"I'll have to take your sword, sir Stalker."
Stalker looked at Hawk steadily, and his eyes were very cold. Fisher stepped forward, and lifted her blade a fraction. Stalker looked at her, and smiled slightly. He turned back to Hawk and handed him his sword, hilt first.
"Of course, Captain Hawk. There are tests you'll want to run."
"Thank you, sir warrior," said Hawk, sliding the sword through his belt. "The sword will be returned to you as soon as possible."
"That's all right," said Stalker. "I have others."
He followed the other guests down the stairs and into the parlor. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, and relaxed a little.
"For a minute there," said Hawk, "I wondered;"
"Yeah," said Fisher. "So did I."
Hawk turned to Gaunt, who was kneeling by the body. "Careful, sir sorcerer. We don't want to destroy any evidence, do we?"
Gaunt nodded, and rose to his feet. "His throat's been torn out. There's no telling what the murder weapon was; the wound's a mess."
"That can wait for the moment," said Hawk. "Is your isolation spell still holding?"
"Yes. I'd have known immediately if it had been breached. There can't be any more doubt; the killer has to be one of us."
"All right," said Hawk. "Go on down and wait with the others. And you'd better take a look at Katherine Blackstone. She's in shock. And coming so soon after the last shock to her system;"
"Of course," said Gaunt. He nodded quickly to Hawk and Fisher, then made his way back down the stairs. Hawk and Fisher looked thoughtfully at the body.
"We can't afford to wait till the experts get here in the morning," said Fisher. "We've got to find the killer ourselves."
"Right," said Hawk. "If we don't, there might not be anybody left come the morning."
Chapter Five
BLOOD In THE NIGHT
"Well, first things first," said Hawk. "Let's check the body."
He and Fisher put away their weapons, knelt down beside Bowman, and studied the dead man carefully. Bowman's throat had been torn apart. Hawk frowned grimly as he examined the wounds.
"This wasn't done with a sword," he said slowly. "The edges of the wounds are ragged and uneven. It could have been a knife with a jagged edge; See how it's ripped through the skin? What a mess. If I didn't know better, I'd swear Bowman had been attacked by some kind of animal."
"Right," said Fisher. "Take a look at his chest and arms."
There were long bloody rents in Bowman's shirtfront. Similar cuts showed on both his forearms, as though he'd held them up to try and protect his throat.
"Strange, that," said Hawk, indicating the torn and bloody arms. "If he had time to raise his arms, he should have had time to use his dagger. But there isn't a drop of blood on the blade."
"Maybe he dropped it in the struggle," said Fisher. "It must have all happened pretty fast. Bowman never stood a chance. Poor bastard." She sank back on her haunches and stared unhappily at the body. "You know, Hawk, I wouldn't feel so bad if I hadn't disliked Bowman so much. There were times when I could quite happily have run the arrogant bastard through myself. I was so sure he was the murderer;"
"I know what you mean," said Hawk. "I'd almost convinced myself he was the killer. It all made sense. He had both the motive and the opportunity; and I didn't like him either." He shook his head tiredly. "Well, we can't apologize to him now, lass. But maybe we can bring his killer to justice. So, with Bowman gone, who's the main suspect now?"
Fisher rubbed her jaw thoughtfully. "Katherine? She was first on the scene at both the murders."
"I don't think so," said Hawk. "A knife in the chest is one thing, but this; Whatever actually made these wounds, there must have been a hell of a lot of strength behind it to have done so much damage in so short a time. A starving wolf couldn't have done a better job on his throat. And remember, Katherine was standing right over the body when we found them, and there wasn't a trace of blood on her clothing."
"Very observant," said Fisher approvingly. "Whoever killed Bowman had to have got blood all over him. Did you see;"
"No," said Hawk. "I checked them all carefully as they filed past me, and no one had any blood on their clothes. The killer must have had time to change."
"Damn," said Fisher. "It would have simplified things."
"There's nothing simple about this case," said Hawk dourly. "We'd better check all the rooms, just in case there's some bloodstained clothing to be found, but I'm betting we won't find a damned thing. Our killer's too clever for that."
"What about Stalker's sword?" said Fisher suddenly.
"All right," said Hawk. "What about it?"
Fisher gave him a hard look. "You said you wanted to run some tests on it. What did you have in mind?"
"Nothing, really," said Hawk. "I just didn't want him looming over me with a sword in his hand. Remember, at the time all he had on were his trousers and boots. Where was his shirt? It occurred to me that he might have had to take it off because he'd got blood on it."
"I see," said Fisher. "You know, Hawk, we've been on some messy cases before, but this has got to be one of the messiest. Nothing makes sense. I mean, I can understand someone wanting Blackstone dead; he had more enemies than most of us make in a lifetime. But why Bowman? And why rip him apart like this?"
"Beats me," said Hawk. He got to his feet, and then bent down again to retrieve Bowman's dagger. He studied it a moment, and then tucked it into the top of his boot. Fisher got to her feet and looked down at Bowman's body. "Maybe;"
"Yeah?"
"Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He came out onto the landing, maybe to use the bathroom, and saw something or someone he shouldn't have. So the killer hit him then and there, on the spot. No time to be subtle or clever; just do the job."
Fisher thought about it. "That doesn't explain the savagery of the attack. Or the nature of the wounds. I don't know about the throat, but those cuts on his chest and arms look a hell of a lot like claw marks to me."
"So what does that mean? He was killed by an animal?"
"Not necessarily. Remember the valley killer a couple of years back? Everyone thought it was a bear, and it turned out to be a man using a stuffed bear paw strapped to a club."
"Yeah," said Hawk. "I remember that case. But why should the killer use something weird like that, when a knife was good enough for Blackstone? Unless;"
"Unless what?" said Fisher as Hawk hesitated.
"Unless this is a different killer," said Hawk slowly. "Remember, Visage swore she'd kill Bowman in revenge for his murdering Blackstone;"
"Two killers under one roof?" said Fisher incredulously. "Oh, come on, Hawk! It's hardly likely, is it? I know what the witch said, but that was just anger and grief talking. I mean, you saw her. Can you honestly see a timid, mousy little thing like her tearing into a man like this?"
"No, I suppose not." Hawk scowled suddenly. "Mind you, I have seen something like this before;"
"Really? Where?"
"In the Hook," said Hawk grimly. He looked at the body, and shook his head angrily. "This case gets more complicated all the time. Come on, let's check the bedrooms. Maybe we'll get lucky."
"That'll be a change," said Fisher.
They started with the first door on the left at the top of the stairs, the spare room that Gaunt had opened up for Katherine after her husband's death. The room looked dusty and empty. The single oil lamp was still burning, and the bed obviously hadn't been slept in. The sheets hadn't even been turned back.
"Odd, that," said Hawk, looking at the bed. "She'd had a terrible shock, and Gaunt had given her a sedative, but she didn't go to bed. She should have been out on her feet, but she hadn't even changed into her nightclothes."