The Fourth Crow (35 page)

‘He did more than strike her down,’ said Lowrie, grimacing.

‘She was an unpleasant woman,’ said Alys, ‘but nobody deserves to die like that.’ She shivered slightly. ‘That night when Annie was at the Cross has been a busy one. My— My good-mother,’ she went on resolutely, ‘spoke of crows, of shadows, about young Berthold. Indeed it seems as if the night was full of shadows, of people like crows on a wall watching and waiting for one death or another. There was the doctor moving about, and making use of Peg’s death,’ she counted, ‘and then there was whoever it was tried to strangle her, and the Muirs swaggering through all of it after they killed her, though I suppose they are not like crows. Three crows, like the song.’

‘Not entirely like the song,’ said Gil. ‘And those are all linked to Peg, not to Berthold. We don’t know of any connection between them.’

‘And has anyone spoken to Berthold lately?’ she wondered. ‘Now that we know more about what was happening, perhaps we can reassure him enough for him to tell us what he saw.’

‘A good point,’ said Gil. ‘But best dealt wi tomorrow.’

Alys lifted the wine jug. ‘Will you have some more, Gil? Lowrie?’

‘No if I’m to go out again,’ Gil said. ‘There’s the matter o Stockfish Tam and his customer to see to. No, I’ll no take you, Lowrie, we’ve been over that.’

‘I’ll admit, I’m about ready for my bed,’ said Lowrie, ducking his head in acknowledgement of this. ‘Forty mile, a long discussion, and a day of Euan’s conversation. I’m about done.’

‘So we still don’t know,’ said Alys, pouring wine for the rest of them, ‘who killed Barnabas and who tried to strangle a dead woman at the Cross. Do you suspect someone?’ she asked Gil.

‘I do,’ he said, ‘but I’ve already been wrong once. We’ll see what happens in a few hours.’

‘There’s no a lot o cover,’ said Tam dubiously to the captain of the Castle guard. ‘No place to hide. Yir men’s going to show up like a deid sheep on the shore.’

‘I brought the best yins,’ said Andro. ‘No that that’s saying a lot,’ he added, and the three fellows behind him stopped grinning. ‘So we’ll hope they can lie in concealment wi’out alerting the quarry. How did yir man reach you afore? Where did he wait for you?’

‘Under they bushes.’ Tam pointed.

‘But it’s a different man, mind,’ Gil said. ‘No telling what he’ll do.’

‘Aye.’ Andro looked about him. The night was cloudy, and a brisk wind had got up, making sufficient noise in the trees to cover movement. ‘We’ll ha two o you lads in the sail shed, I think, and you and me, Richie, ahint yon bushes. Where will you lie up, Maister Cunningham?’

‘I think,’ said Gil, who had had time to consider the matter, ‘I’ll sit out by the brazier. No need for Tam to be the bait, our man has no notion of who he’s to meet so far as we ken, and in the dark he’ll not get a right sight of me.’

‘Here—’ began Tam.

‘Aye, that would work,’ said Andro.

‘No, it’s no right,’ protested Tam. ‘I’m no one to stand by—’

‘You’ll come wi Richie and me,’ said Andro, ‘so we’ll cut off his retreat if he tries to flee that way. What time do you look for him?’

‘Any hour fro now on,’ said Tam, still dubious. ‘Maister, I’m sweirt to let you take my place, I am that!’

‘Did I hear something?’ said one of Andro’s men.

‘Aye. Places,’ said Andro, low voiced, ‘and nae mair argument. Bring that light, Richie.’

Sitting on a balk of wood by the brazier, Gil warmed his hands and listened. The river rippled past ten feet away, chuckling quietly to itself. He could hear small movements in the sail-shed behind him as the two men lurking there settled down, and occasional more distant stirrings which must be night birds, small animals, a hunting fox. His own lantern gave a little light; now they were in place, Andro’s men had shut theirs and showed no sign.

The row of small houses belonging to the shore folk, set well back from the strand, was silent. Beyond that, the burgh seemed to be asleep, except for the occasional barking dog; on the opposite bank Govan slept as peacefully.

The sound which had alerted Andro’s man came again, a shifting of stone on stone. A footfall, or the sound of a wheel, Gil wondered. Surely he wouldn’t bring the cart down tonight, he thought, he can’t be certain of meeting his man. Another footfall, a scuffle, a muttered curse. A light bobbed into view on the rough ground at the foot of St Thenew’s croft, came closer. Stopped by the nearest clump of bushes.

‘Stockfish Tam?’ said a hoarse whisper.

‘Who’s asking?’ Gil responded in the same tone.

