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Day Three
Godfrid
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“Prince Godfrid! Prince Godfrid!” A pounding on the door of his house roused Godfrid out of a deep sleep.
Fortunately, his steward was there to answer it. Last night Godfrid had left the shutters near his bed half-closed, and he could see the gray pre-dawn light peeking through the opening. It was very early in the morning. And certainly, after yesterday, it was far earlier than he’d hoped to rise. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed at his face to wake himself. To say his head and shoulder hurt was to woefully understate the case, but he could see well enough—and hear well enough too—so he could be grateful for small blessings.
The steward was continuing to speak to the man at the door, so Godfrid heaved himself to his feet and went to the railing overlooking the main room of his house. “What is it?”
His steward looked up at him, but before he could answer, the man at the door, who turned out to be Alf, Holm’s second-in-command, spoke, “Sheriff Holm asks that you come immediately, my lord. Two more bodies have been found, murdered.”
“Have they been identified?”
“No, my lord. Nobody recognizes them.”
Even in a city of nearly four thousand people, everybody knew everyone else, so that meant they’d come from outside Dublin. “Where?”
Alf visibly swallowed. “In Holm’s own yard, my lord. He is afraid that King Ottar will think he murdered them. Please come!”
Godfrid pressed his lips together tightly, implying a worried or concerned demeanor—when really the idea that Holm would not only murder two strangers but leave their bodies in his own yard was laughable. Then again, after the debacle of yesterday, if Holm’s intent was to conduct a house-to-house search this morning, hiding the bodies in his own yard would have been a good way to prevent them from being discovered.
“Who found them?” Godfrid reached for his pants and then his boots and pulled them on.
“They were buried under a mound of hay in his barn.” Alf spun his hat nervously in his hand. “One of his pigs discovered them.”
Godfrid started moving a little more quickly. “How long was the pig at the bodies before he was stopped?” It was a known fact that pigs would eat anything, and if you wanted to get rid of a murder victim, leaving the body where a pig could eat it wasn’t a bad way to do it. Horrifying, but almost smart.
“A bit, my lord, but they’d been in their pen all night. One sneaked through the rails this morning. We’ve since hauled the bodies into the yard. Their faces are intact. That’s how we know we don’t know them.” He shuddered. “They do smell.”
“I imagine.” Godfrid grimaced. “Did you send someone to Lord Conall’s house to tell him of this?”
“No, my lord.” Alf blinked in genuine surprise. “Should I have?”
The implication was that Conall would be the last person Godfrid wanted to see, and Godfrid was happy to let Alf continue to think so. “No. You did the right thing coming to me. Let’s see what’s what first, shall we?”
“Yes, my lord.”
On the whole, Godfrid wouldn’t have been sorry to have Conall at his side. He certainly hadn’t balked at the idea for the reason Alf thought, but now that Conall had Cait with him, he had to consider what she might do as well. If she knew something was afoot, she would refuse to be left behind. Godfrid could understand, sympathize, and admire her fortitude. That didn’t mean he wanted her to see pig-gnawed bodies.
Alf was tall and lean—taller than Godfrid actually—and their long strides took them to Holm’s house within a quarter of an hour.
A white-faced Holm was there to greet him. “Thank you for coming.” His words were fervent, and Godfrid marveled that, in only two days’ time, he had gone from the object of Holm’s derision to his savior.
“What can you tell me?” They came to a halt five feet from the bodies, which Godfrid had no interest in touching as of yet.
Holm went through what he knew, with the further explanation that the bodies had been dumped face-down. They’d only been settled onto their backs when they’d been moved from the barn into the yard. As Holm finished his explanation, Godfrid could hear Gareth commenting in his ear, The murderer laid them face-down because he didn’t want to see their faces in death. Likely this murder was not planned.
He had to agree with Gareth’s spirit on the latter point at least. He bent to the closest man, lifting an arm to discover that the hand was cold and the arm moved easily. “How is it that it took until today to discover them?”
Holm waved his hand in front of him. “I haven’t entered the barn recently. The smell of the animals covered the stench of the decaying bodies.”
“Rikard was found two days ago, and these men appear to have died about the same time.” Godfrid shook his head. “That’s four deaths within a very short span.”
Holm folded his arms across his chest. “We don’t know for certain that these deaths are connected to Rikard’s and Deirdre’s.”
“Don’t we?”
“Even if true, that observation won’t exonerate me.”
The moment Godfrid had spoken, he’d put Holm on the defensive, which hadn’t been his intent. “You would have to be a true idiot to dump the bodies of the men you killed in your own barn. And you are not an idiot.”
The tension in Holm’s shoulders eased slightly, though his expression remained pinched.
Godfrid put a hand on his shoulder. “Act as if you are innocent, as if the very idea that you were involved in these men’s murders is absurd, and everyone around you will find themselves willing to believe it too. Nobody thinks you killed Rikard and Deirdre. So therefore you didn’t kill these men either. It is in your best interest to see these deaths as connected.”
Holm’s expression brightened, and he nodded vigorously. “I was asleep with my wife and children two nights ago. Everyone will attest to it.”
“Exactly.” Godfrid returned to the first body. The man had dark, curly hair and bad teeth. He was wearing a cloak over a coat, indicating the air had been chilly when he’d died. His companion was taller, with straight auburn hair that he’d cut short. Godfrid didn’t recognize either man.
“Do you want me to move them to the church for you to examine?” Holm asked.
“No. Bishop Gregory wouldn’t thank me for that.” The men smelled of death and pigpen, which was a terrible combination. “I will examine them here.”
