Murder by the Book by Susanna Gregory Read Free Book Online Page A

powerful West Country burr. He was short, although he carried himself as though he were taller, and had straight, grey-brown hair. His name was Robert Browne, and he was a teacher at Batayl Hostel. Bartholomew braced himself for some unpleasantness – Browne was not one of the University’s more congenial members.
    Michael regarded Browne in surprise. ‘Why should I not be here?’
    ‘Because your duties lie in Newe Inn’s garden,’ snarled Browne. ‘Not in its damned library.’
    ‘The corpse,’ surmised Michael. ‘So there is one after all. However, your Principal said there was no immediate hurry, and—’
    ‘Coslaye is not the one obliged to loiter next to it until the Senior Proctor deigns to appear,’ snapped Browne angrily. ‘And he may not consider murder urgent, but
I
do.’
    ‘Murder?’ asked Michael uneasily. ‘How do you—’
    ‘If you can bear to bring an end to your sightseeing,’ replied Browne waspishly, ‘you may come and see for yourself.’

    It had been several years since anyone had tended Newe Inn’s grounds and they screamed of neglect and decay. Some weeds were taller than Bartholomew, who was not a short man, while nettles choked what had once been vegetable beds, and the grass was thigh-high. The tavern must have been leased to a long succession of negligent landlords, and he wondered whether Cynric was right to say that Dunning was glad to be rid of the responsibility it would pose.
    ‘Will anything be done to tame this wilderness before the library opens?’ he asked, trying to fight his way free of a bramble with thorns like talons. It retaliated by ripping his shirt. ‘It is downright dangerous!’
    ‘It is,’ agreed Cynric, kicking viciously at a huge thistle.
    ‘Dunning declined to renovate the house
and
clear the garden,’ explained Michael, following Browne along a barely discernible path, which ran by the side of the teetering wall that divided Newe Inn from neighbouring Batayl. ‘So Tynkell decided to leave the grounds until next year. Doubtless he will use them to instigate some other foolish plan to see himself immortalised.’
    Eventually, they arrived at a large pond where past owners had bred carp and trout. It reeked, although the stench was partly masked by a fragrantly scented patch of lily of the valley to one side, a bright jewel of beauty in a place that was otherwise unsightly. Floating in the middle of the pond, face-down and with an arrow protruding from its back, was the body.
    ‘Now can you see why I had the audacity to suggest murder?’ asked Browne archly. He shot Bartholomew an unpleasant glance. He had never liked the physician, preferring staid traditionalists to those who favoured new ideas. ‘You do not need a Corpse Examiner to tell you that he did not do that to himself.’
    ‘Who is he?’ asked Michael.
    ‘His face is in the water and his clothes are black with mud,’ replied Browne tartly. ‘So how am I supposed to know that? However, I can tell you that he is not supposed to be here.’
    ‘Obviously,’ muttered Cynric. ‘Cadavers bobbing about in fish ponds is hardly right.’
    Browne’s lips compressed into a thin line. ‘I meant that no one is supposed to frequent these grounds. They are University property and therefore private.’
    Michael regarded him through narrowed eyes. ‘Yes, they are, which means you should not have been here, either, yet you were the one to raise the alarm. What were you doing?’
    Browne looked decidedly furtive. ‘I occasionally slip over the wall to ensure all is well. It is unwise to leave a place unattended too long, and I take my neighbourly responsibilities seriously.’
    ‘I am sure you do,’ said Michael coolly. ‘However, it does not explain why you were
here
, at this pond. It is far beyond benefiting from philanthropic inspections.’
    Browne was defiant. ‘Times are hard, especially for a poor foundation like ours, and there are fish in this pool. You, from rich old