Hugh Corbett 15 - The Waxman Murders by Paul Doherty Read Free Book Online Page B

stiffen.’
    ‘Desroches will examine them,’ Castledene declared.
    ‘Aye, and so will I, Sir Walter.’ Corbett continued his scrutiny. ‘ Mirabile dictu! ’ he exclaimed, getting to his feet.
    ‘What, master?’ Ranulf came over, beads of sweat lacing his brow, his usual reaction to the sight of any hanging. It was a fate he himself had almost suffered many years earlier, being saved only by Corbett’s intervention.
    ‘ Mirabile dictu ,’ Corbett repeated. ‘Marvellous to say! I’ve inspected the corpses, at least cursorily, yet I can detect no mark or blow, no sign of force or poison.’ He shrugged. ‘As I’ve said, at least to my scrutiny.’ Corbett walked towards the dais, ever watchful of who was now in the hall. Castledene was standing over the corpses. Wendover and Chanson guarded the doorway; the retinue stood behind them staring in at this abomination.
    ‘No one has touched anything?’ Corbett turned to Wendover.
    ‘Nobody, sir,’ the captain retorted. ‘I’ll go on oath. I came in.’ He gestured across to the corpses. ‘I saw those. I immediately left and sent a message to Sir Walter. Everyone had to wait outside until my lord arrived.’
    Corbett noted Wendover’s obsequiousness to Castledene. He stepped on to the dais and stared at the table laid out so elegantly.
    ‘Everything can be accounted for,’ Wendover sang out. ‘Not a porringer, goblet or platter will be found missing.’
    Corbett grunted and moved along the table: five chairs, no sign of a sixth. Paulents must have occupied the throne-like chair in the centre, his wife on his right, his son on his left; further down the maid and the hired mercenary Servinus. They’d apparently eaten well: the main platters bore the remains of pastry, chicken, slices of beef and some sauce now dried hard. The tablecloth was of shimmering white linen. Corbett glimpsed stains, some minuscule black dots. He bent down and studied one of the platters. Mice and other rodents had apparently been busy. He scrutinised the wine goblets, jugs and water beakers. He could neither smell nor detect anything tainted. No sign of disturbance was evident. The chairs were pushed in to the table whilst the rushes on the floor betrayed no marks of bodies having been pulled from the table, dragged off the dais towards those dreadful iron brackets.
    ‘Master?’
    ‘Yes, Ranulf.’ Corbett turned.
    ‘Do you think it could have been suicide?’
    Corbett shook his head. ‘No, this was foul murder, a massacre.’ He pointed down at the corpses. ‘Their killer isn’t trying to mislead us but terrify us. This, he or she is saying, is how I deal out death.’
    ‘She?’ Castledene came over.
    ‘No.’ Corbett shook his head. ‘That was a mistake. A man, a powerful one, cunning and deadly, is responsible for this.’
    ‘But how?’ Castledene hissed.
    ‘Sir Walter, I need urgent words with you alone. Ranulf, guard the hall. Allow no one but the parson and physician to enter.’ Corbett extended a hand. ‘Sir Walter, there must be a chamber above stairs? Ask for braziers to be placed there, fired and glowing, but no wine or food, nothing from here.’ He walked over to Wendover. ‘You’ve searched the rest of the manor house?’
    ‘Once I sent the messenger, yes, sir, from attic to cellar, stable and outhouse. We found nothing untoward, nothing sinister, no sign of forced entry.’
    ‘And when you came in, no one could have slipped out?’
    ‘My lord,’ Wendover gestured at the men thronging behind him, ‘they’re all city guards wearing the corporation livery.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘And we had a password.’
    ‘Which was?’
    ‘Maubisson,’ Wendover replied. ‘One guard always called that out to any other. No stranger, no intruder was seen either entering or leaving.’
    ‘So where is Servinus, Paulents’ bodyguard?’
    ‘Nowhere,’ Wendover gabbled. ‘God knows, Sir Hugh! We’ve searched, we were vigilant. There is, was, no sign of him!’
    Corbett