He nodded slowly. 'Well, that is true of most of the stronger urges men are subject to. If someone has a desire to beat whores, or sodomize boys, the urge seizes them and they have to follow it. Sometimes men who otherwise are quite normal.' He gave me a sidelong look. 'Lord Cromwell knew that, and took advantage of it with his spies in the brothels over at Southwark that cater to special tastes.'
'I know. Obsession,' I said quietly. 'A hidden, all
-
consuming obsession with violent killing.'
We passed through a busy throng at Smithfield, for it was market
-
day, and arrived at Charterhouse Square. There were only a couple of beggars sitting on the steps of the old chapel, two older men and an old woman who looked as though they could not move far. The others would be begging at Smithfield, I guessed. I wondered if they supported these old folk, shared the meagre charity they received.
There were a couple of other horses at the rail where we tied Sukey and Genesis up, and the tavern doors were open. Inside it was busy, a group who looked like Smithfield drovers sitting together. Three ragged, weatherbeaten men whom I took to be from the community of beggars sat at one table quaffing ale. Mrs Bunce and Lockley were busy, the latter moving among the tables and the former serving behind the bar hatch.
The clientele looked up curiously as we entered. Lockley caught sight of us, and exchanged a glance with the widow. 'We would like another word, sir,' I said loudly.
'Come into the back.' His tone was low and angry. The clientele looked on with interest as I followed Lockley into a back room, where a moment later Mrs Bunce joined us. It was a cheerless place, with a scored table and some stools the only furniture.
I decided it would do no harm to let Mrs Bunce remain; she might let something slip.
'What is it?' Lockley asked us. His manner today was one of angry hostility. He stood with his fists bunched and glared at us with those sharp, deep
-
set eyes.
'How now, potman,' Barak said sharply. 'That's no way to talk to a man on business for His Majesty's coroner.'
Lockley sighed, shrugged and sat down at the table. Mrs Bunce stood beside him. 'What do you want?' Lockley asked, more quietly.
'We have not found Infirmarian Goddard yet.'
'Pox on him.'
'Are you sure you know nothing about him that could help us?'
'I told you all I knew last time. Goddard wasn't interested in the lay infirmary. He sneered at me for my ignorance but let me get on with treating the patients. I had to do everything myself. So far as he was concerned the patients in the lay infirmary were just a nuisance.'
'And those in the monks' infirmary? The ones the young Cantrell dealt with?'
'Goddard had to take better care of them, or he would have had to answer to the community. He kept a close eye on young Cantrell. Made him get glasses when it was clear he couldn't see properly.'
'I told you before that we are investigating a death. We think it possible that Goddard may have murdered someone.'
'How?'
'I may not say. Only that it was a violent attack.'
I would swear that Lockley seeme
d relieved. He laughed contemp
tuously. 'Goddard would never attack anyone. He was a cold man, and a lazy devil, never there when you wanted him. And he had plenty of money, I know that. Why should he kill someone?'
I nodded slowly. 'Yes, I can see you believe that,' I said quietly. Then I looked him in the eye. 'But I think you are hiding some
-
thing. Something else to do with Goddard. I advise you to tell me what it is.'
Lockley clenched his fists harder on the table. Strong, solid fists, callused with years of hard work. His face grew red.
'Will you leave me alone!' His sudden exclamation startled me, and I saw Barak's hand go to the hilt of his sword. 'I know nothing — nothing! Leave me alone! All my life it's been nothing but pester,
pester, pester. The patients, Goddard, that wretched barber
-
surgeon and that church of his, saying I was damned. And you!' He turned round to Mrs Bunce and glared at her. Then he put his head in his hands and groaned. 'I don't know whether I'm coming or going.'
I looked at Barak, astonished by this childish outburst. Ethel Bunce's mouth set in a tight line, but I saw tears in her eyes.
'What are you hiding, Master Lockley;' I asked quietly. 'Tell us, and perhaps that will resolve your confusion.'
'He knows nothing, sir, I'm sure,' Mrs Bunce said. 'You should have seen the state he was in when I met him, given over to drink, spending the last of the money he had. Francis is not as strong as he looks—' Lockley jumped up suddenly, the chair banging on the floor behind him. 'Get out, both of you, get out!'
'You could find yourself arrested, and questioned in a hard place if you will not answer me,' I said quietly.
'Then do it, do it! I'm past caring! To hell with you all! I'm going back to my customers!' He started walking to the door. Barak made to step in front of him, but I shook my head. Lockley left, moving quickly for a fat man. Mrs Bunce hesitated, then looked at us beseechingly.
'Francis is not strong in his mind, sir,' she said. 'What he says is right, all his life he has been pestered by people who think they are better than he is.'
'So have most people,' Barak answered unsympathetically.
'But Francis can't take it, it affects him. I have tried to help him, but I think it has ended by him seeing me as another — persecutor. Though I'm not, I love him.' She looked at us bleakly.
'All right, madam, leave us,' I said.
When she had gone Barak said, 'We should arrest him.'
'We don't have the authority.' I sighed. 'We'll tell Harsnet what's happened. My guess is he'll send some men up tonight, when the tavern is closed.'
'Could he be our man?' Barak asked. 'Most people would be terrified at the prospect of arrest, but he seemed hardly to care. His own woman said he is not quite right in himself.'
I shook my head. 'Running a tavern is a full-time job. He couldn't possibly have done what the killer has done without Mrs Bunce knowing. And I can't see him killing Roger or the others, I just can't see it.'
