The Crediton Killings

“Is there any need for any co

“There’s always a reason to kill, even if it is simply a fit of anger. I ca

“In that case, look for men who knew her and had a reason.”

“We have one,” Simon said. “Sir Hector.” He explained to the Bishop what they had learned from Wat.

“I see.” Stapledon primly pursed his lip. “I should have thought that would be enough to arrest the man. One woman, lately his lover, has been found dead in his room, and from what you say, wearing a tunic he had purchased especially for another. Then a second woman demands money from him because she has borne him an illegitimate son, and she too dies. It seems more than a coincidence to me.”

“Yes,” Simon agreed, but his eyes were on Baldwin.

The knight sat staring into the middle distance, a twist of his mouth giving him a sardonic smile. Coming to, he stood. “Bishop, you are right. We have to find out who had a link with the two women and stop simply listening to the views of others. That is why we’re being blown with the wind, first taking one man’s word as true, then taking another’s.”

There was an animation about him which suggested to Simon that he had an idea he wanted to test. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, there have been various men coming here and trying to influence us. Now it is time for us to find out what we need, rather than waiting for others to tell us what they want us to know.”

“Fine,” Simon said sarcastically. “And where do we start?”

“First with the people in Judith’s street. But this time, I want to know about her. So far we have been tied up, thinking about all the killers in town, but the people who knew her, and who knew Sarra too, live here, in Crediton. The motive for the murders is here. The theft of the silver was here, the women lived here, the killings were committed here. Surely if we can find a co

Hugh was not happy about leaving his master to the care and protection of Sir Baldwin and Edgar, but when he saw how tired his mistress looked, he could understand that she would need a rest from her boisterous daughter.

But though Hugh was forced to remain, he made his feelings plain that Simon too should stay behind. There was no point in his leaving, the servant felt, and he watched the three men’s departure with simmering resentment.

It was also impossible for Roger to leave the house. Whenever he left the orphan, the boy set up such a screaming that he had to return. Rollo would not accept anyone else being near him unless Roger was there, a situation which seemed to have been reinforced when the rector had gone to him the night before. The mad, terrified panic had driven the child from his comfortable palliasse, and when Roger had entered, he had found the boy curled in a fearful ball in the corner of the room farthest from the window. As the thunder crackled and boomed, Roger had turned his eyes upward. The storm sounded like ten thousand moorstone slabs being fractured all at once, and he was convinced that the roof must collapse. He was unpleasantly reminded of the walls of Jericho as he listened to the immense power of the storm. Rollo had whimpered, trying to squeeze himself away as Roger went in, but when he squatted nearby, there was a sudden splintering crackle overhead, and the boy had leapt into his lap.

They were soon at the alley where Simon had been attacked, and it took little time for them to find the door on which Hugh had knocked to find Rollo. Baldwin beat upon it and stood back.

It was the mother who opened it. She stood wiping flour from her hands while she surveyed them with the truculence born of poverty. Baldwin noticed that she was tall, and apart from the lines caused by worry and poor diet, would have been handsome. But the vertical slashes at either cheek, the bruises under the eyes and the nervous tic were proof of her mean existence.

“You are the woman who looked after Rollo, Judith’s son, the night before last,” Baldwin said. It was more a statement than a question, and she stopped wiping her hands, suddenly still as she stared at him. He continued gently: “We are trying to find out what happened that night, to seek her murderer. Will you help us?”

Slowly, holding his gaze, she nodded. She had heard screaming, and been too scared to go and find out what had happened. Some from the street had gone, and she had heard them muttering anxiously, talking about a body. That had decided her to remain safe indoors. She had heard footsteps, ru

Rollo had been standing alone, fists clenched, staring at the ground. From what she said, he must have been staring at the spot where his mother had lain. She had brought him home, but had been unable to get a word out of him. He had simply sat and wept silently, starting at every new sound, allowing her to feed him some thickened soup, and gradually he had succumbed to his exhaustion and fallen asleep in her lap.

“I don’t see the man who took him away,” she finished suspiciously, her eyes going from one to another as she looked for Hugh.

“He is with Peter Clifford. Tell us, how well did you know the boy’s mother?”

“Judith? Not well. She was just always around, you know? Poor girl got herself pregnant when she was only eighteen or so, and that was that. The i

Baldwin nodded. Prostitution was common, for there were few other ways for a woman with no man to look after her to survive. If she had not been fortunate enough to be trained for weaving or embroidery, and could not get a job working as a huckster on the streets, there was no other way to support herself. In London, all the prostitutes were forced to live within Cock Lane, part of the Bishop of Winchester’s lands; he benefited from the rents, and they were commonly known as “Winchester Geese.”

“What did she do then?”

“Lived up to his view,” she said shortly. “Or down to it. Nothing else for her.”

“Did she have any friends? Family?”

“If she had any family, she’d have had a chance, poor girl, but no. Lots of people knew her, but I wouldn’t say she had friends. Only a few of us who used to give her the odd crumb when we had something to spare. For her boy, mainly. Rollo was always hungry; the little fellow never had enough.”

“Are you aware of any enemies she might have had?”

“That bastard who put her where she was, the one at the i

“Yes, but what about others? Were there many people who seemed to hold a grudge, or bear her ill-will generally?”

She thought a moment. “Several wives. They always had something against Judith; whenever their husbands were late home they’d blame her. Usually it was just that the men had drunk too much and had to sleep it off for a while, or they’d fallen down in the gutter. It wasn’t Judith’s fault.”

“Any in particular?” Baldwin probed.

“I don’t know. Widow A

Baldwin thought of the widow – he had met her a few times – and shook his head. A