‘Hmm,’ Josse said. He glanced at Helewise, and she thought that he, like her, was probably wondering if Sheriff Pelham had noticed the moon himself, or had had the fact of its being full again last night pointed out to him.
Probably, she concluded, the latter.
‘You see,’ Harry Pelham went on, ‘they do things, when it’s full moon.’
‘They do things,’ Josse repeated tonelessly. ‘What sort of things, Sheriff?’
‘Oh, you know. Ceremonies, and that.’
‘Ah, I see. You make it so clear, Sheriff.’
Surely, Helewise thought, Harry Pelham must hear the sarcasm?
Apparently not. The sheriff went on, ‘They’re an old — um — tribe, if you like, see, Sir Josse. Live according to their own laws, live that sort of odd outdoor life when things like the moon are important. And, like I said to the good Sister here this time last month, when what’s-his-name was murdered-’
‘Hamm Robinson,’ Helewise supplied.
‘Thank you, Sister.’
‘Abbess,’ Josse corrected expressionlessly.
Harry Pelham shot him a glance. ‘Huh?’
‘The Abbess Helewise is in command here,’ Josse explained, with what Helewise thought was an admirable lack of anything in his tone that could have been construed as patronising. ‘We should do her the courtesy, Sheriff, of addressing her by her proper title.’
‘Oh. Ah.’ Harry Pelham looked from Helewise to Josse and back again, and, fleetingly, both anger and resentment crossed his face. ‘Where was I?’ he snapped. ‘You’ve gone and made me lose my thread, Sir Josse.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Josse said.
‘You were speaking of the Forest People,’ Helewise said gently, taking pity on the wretched man. ‘Explaining to us that they live an outdoor life, which includes elements of nature worship such as an awareness of the moon and its cycles.’
Harry Pelham looked as if he could hardly credit he’d said all that. ‘Was I?’ Recovering quickly, he went on, ‘Aye, well, like I said, they — the forest folk — don’t like what they’d probably see as trespassers on their territory. Specially not at full moon. It’d make them angry, would that. Make them take savage action against intruders, likely as not.’ He folded his arms, smiling grimly as if to say, there! Case solved!
‘I see,’ Josse said thoughtfully. ‘You maintain, Sheriff, that there are well-documented rites associated with these people’s worship of the full moon, which, when observed by outsiders, are so secret that those outsiders must be put to death?’
‘Er-’ Harry Pelham scratched his head. ‘Aye,’ he said firmly. ‘Aye, I do.’
‘What are these rites?’ Josse moved closer to the sheriff, bending down and putting his face close to the other man’s. ‘Can you describe them?’
‘I — well, not exactly, I-’ The sheriff took some well-needed quiet time in which to think. ‘Course, I can’t describe them in detail,’ he said, giving Josse a triumphant grin. ‘They’re secret.’
‘Ah, how perceptive, Sheriff,’ Josse said softly.
Harry Pelham was in the act of puffing out his chest with pride when, at long last, Josse’s mild sarcasm breached his defences. ‘Well, perceptive or not, I’ve solved your murder for you,’ he snapped.
‘My murder?’ Josse echoed faintly.
‘It has to be them, those dirty wretches up there.’ He jerked his head towards the forest. ‘Two dead now, and I reckon I might just go up there and round up the lot of them, hang a few and teach the rest a lesson.’
‘I shouldn’t do that, if I were you,’ Josse said.
‘And exactly why not?’
He seemed so confident, Helewise thought, watching him. It was almost a pity, when he was about to be rather firmly demolished.
‘Because,’ Josse shot her a look, then returned his eyes to the sheriff. ‘Because, although it’s possible the Forest People killed Hamm Robinson — although I’ve yet to see or hear anything that remotely resembles proof, without which you can hardly hang one man, let alone a whole tribe — I can tell you for certain that the Forest People didn’t kill Ewen Asher.’
The sheriff emitted an expletive which Helewise hadn’t heard for years. People did not normally employ that sort of language within the walls of a convent. ‘You’re talking rot!’ he went on, getting to his feet and lurching towards Josse. ‘How can you be certain?’ His repetition of the word mocked Josse. ‘Just tell me that!’
‘Because Ewen was killed with a dagger, and because his killer was both a very different man, and in a very different frame of mind, from whoever slayed Hamm Robinson,’ Josse said coolly. ‘Hamm’s murder was clean and quick, performed with considerable expertise, by someone who was an excellent shot and used to his chosen weapon. The spear tip, I understand, pierced the heart.’
‘All right,’ the sheriff acknowledged. ‘So what?’
‘The man who killed Ewen — and I am quite sure it was a man, because of the force behind some of the wounds — was in a panic. Possibly he had tried to make it a quick, clean kill, too, but whichever of the cuts he made first wasn’t deep enough, and failed to penetrate a vital organ. With Ewen screaming and writhing at his feet, the murderer, perhaps beginning to be overcome with the horror of it all, slashed out again and again, throat, chest, face, until at last, realising the man was quite dead, he stopped.’
The sheriff was staring at Josse, mouth open. ‘How can you tell all this?’ he said, a sneering tone entering his voice.
‘For one thing, by the wounds,’ Josse replied. ‘And for another-’
‘Well?’
Josse glanced across at the Abbess. ‘Never mind.’
The sheriff looked as if he was about to press him, but apparently decided against it. ‘Well, if it wasn’t the Forest People, then it was that poacher. That other fellow who used to go about with Hamm Robinson. His cousin.’
‘Seth?’ supplied Josse.
‘Aye. Seth Miller.’
‘I don’t believe Seth killed him either,’ Josse said. ‘Although I admit he had a motive.’
‘Well, won’t you enlighten us as to why it wasn’t Seth?’ It was the sheriff’s turn to sound sarcastic. ‘Not the type of man to panic, perhaps? Arms too weak to make such cuts?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Josse said mildly, not, Helewise noticed, rising to the bait. ‘The reason that I doubt Seth was responsible was because he carries a knife, with a fairly short blade. The wounds on the dead man were made by a dagger.’
‘Knife or dagger, what’s the difference?’
Josse shook his head gently. ‘Oh, dear,’ he murmured. Then, before the sheriff’s anger could come to the boil and erupt, said, ‘A knife has one sharp surface and a dagger has two. Seth carries a common-or-garden knife, which he probably uses for everything from gutting rabbits to picking his teeth. The wounds on Ewen Asher show very clearly that they were made by a weapon with two sharp edges. Therefore, the killer is unlikely to be Seth. Unless, of course, you think that Seth was carrying a special dagger last night, purely to kill Ewen with, which is perfectly possible, I grant you. Except that Ewen was killed in a sudden fit of panic, or temper, and for Seth to have armed himself beforehand with this hypothetical dagger would have meant the murder was premeditated.’
Helewise, not at all sure that the sheriff had grasped all of that, suppressed a smile as, sinking down again on to his seat, Harry Pelham muttered, ‘Hypothetical dagger. Premeditated. Panic.’ After a few moments’ thought, however, he rallied.
‘I’m going to arrest Seth Miller,’ he announced. ‘Right now. Whether he planned to murder Ewen or not, I reckon he did it. He can sweat it out in my jail for a while and think about his sins. Then I’m going to ask him a few questions.’
Harry Pelham stood up, took a couple of paces towards Josse and, snarling at him as if he wished it were to be Josse rather than Seth he would be interrogating, finished, ‘And, God help him, he’d better have some good answers!’
* * *
Helewise and Josse listened to the repeated echoes of the slammed door. As the sheriff’s furious footsteps faded away, Josse said, ‘Pleasant fellow.’