'You don't know.'
I looked at him seriously. 'If the killer was Lockley, do you think he would let us take him alive? No, let Harsnet deal with him.'
Chapter
Twenty
-
seven
W
e decided to
ride back down to Westminster from Smithfield; it would take less time than riding the horses back home and catching a wherry. We rode along Holborn, right out into the countryside, taking a short cut over the fields to Drury Lane. A pair of hares were boxing in the field, jumping wildly about. 'Spring is truly here,' Barak said.
'Ay, yet I seem to feel cold all the time these days, as though winter has lingered on in me.'
I
felt anxious
as we rode down into Westminster, with all its noise and smells
and danger. Under the old bell-
tower in the Sanctuary we saw a group of gypsies had set up a stall, a piece of brightly coloured canvas showing the moon and stars with a table in front. Two were playing flutes to attract attention, while at the table an old woman was telling fortunes from the cards. Barak stopped to look, and indeed with their faces almost as dark as Guy's and their fantastic costumes of embroidered turbans and bright, trailing scarves, the gypsies were an arresting sight. These colourful newcomers to our shores were expelled by the King some years ago, but many had escaped and some had gravitated to the Sanctuary. They seemed to be doing a good trade, though a black
-
clothed man stood on the fringes of the crowd, waving a Testament and denouncing them for heathenish practices. The crowd ignored him; the Sanctuary was not a godly place.
'Come on,' I said, looking nervously over the crowds. 'I don't want to stop here, make a target.'
Barak nodded and pulled on Sukey's reins. We rode past the railing preacher. 'Woe to those who follow the ways of the devil!' he cried.
We rode down into the southern precinct. We had seen from the clock tower in Palace Yard that we were a good hour and a half early for our meeting with Harsnet. We turned towards Cantrell's house. Nearby a pack of wolfish dogs nosed and picked at a pile of rubbish on the corner. I knocked loudly on the door under the faded carpenter's sign while Barak tied the horses to the rail. I was unhappy at leaving them there but we had no choice and Sukey at least would neigh and kick if a stranger tried to untie her. Once again footsteps approached slowly from within, but this time they stopped before reaching the door and Cantrell's voice called out in timorous, cracked tones.
'Who's there? I am armed!'
'It is Master Shardlake,' I called out. 'The lawyer who was here before. What is the matter?'
There was a brief pause, then the bolt was drawn back and the door opened a few inches. Cantrell's thin face looked out; he peered closely at us from behind those thick spectacles that magnified his eyes. 'Oh, sir,' he said with relief. 'It is you.' He opened the door wider. I stared at a long piece of wood he held in his hand. On the end was a large smear of what looked like dried blood.
'Someone attacked me,' he said.
'May we enter?' I asked gently. He hesitated, then opened the door wide to allow us in. The sour, unwashed smell hit us again.
He led us into the bare parlour. A wooden plate with the remains of a greasy meal lay on the table, a pewter spoon black with dirt beside it. I saw the dirty window giving on to the yard was broken. There was glass on the floor.
Cantrell sat down on one of the hard chairs, facing us. We sat at the table. I avoided looking at the filthy plate. I saw rat
-
droppings in a corner. Cantrell's face looked strained and miserable, several spots coming out on his forehead beneath the greasy blond hair. He placed the stick on the floor.
'What did you want, sir?' he asked wearily. 'Have you found Infirmarian Goddard;'
'Not yet.'
‘I
told you all I know.'
'Only a few more questions. But what happened here; Is that blood on your piece of wood;'
'It was two nights ago. I couldn't sleep. I heard breaking glass downstairs. I always keep a piece of wood by the bed in case of burglars.'
'What would they steal;' Barak asked.
'Burglars wouldn't know there is nothing here. I went downstairs. It was dark but I saw the window was open wide. A figure was there, a man. When I came into the room, he just stood there. I don't think he saw the piece of wood. He said something and that let me know where his head was and I hit out.'
'The edge of that piece of wood is sharp,' Barak said. 'You seem to have done some damage.'
'Ay, I got him on the head. He groaned and staggered and I hit him again. Then he got out of the window again, stumbled away.'
'What did he say to you;'
'It was a strange thing for a burglar.' Cantrell frowned. 'What;'
'He said, "It is your time now." Why would he say that;' I looked at him, appalled. Had
Charles Cantrell escaped becom
ing the killer's fifth victim?
'Did you tell the constable?' I asked.
He shrugged his thin shoulders. 'What's the point? There are always burglaries in Dean's Yard. He won't try here again, though. I hope I hurt him hard, I hope he dropped in the gutter somewhere,' Cantrell added with gloomy viciousness.
I chose my words carefully. 'Was there anything you recognized about the man? Anything familiar about his voice?'
He stared at me with those half
-
blind, fishlike eyes. 'He was just a figure in the dark, a shape. I cannot see anything unless it is close to. Your face is just a blur from here even with my glasses.'
'Was he tall or short?'
'He must have been quite tall. I aimed high.' He thought a moment. 'There
was
something familiar about that voice. A sharp voice.'
'Could it have been your old master?' I asked quietly. 'Infirmarian Goddard;'
He stared at me in silence for a long moment. 'I — I suppose it could have been. But why — why would that old bastard attack me in my house: I haven't seen him in three years.'
'He would have known your father's house was near the abbey.'
'But why — what has he done, sir: You never told me last time.' There was an edge of shrill panic in Cantrell's voice now.