows and knocked me over. I told you about it the next day.’

‘You did,’ said Michael thoughtfully. ‘But if you heard this scream, and an instant later someone knocked you head over heels,
it was not the killer you encountered: he was murdering Norbert at that precise moment.’

‘And there is no reason to assume the killer had an accomplice,’ acknowledged Bartholomew. ‘At least, not one that
would be lurking so far away. It was just a thought; I was wrong.’

‘It may be important,’ said Tulyet, reluctant to abandon what might be a clue. ‘Perhaps Norbert called for help, and you were
the only one who heard him. Was it very late?’

‘Past midnight,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘But the sound I heard may have been from an animal, not a person.’

‘There is no reason to assume it was not Norbert,’ pressed Tulyet doggedly. ‘I know he left the King’s Head at midnight on
Tuesday, because the landlord hunted me down yesterday and insisted I pay the debts he had incurred. It
must
have been him you heard, and he was murdered as he walked home. Damn! Why did he have to die like this?’

Bartholomew was surprised to see the glitter of tears in Tulyet’s blue eyes before he turned away to look towards the High
Street – not surprised that Tulyet should show compassion, but that a man like Norbert should warrant it.

‘Even if I had gone to his aid I could not have saved him from wounds like this,’ he said gently. ‘The man who pushed me was
probably a beggar looking for somewhere to sleep, who had nothing to do with Norbert’s murder.’ He winced as he rubbed his
frozen hands together. ‘But I have done all I can here. The killer has left us no clues.’

Ailred dispatched a student to fetch a bier and offered to have Norbert delivered to Tulyet’s house. Tulyet nodded his thanks,
looked one last time at the place where his cousin had died, and then walked away with Michael and Bartholomew on either side
of him.

‘My father may feel obliged to ask Sheriff Morice to look into the matter, since Norbert was our kinsman – the nephew of a
prominent town merchant,’ he said as they walked. ‘I shall do my best to dissuade him, but do not be surprised if you find
a secular investigation in progress, as well as your own.’

‘Thank you for the warning,’ said Michael. ‘But I am not worried by anything Morice might do. He is no Dick Tulyet.’

Tulyet smiled wanly. ‘I trust you to find the truth, Brother. You will not fail me.’

‘Lord, Matt!’ said Michael uneasily, as Tulyet went to break the news of Norbert’s death to his father. ‘I shall do my best
to oblige him, but Norbert had many enemies. I am not sure Dick’s confidence in me is warranted this time.’

Bartholomew expected Michael to begin making enquiries immediately into Norbert’s death, but the monk had different priorities.
The physician was surprised to find himself being manoeuvred in the direction of St Michael’s Church, away from Ovyng Hostel
and the scholars who were anticipating being interviewed about their classmate’s murder.

‘He will not be there now, Brother,’ said Bartholomew, astonished to think that Michael should even begin to imagine that
Harysone had spent half the morning in that frigid little building. ‘There is not much to do inside, so he will have looked
around and left.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Michael firmly. ‘There was real purpose in his movements as he fiddled with the lock. He was determined to
enter, and I conclude that there was some specific task he wanted to perform. He will still be there and we shall catch him
in the act.’