HS04 - Unholy Awakening by Michael Gregorio Read Free Book Online

some explanation for her death, or lay my hands on the killer, all might yet be well in Lotingen.
    ‘The body must be taken to the old cemetery,’ I ordered the ghouls.
    I ignored the looks of surprise on their faces, overriding their objections.
    ‘Knutzen, you will go with them. Speak with Lars Merson,’ I stepped close and hissed in his ear. ‘Order him to lock the body in the chapel. You and he must make sure no-one enters. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
    ‘What about the doctor?’ Egon Tost objected. ‘He should certify the death, sir. That’s been the procedure since the epidemic…’
    ‘This is not a case of fever,’ I stated dogmatically.
    Tost raised his chin in the direction of the corpse. He might have been indicating a dead dog lying in the street. ‘What happened to her, anyway?’
    ‘She is dead,’ I said flatly. ‘Now, do as you are told. Take her to the old cemetery. I will report her death to the French. Do your duty, Herr Tost. I will do mine.’
    I watched like a hawk while they loaded the stretcher onto the cart.
    Knutzen climbed up behind them, glancing back at me with the reproachful look of a man who had been condemned. With in minutes, the cart pulled away from the gate. I wiped my brow, praying to heaven that they would meet no-one else along the way. Be fore presenting myself to the French authorities, I would need to learn as much as I could about the victim. Where she came from. What she might have been doing in that part of the country. What sort of life she led. The people who had seen her recently. So far, I knew only her name and the name of the village that she came from.
    I made my way over to the Schuettlers. They were standing by a stone arch on the far side of the garden. They looked up when they saw me coming, but they did not move. They might have been chained to the spot.
    ‘Well, sirs,’ I said, ‘will you invite me into your house?’
    The brothers exchanged a glance, then stood aside and waved me through the arch.
    ‘We live in the kitchen garden. To keep the birds and thieves off,’ Gurt Schuettler explained with a wave of his hand which took in cabbages, long beans, rows of green leaves which I thought might be turnips or potatoes, leading me along a path in the direction of a small building in the far corner of the walled compound. It was the only thing with four walls and a roof in that section of the property.
    ‘This used to be the brother-apothecary’s shop,’ he said, as he slipped the latch and pushed open the door.
    A billy-goat burst out through the narrow gap, and scampered off through the vegetable crops. Three hens came next, squawking loudly as they fought their way un ceremoniously out of the door. An aged dog was asleep on the floor, but it did not bother to shift itself as we entered. The cramped room was furnished with a small table, two stools, and a cast-iron stove that was red with rust. The place was lit by a single window and the sun which came shining in through the open door. Two jute sacks stuffed with straw were laid along the wall for sleeping on. Bedroom, kitchen, henhouse, all in one. Was there no more spacious accommodation in what remained of the monastery?
    ‘Would you like a stool, sir?’
    ‘We can speak just as well outside,’ I replied, returning the way I had come, opening my shoulder bag, taking out my pad, and the newfangled Faber-Castel wooden pencil which Helena had purchased for me from Durkheim’s Emporium. It was like a sandwich – two slices of wood enclosed a slice of graphite.
    ‘What is that, sir?’ Schuettler asked me curiously.
    I did not bother to answer him, writing down his name with the instrument.
    ‘Did you hear anything unusual last night? A noise? A cry?’ I began.
    Gurt Schuettler turned to his brother, who shook his head.
    ‘We heard nothing, sir,’ the old man replied. ‘Bit of a wind, that was all.’
    ‘According to my secretary, the dead girl’s name is Angela Enke. Did either