‘I am,’ said the other unhelpfully. The light bobbed forward as if its bearer had taken a couple of steps. ‘Are you Tam?’

‘What do you want wi Tam?’ Gil countered.

‘I think you ken what. You’ve got something for me, something that belongs to Holy Kirk.’

‘And if I have?’ Persuade him closer, so that Andro can cut him off. Bring him down onto the strand. ‘Where’s the other fellow?’

‘He’ll no be coming. As you well know. Come on, where’s my money?’

‘Yours? I thocht you said it belonged to Holy Kirk.’ Sweet St Giles, Gil thought, we missed a trick here, we should have had a purse ready to tempt him wi. He reached for his own purse, and hefted it so that the contents clinked and scraped together. ‘It’s here. Come and get it, then.’

The light advanced another few steps, and halted. Watching tensely, Gil saw a shadow move behind it, and then another.

‘Come to the fire,’ he invited, ‘and get your due.’

‘Bring it to me.’

‘It’s you that wants it,’ Gil returned, ‘no me. It’s here if you’ll come for it.’ He clinked his purse again.

After a long moment, the light moved forward. Boots crumped on the sand and pebbles of the shore. Gil rose to his feet.

‘Now!’ he shouted, and the night was full of running men and shouting. A tussle developed, people were swearing, but the dark shape Gil had his eyes on dropped its lantern, and moved to pass him with quick crunching steps, making for the bridge. He launched himself full length, and found he was rolling on the sand with an opponent who, though he was a handy fighter, lacked Gil’s advantages. Street-fighting in Paris was a hard school, but an effective one. He dodged an attempt to claw at his ear, got one hand under the other man’s jaw, used his knee efficiently, came out on top and trapped a flailing arm under his thigh.

‘Light here,’ he called, getting a grip on the throat. ‘Lights, and a rope!’

‘Have ye got him?’ It was Andro. ‘Oh, well done, maister. They eejits were fighting theirsels. I’ve got his arm, you can let go now, let him up. Lachie! Get ower here, man!’

The gasping quarry was hauled to his feet and held firm, crowing for breath, while Andro bound his arms to his sides. Gil lifted the lantern, and held it up to see the man’s face.

‘Good e’en to you, William,’ he said. ‘You’re out ower late, for one that’s to rise and sing Matins and Lauds.’

‘I deny that absolutely,’ said William Craigie.

‘You expect us to believe you?’ said Otterburn, peering at him gloomily across his desk in the candlelight.

‘Killing a man in the High Kirk? Hiding his body so he canny have absolution? What kind of priest do you think I am?’

‘One that would steal from Holy Kirk,’ Gil said.

‘That’s different,’ said Craigie implausibly. ‘I was about St Mungo’s that afternoon, I grant you that, but I never saw Barnabas till after he was dead.’

‘Where were you?’ Gil asked.

‘I was in our hall, the songmen’s hall, for a time. Then that daft Robert cam to say Dame Ellen was seeking me,’ Craigie swallowed, ‘and when she’d done I went back to the hall, for I’d a notion to con some of the music for the next day. I tellt you that at the time, Gil. There was one or two folks in and out,’ he recalled hopefully, ‘Sim and Dod Arthur for one.’

‘So who was Barnabas seeking?’ Gil asked. ‘He went off wi a sack-tie saying
I see it now,
what did he see? What had it told him?’

‘How the Deil should I ken? I wasny the man’s keeper! Though I failed him in that,’ the prisoner added, his voice dropping. Gil studied his bent head.

‘And what about Peg Simpson? You deny that you put a cord about her neck?’

‘The lassie at the Cross? Was that her name?’ Craigie muttered a swift prayer in his rich bass. ‘No, Gil, I wasny about that night. I was at the cards in the hall till midnight, then I gaed to my bed. Dod Arthur was there, and John Ross, and we convoyed one another home.’

Gil made a note of the names, and flicked open a different leaf of his tablets.

‘What’s your claim to a property called Hallrig? By Tarbolton, I think.’

‘Hallrig?’ Craigie stared at him. ‘None whatever.’

‘And yet I’m tellt you’ve been going the rounds o men o law in Ayrshire, looking for one to take on your claim for it. Convenient, certainly, for you to own the property, what wi the quarry.’

‘I have not!’ said Craigie incredulously. ‘I’ve never— I haveny been into Ayrshire in the past year! No, no, it belongs to the Gibbs, it left the Craigies forty year since. And who goes to law over one property? It would cost more than the plot’s worth by the time the bill cam in.’

‘Why did you tell me you were no kin o Annie Gibb?’

