‘Cook remains my first choice,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He was in Nottingham as well, where he was Dallingridge’s medicus. He probably poisoned him to win a wealthy patient.’
Michael blinked. ‘Lord, Matt. That is a wild leap in logic, even for you.’
‘Not so – Dallingridge lingered for weeks, so Cook would have earned a fortune from tending him. Then here, Cook tried to convince us that Moleyns was not murdered; he was to hand when both Moleyns and Tynkell died; he cannot prove his whereabouts for Lyng’s death; and he met Tynkell and Moleyns slyly in St Mary the Great. He is our killer. I am sure of it.’
‘We shall bear it in mind,’ said Michael, although he failed to look convinced. ‘However, our list is a lengthy one, because it also includes Egidia and Inge, Kolvyle–’
‘Oh, yes – Kolvyle is certainly on it,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘Especially now that I have experienced first-hand the depth of his malice.’
‘Then there are the men who want to be Chancellor: Godrich, Thelnetham and Hopeman.’
‘Not Suttone?’ Bartholomew felt treacherous for asking.
‘Do not be ridiculous, Matt. He is a member of Michaelhouse.’
‘So was Thelnetham.’
‘True, but Suttone was not ousted from it for being disagreeable.’
Bartholomew supposed that was true. ‘We should include Whittlesey as well.’
Michael frowned. ‘Whittlesey? Why on Earth would you accuse him?’
‘Because I have just learned that he was in Nottingham when Dallingridge was poisoned as well, and–’
‘No, he was not,’ interrupted Michael. ‘He arrived a few days later.’
‘So he claims,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But can we believe him?’ He hurried on before Michael could answer. ‘Then people started to die the moment he came here, and I had the sense that he was lying to me about how he cut his leg. Perhaps solving these crimes is a test for you – to see whether you are good enough to step into Sheppey’s shoes.’
‘That would be rather an extreme way to find out,’ said Michael, wide-eyed. ‘And I cannot believe it of him. However, we shall keep him on our list, if it pleases you. Why not? We can no more eliminate him than any of the others.’
They reached Maud’s Hostel to find Richard waiting to let them in. He escorted them to Aidan’s quarters, where the Principal was downing a very large cup of wine to steady his nerves.
‘I cannot believe it,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Poor Lyng …’
‘Are you sure he did not tell you where he was going on Thursday?’ asked Michael. ‘Now he has been murdered, you will appreciate that the question is important.’
‘It was important when he was missing,’ countered Aidan bitterly. ‘Learning his plans now cannot help him.’
‘No,’ said Michael quietly. ‘But it might help us catch his killer.’
‘You want the case solved, so you can flounce off to Rochester and begin your new life,’ said Aidan accusingly. ‘While the rest of us remain here, steeped in grief.’
‘He wants it solved to prevent the killer from striking again,’ said Bartholomew gently. ‘And so that Lyng and the others will have the justice they deserve.’
‘The tomb-builders will be in for a disappointment, though,’ Aidan went on, ignoring him, ‘because Lyng did not want a monument. He specifically asked to be buried in the churchyard with a simple wooden cross. He was a modest man, whose only ambition was to serve a fourth term as Chancellor.’
‘Shall we discuss his last known movements now, Brother?’ asked Richard brightly. ‘I have painstakingly visited all his favourite haunts, so I know exactly where he went and what he did on Thursday. Shall I tell you?’
‘Go on, then,’ said Michael warily. If Richard was anything like his brother, the testimony would have to be taken with a very large pinch of salt.
‘Well, after breakfast he visited St Austin’s and Bede’s hostels to ask for their votes. Then he went to the Market Square, to make speeches with the other candidates.’
‘The event was acrimonious, and it distressed him,’ recalled Aidan. ‘He said it made the four of them look like squabbling schoolboys, so he came back here to lie down and recover.’
Richard nodded. ‘When he felt better, he got up and visited Copped Hall and Physwick, before coming home for dinner.’
‘He ate a whole pig’s heart,’ put in Aidan. ‘It was his favourite. I was a little peeved, actually, as I should have liked a slice myself, but he did not offer. Thank God I did not make a fuss! It was his last meal, and I might have ruined it for him.’
‘Then he went out yet again,’ Richard continued. ‘It was roughly eight o’clock – very late – and I accompanied him as far as the High Street, where I turned towards Michaelhouse to visit my brother.’
‘Did he speak to anyone along the way?’ asked Michael.
‘Oh, yes, lots of people. First, there was that sinister Benedictine who works for the Bishop of Rochester. They muttered together for ages while I waited.’
‘Whittlesey?’ asked Michael uneasily. ‘Did you hear what they discussed?’
‘No, because they were whispering.’ Richard looked sheepish. ‘I did try to eavesdrop, but they saw me and moved away. After, Lyng and I walked on a few paces until we were stopped by Cook, who told him that he needed a haircut. That horrid Michaelhouse lad was with him – the one who thinks the rest of us are stupid, and that only he is good enough to be a scholar.’
‘Kolvyle might have an outstanding mind, but a lesson in humility would not go amiss,’ agreed Aidan. ‘He told me the other day that Maud’s should be suppressed, on the grounds that we are an embarrassment to the University. It was rude.’
‘You should have boxed his ears,’ said Michael. ‘If he insults you again, you have my permission to do it. And when he complains, I shall fine him for being an irritating little brat.’
Aidan smiled for the first time. ‘I might hold you to that, Brother.’
Michael turned back to Richard. ‘Who else did Lyng greet?’
‘Suttone, Thelnetham, Moleyns’ wife, Godrich, the Mayor, and some of the tomb-builders, although I cannot tell you which ones, because it was too dark to tell. But I know it was them because they were muttering about casement-and-bowtell edge moulding.’
‘So virtually all our suspects saw Lyng out and about after nightfall,’ mused Michael. He turned to Aidan. ‘But I had better read this letter now. Let us hope it contains something helpful.’
‘I shall fetch it for you,’ offered Richard, and thundered up the stairs before Michael could inform him that he would rather go himself – and take the opportunity for another rummage through Lyng’s belongings at the same time. There was silence, followed by a shriek.
Bartholomew exchanged a glance of mystification with Michael, then hurried upstairs to find out what was happening. He flung open the door to Lyng’s room just in time to see a black shape slither across the floor and start to climb through a window. Unfortunately, all the other shutters were closed to exclude the inclement weather, making it too dim to see properly. Richard was a blubbering heap in the corner.
‘The Devil!’ he wept. ‘It is Satan himself!’
Bartholomew was sure it was not, especially as there was a very human curse when the invader’s cloak caught on a nail. He darted after him but ‘Satan’ freed himself quickly and began scrambling down the ivy-coated wall outside. Bartholomew leaned out after him, and managed to snag enough of his hood to stop him from going any further, but not enough to haul him back up again.