Godfrid had already noted the heavy bruising on the neck of the curly-haired man, indicating that he was strangled by a man’s fingers. In turn, his auburn-haired companion had been stabbed through the heart, as evidenced by the slit in the cloth of the man’s shirt and the blood stain. Though, at this point, it was hard to tell what was blood and what was mud. The manner of death for both men indicated that they’d allowed their attacker to get close enough to kill in a very personal way.
Godfrid began patting down first one man and then the other. The curly-haired man had a purse, which contained real wealth in ten silver coins and a ring with a signet Godfrid didn’t immediately recognize. He held it up to Holm, who shook his head.
But then Conall’s voice spoke from behind him. “Brega.”
“Are you sure?” Godfrid handed the ring to Holm. Rather than examining it, the sheriff looked from Godfrid to Conall as if he feared they would at any moment come to blows.
“Of course I’m sure,” Conall said. “The Bregans killed your father. I would have thought you’d recognize it too.”
Holm clenched the ring in his fist. “Give me a moment, I have ... something to see to.”
Conall watched him go. “He does that every time, doesn’t he?”
“It’s convenient, if nothing else.” Godfrid crouched to the body again. “I’d say welcome, but I don’t want to be here any more than you do. Where’s Cait?”
“Asleep still.”
“We can thank the Lord for small blessings.” Godfrid put out a hand to his friend. “Not that I wouldn’t be pleased to see her again, but—”
“But not here.”
“No.”
“I almost hate to ask,” Conall said, “but how are you?”
“Well enough.”
Conall chuckled. “I always knew you had a hard head. Now we have proof.”
Godfrid snorted under his breath, still moving between the bodies of the dead men. “I’m glad I amuse you.” A moment later, he found the second man’s purse, which contained only coins. Then his coat pocket produced a length of silken rope, expensive and smooth to the touch, and when Godfrid held it up, the light of day revealed it to be stained red along the middle of its length. “Blood?”
Conall took it to examine it more closely. “Could we have just found Deirdre’s killer?”
Godfrid straightened. “I can’t tell exactly without comparing side by side, but I’d say it’s the same type of rope used to tie Deirdre to that chair at the warehouse. It’s a finer weave, meant for a household rather than a sailor’s use.”
Holm, who’d been standing by the stables, couldn’t help but notice that they were huddled over something, and he approached, albeit warily. “Did you find something, my lords?”
Conall showed him the rope.
Holm was jubilant. “I must tell the king that we’ve solved the mystery! It will make up for yesterday’s failures.” He took the rope from Conall and immediately set off for the street at a brisk pace.
“Wait—” Godfrid made to call after him.
But Holm wasn’t waiting. He turned to walk backwards, sketching a wave. “I’ll leave Alf with you. When you’re done, he’ll find men to move the bodies to the graveyard to await burial.” Then he was gone.
“Fool.” Conall shook his head. “If these two killed Rikard and Deirdre, the mystery isn’t solved. Ottar is still going to want to know who killed these two.”
Godfrid’s eyes remained on the entrance to the yard by which Holm had left, but the sheriff didn’t return. “He woke me because he was afraid of being blamed for their murders, seeing as how they were found in his barn.”
“He could still be blamed,” Conall said. “Doesn’t he see that?”
“I wouldn’t be sorry if King Ottar loses faith in Holm, though I find myself starting to like the man.” Godfrid tipped his head. “At the same time, to kill a killer is practically self-defense, and Ottar may see it that way. He might even be happy to assume Holm killed these men because it will put the entire investigation to bed.”
“I can’t decide if that’s to our benefit or not.” Conall tapped a finger to his lips. “You do realize that if anyone else knew what we know, the most obvious person to have murdered these two men is you. Or your brother.”
Godfrid’s head came up. “Are you really suggesting—”
Conall made a slicing motion with his hand. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had. Given who and what Ottar is, nobody would blame you for taking matters into your own hands. But I would appreciate the courtesy of the truth. Did you have anything to do with these deaths?”
Godfrid fixed his eyes on Conall’s. He wasn’t offended by the question, so much as wanting to make sure Conall heard the plain truth in his voice. He and Conall had come to an understanding months ago, but that didn’t mean they knew everything about one another. On the outside, they couldn’t be more different, but Godfrid recognized a cold practicality in Conall now. He wanted to know the truth, because until he had it, he couldn’t know how to proceed.
“I did not kill anyone. My entire role in this endeavor began the moment I walked into Rikard’s warehouse two days ago.”
Conall had been wearing a very serious expression, but now he grinned. “I almost wish it had been you. We could have amused ourselves covering it up.” He sighed. “As it is, we can speculate all we like, but there’s still too much we don’t know.”
Both men turned back to the bodies, and together they rolled them onto their fronts so Godfrid could strip off their cloaks and coats.
Conall yanked off their boots, and then held up a knife in a sheath that had been hidden in the stabbed man’s boot. “It was good planning, not that it did him any good.”
“I would guess that he was taken out first,” Godfrid said. “It would be good to find the knife that killed him, if it is here to be found.”
While Conall summoned Alf and had him start the search in and around the barn and pigpen for the murder weapon, Godfrid noted that the curly-haired man’s breeches had a slight bulge at the small of his back. He lifted up the shirt to reveal a rolled document. He glanced around the yard, trying not to look furtive but not wanting to be observed either. Fortunately, Alf and Holm’s other men were occupied with their new task.
Godfrid tugged out the piece of parchment and slipped it inside his own coat. Then he rose to his feet and waved at Alf. “We’re done here. Send word if you find anything.”
Conall spoke out of the side of his mouth. “I am a bad influence, I see.”
“We will retire to your house,” Godfrid said. “This we can share with Cait.”