The prisoner attempted to shrug, despite his bonds.

‘It was easier than trying to explain.’

‘Ach!’ said Otterburn. ‘I haveny patience for this. Take him away, Andro, and the Archbishop can question him in the morning. And the Dean,’ he added.

Gil thought the departing Craigie flinched at this.

‘Well, Cunningham,’ continued the Provost as the door banged shut behind prisoner and escort. ‘What d’you make o that? I’d say you could accompany the King’s Grace to the Isles again wi a light heart.’

‘I’m less certain. Craigie’s lied to me, more than once, but he was quite determined the now he was innocent o the verger’s death.’

‘Well, we’ll get more out him in the morning when the fire’s hot for the pilliwinks. I’m for my bed. It’s been a long day. I hope I’ll see you betimes, maister, there’s the quest on Dame Ellen and the verger and I’ll need your evidence, even wi a signed confession for the woman. I’m no risking another sic verdict as I had for the hoor.’

‘No, I agree,’ said Alys, curling warm and relaxed into the crook of Gil’s arm. ‘It sounds as if there is at least some doubt.’

He rubbed his cheek on the crown of her head, and stretched out his legs between the rumpled linen sheets. It was extraordinarily good to have some time alone with his wife, and she seemed to feel the same, to judge by the way she had responded when he had slipped into bed beside her.

‘It would be very tidy,’ he said regretfully, ‘but while he denies it so firmly we must at least consider if there is another solution.’

‘Who stood to benefit from the verger’s death?’ She was twirling her fingers in the hairs on his chest. ‘We assumed his partner in the thefts had killed him to prevent some accusation being made. Could the man have set off to accuse someone else, who then killed him? Or could someone have killed him to protect Craigie?’

‘Craigie lacks powerful friends,’ said Gil. ‘That’s half his trouble.’

‘And the girl at the Cross.’ Her hand stilled, flat against his breastbone. ‘Whoever did that to her thought he was killing Annie Gibb. Who would have benefited from Annie’s death? What happens to her property at her death?’

‘Likely it would have reverted to the various families,’ said Gil, ‘with fat pickings for any men of law who get involved. It’s always a problem when there’s no will.’

‘What about the property with the quarry? Was that hers outright, or was it a life interest?’

‘A life interest, I think, and then I suspect reverts to her father’s family.’ Gil was trying to recall the documents he had seen. ‘Why does one never take enough notes the first time?’

‘So the Shaws would not get it. But they would get back all the lands she had from her marriage, I suppose, since there are no – no children. Could Sir Edward have ordered her killed? His daughters would benefit.’

‘He seems truly fond of her,’ said Gil. ‘Besides, why go to this trouble and expense, not to mention the pain of the journey, when he could have ordered her killed in his own house and concealed the whole matter?’

‘Lockhart?’

‘He wasn’t out of the hostel. That’s the other thing. If whoever throttled Peg was connected with Annie’s family, he must have come out of the hostel, and the doctor told us he made certain the men were all asleep.’

‘And it was hardly Doctor Januar who did that,’ she said slowly, ‘since he knew well the girl was dead already. And then there is the door to consider. The door that went three times. Why three? Did two leave together and come back separately, or what?’

‘Ah, no,’ he said. ‘The door has been greased. It shuts quietly now. The hostel servants know nothing about it, it’s none of their doing. I suspect it was greased between the time the doctor left the hostel and the time he returned. It smells like mutton fat, and Bessie said they had mutton that night, and not since.’

‘Oh!’ she said. ‘So anyone could have gone out and back again, at any time in the night after that, except that they were all asleep in the men’s hall, and Dame Ellen was adamant nobody stirred out of the women’s hall. What a conundrum it is. Could it have been someone else entirely? Annie’s father’s kindred?’

‘Which is wide, by what I recall.’ Gil grimaced into the darkness of their curtained bed. ‘We need to ask more questions in the morning. I must get out to the hostel betimes, before the quest.’

‘I will come with you.’ She curled closer, and he rolled over to embrace her again, relishing the silky feel of her skin against his.
All of plesur she is wrout,
he thought. Her hand stirred across his chest, and halted again. ‘Gil,’ she began, and stopped.

‘What is it?’ he asked after a moment.

‘Yesterday,’ she said in a small voice, and then, ‘I should not tell you.’

‘Is it about Ealasaidh?’ he prompted, after another moment. She drew a tiny breath. ‘Jennet told me what she heard.’

‘You know.’

‘I know.’ He drew her into a tight clasp. ‘I’m here, sweetheart. We are together. We can weather this.’