The Crediton Killings

“You knew her?” Baldwin asked coldly.

“She was a serving-girl here called Sarra.”

“Did you see her today?”

“Not that I noticed.”

“When were you last in here?”

Sir Hector looked round the little storeroom with distaste, “I am not in the habit of entering places like this. I watched to see that my chests were brought in yesterday when we arrived here, but I’ve not been in here since.”

Baldwin spoke to the servant. “Has anyone been in here today?”

“I was here this morning, sir – it was when my master asked for his tunic before he went out – but she wasn’t there then. I’d have seen her, and if I had, I’d have called for help as soon as I did, I’m sure.”

“So she was not here earlier. She must have been killed today.”

“Cole must have done it when he robbed me.” Sir Hector’s eyes were fixed on the body, but there was no mistaking his anger.

“Perhaps,” Baldwin said musingly. “Though it seems odd.”

“Sir, I didn’t kill her! You must believe me, I…”

Holding up a hand, Baldwin reassured the panicking servant. “Don’t worry, I’m only trying to see when someone might have come in here last. You say you were here this morning?” The man nodded, but his wary, dark eyes showed no lessening of his fear. “Early morning, or late?”

“It was early,” Sir Hector interrupted. “As soon as I rose.”

“Could anyone else have got in here? And if they did, would they have been seen?” Baldwin questioned, his eyes still on the servant.

“Anybody could have got in, but…” said Sir Hector heavily.

“Sir Hector, do you allow all your men to have access to your private chamber?” Baldwin asked coolly, spurred by the disruption of his questioning.

The captain hesitated. “No, but some of my men who are trusted can always gain admission.”

“Such as?”

“Servants, my officers… a few people.” He spoke reticently.

“And who are these servants and officers?” Baldwin asked suavely.

Simon wandered to the chest while Sir Hector, glowering, listed the men who formed his private guard, the men in whom he placed his highest trust, begi

The bailiff was, for the first time, feeling a prickle of interest. In the past he had found getting involved with murder enquiries distasteful: as an investigator he sometimes felt tainted by the evil of the act. Too often he had been plucked from his comfortable, safe home-life, and tossed headlong into wild and conflicting emotions, for, in his experience, at the root of all murders were passions which, for some reason, suddenly spilled over and became extreme. Such ferocity had always been a mystery to him, for Simon’s life had ever been moderate and relaxed.

However, since Peterkin’s passing, the security and certainty of his whole being seemed ill-founded, as if the sickness which had killed his little boy was now gnawing at the vitality of his entire family. After his son’s burial, Simon’s desire to dispense justice had withered, for he had little concern for others now his own life had been so cruelly wrecked.

But there was a poignancy to this killing. It was not merely the superficial resemblance of Sarra to his wife, it was the ma

Now that Peterkin was gone, Simon could feel the u

Baldwin had returned to his study of Sarra’s body while Simon mused, and the bailiff watched with lackluster eyes as he used his dagger to slice through the cord binding her arms, then listened with half an ear while the knight talked to the captain.

“So we have to assume that this killing was done either by one of your trusted officers, or by a servant from the i

“It must have been one of the i

“I doubt it.” Turning, Baldwin stared at him. “You have told me that you only permitted your most trusted men into this area. You would not want to have strangers wandering round your private apartments, would you? No, the only people who would have come in here were your men.”

“And her.”

“Her?” Baldwin glanced down at the body. “You allowed her in?”

“Yes. I liked her.” He stopped, looking at Baldwin as if expecting a rebuke.

“Hmm. I see, so she knew the silver was here, too. But unless she talked to someone, the most obvious suspects must be your own men.”

“One of them: Cole,” Sir Hector said between gritted teeth. “Otherwise someone from the town who thought they might be able to make a quick killing.”

Simon shot a glance of loathing at him, but the captain appeared unaware of his pun.

Baldwin repeated, “Cole,” thoughtfully.

Leaning down, Simon saw that the gauze was heavily stained with blood, and the firm imprint of the girl’s body could be clearly perceived: her legs, her hands, her head. But there was a jutting edge in the clots which marred the outline and made him frown.

“Couldn’t he have had an accomplice, waiting outside? Someone he could pass the things to, once he had murdered poor Sarra?” Sir Hector asked.

“I can’t see how. It is the same as before, when we were thinking it was only a theft: anyone trying to get in from the street would have been noticed – this road is busy at all times of the day – and someone loitering on the other side of the window in the stableyard would attract attention from an ostler or one of the other i

“Her? She was only a serving-girl from an i

Baldwin nodded, his eyes straying back to the body before him. In life she had been pretty, and he was not surprised that the captain had “liked” her, a euphemism which left little to Baldwin’s imagination, but he could understand that the captain would find it hard to comprehend an unimportant young wench might have enemies who could want to kill. The reasons were legion; a jealous lover; a jealous wife disposing of her husband’s lover; a lover discarding his mistress because she had become an embarrassment… and so on. Still, as the man said, it was more probable that Cole had killed her. She must have discovered him taking the silver, and he stabbed her to ensure her silence.

While he ruminated, Simon carefully lifted the cloth by a corner, peering underneath. “Baldwin. Look at this.”

“What? Ah, that is interesting!” Baldwin reached down. Beneath the cloth was a third silver plate. The knight bent and took it out. “There is the proof. The murderer must have been the thief. He killed Sarra because she had seen what was happening. She knew who he was.”

“That bastard!” Sir Hector stepped quickly to Simon’s side and stared at the plate in Baldwin’s hands, tarnished where the blood had marked it. “So he killed her when he stole my silver.”

“Yes,” said Baldwin lugubriously. “Yes, it does look a little like that, doesn’t it?”