“Truly?” Fidelma smiled cynically. “Not for one moment did you consider any other option than to rush forth and proclaim that Declan’s dusty relics had been suddenly translated to incorrupt flesh?”
Brother Ross wore a stubborn look.
“I have told you all I know in this matter.” He folded his arms defiantly.
Fidelma’s lips thinned and she gazed an inordinately long time on him; examining, particularly, the front of his robe.
“Do you have any suspicion of who killed Sister Aróc?” she finally asked him.
“I know only that she died a violent death here when there was no need for such an end to her life,” he replied belligerently.
Fidelma turned away toward the agitated figure of Rian, the Abbot of Ard mór.
“I am grieved, Fidelma. I am the head of my community, the shepherd of my flock. If there was violence brewing I should have felt it.”
“You are only a man and not one of the prophets, Rian,” Fidelma admonished. “There is no need for you to take any blame for this onto your shoulders.”
“How can I help resolve this matter?”
“By answering a few questions. Did you know Sister Aróc?”
“I am abbot,” he responded gravely.
“I meant, know her on a personal level and not merely as one of your flock.”
The abbot shook his head.
“She was brought to me six months ago by Sister Corb, who wished to induct her into the school of the novices. She was of the age of choice. She struck me as a religious girl although not overly bright. Apart from my one interview with her, I have only seen her at a distance.”
He paused, and then glancing swiftly across the chapel ground toward Sister Corb, he continued.
“Sister Corb came to me a few days ago to lodge an official complaint. It was only then that I heard of her curious behavior; what was it that Brother Echen described it as-‘otherworldly’? Echen was sent to speak with her but he reported that she was eccentric but not dangerous.”
“Do you know whether Sister Corb might have other motives for complaining about Aróc?”
The abbot flushed slightly and then grimaced.
“I know what you mean. I had not thought that applied in this case. But Sister Corb does have several liaisons which I would not approve of. But, as abbot, sometimes it is diplomatic to feign a lack of knowledge.”
“Several?” Fidelma’s brows arched. “Could it be that some of her-her liaisons, as you call them, might have been jealous of Sister Corb?”
The abbot looked startled.
“Do you mean. .?”
“Questions again,” snapped Fidelma. “Every question I ask, I seem to get answered by a question!” She repented at once as the Father Abbot seemed to wince at her outburst.
“I apologize. It is just that it is so difficult to extract information.”
“No, it is I who should apologize, Fidelma. There are several members of the community who would be angered by Corb’s attention to Sister Aróc, if that is what you are asking. But I do not think that they would be worth considering in this case.”
“Why not?”
“If my meager knowledge of law is anything to go by, as well as being a suspect by motive, you must also be suspect by opportunity.”
“Your knowledge is correct,” affirmed Fidelma.
“Well, you indicated to Brother Echen and to Sister Corb that this murder took place shortly before your group of pilgrims arrived at the hilltop. Look around you.”
The Father Abbot spread his arms.
Fidelma knew what he meant without looking. The hill, as they wound their way up the only track, was just a round grassy hump without trees, without bushes, and only the small oratory on top. Anyone leaving the oratory shortly before the arrival of the band of pilgrims would have no place to hide.
She smiled quickly.
“No, Father Abbot, I suppose it was not a sound thought to imagine someone sneaking up from the abbey and killing Sister Aróc and then sneaking away moments before a party of pilgrims arrived at the oratory.”
“Then what are you saying? Who killed Sister Aróc?”
Sister Fidelma turned to the others and waved them to come forward.
“My investigation seems to have drawn to its close,” she said, addressing the abbot.
He looked bewildered.
“Then I must ask you again, who killed Sister Aróc?”
Fidelma glanced toward Brother Ross.
Sister Corb was smiling in grim satisfaction.
“I knew it,” she muttered. “I. .”
Fidelma raised her hand for silence.
“I made no accusation, Sister Corb. And you should know the penalty for false accusation.”
The mistress of the novitiates was suddenly silent, staring at her in bewilderment.
“But if Brother Ross is not the murderer,” began Brother Echen helplessly, “who killed her?”
Fidelma glanced again to the young religieux.
“Brother Ross will tell you,” she said quietly.
“But you said. .,” began the abbot.
Fidelma shook her head impatiently.
“I said nothing. I implied he did not murder Aróc but I did not say that he did not know who killed her.”
Brother Ross was regarding her with frightened eyes.
“You would not believe the truth,” he said quietly.
“I know the truth,” Fidelma replied.
“How? How could you know. .”
“It was not that hard to work out, given the time factor and the situation of the oratory where no one could hide.”
“You’d better explain it to us, Sister Fidelma,” the abbot said.
“Our group of pilgrims came to the oratory and, as I have pointed out, Aróc’s death occurred, judging by the condition of the corpse, moments before,” Fidelma explained. “Ross went into the oratory first. Moments later he came out. He might well have had time to stab Aróc and then return to us to pretend that he had discovered the body. But the evidence is against that. Such a stab wound would have caused blood to spurt on his robes.
“It was obvious that Aróc was killed while lying in the open tomb. She was not killed elsewhere and dragged to the open tomb. There were no blood splatters leading to the tomb which would have been made. If Brother Ross had killed her, then his robes would have been drenched in spurting blood from the wound. Instead, he has some spots of blood on his right hand and his sleeve. They were made when he bent to touch the corpse.”
She pointed to his robes so that they could verify her statement.
The abbot was worried.
“You have presented us with a conundrum. Tell us the answer. The killer was hiding in or behind the oratory, is that it?”
Fidelma sighed shortly.
“I would have thought it obvious.”
Brother Ross gave a little groan.
“I confess! I confess! I killed her. I did it.”
Fidelma looked pityingly at him.
“No you did not.”
Sister Corb was indignant.
“That will not do, Sister. The man has confessed. You cannot deny his confession.”
Fidelma glanced at her.
“Brother Ross is even now trying to save his friend’s soul. He believes that the Penitentials would prohibit Sister Aróc being accorded the last rites, a forgiveness of sins and burial in sanctified ground in a state of spiritual peace. It is time to tell the truth, Brother Ross.”
“The truth?” pressed Brother Echen. “What is the truth?”
“She killed herself.”
Brother Ross groaned piteously.
“When you have eliminated every other explanation as being impossible, that which remains must be the truth,” Fidelma said dryly.
“Am I right, Brother Ross?”
The young man’s shoulders had slumped in resignation.
“She. . she was not of this world. She heard voices. She thought she was being instructed by spirits, from the otherworld. By the Blessed Declan. She had visions. She made me open the tomb so that she could touch the holy relics. I greased the stone so that she could swing it open by herself when she wanted. She often spoke of joining the holy saint. I did not think she meant to kill herself.”