Ayrshire Murders

by E R Dillon

  “Stay back while I look for sign,” Kyle said as they all reined in.

  He dismounted and walked forward to examine the ground around the shallow grave. The mud was still soft from the recent rain, crisscrossed with hoof and paw marks from deer, rabbit, and other creatures that watered there. He frowned down at the large boot prints, which he identified as Brodie’s, and the smaller imprints belonging to the two boys.

  “If the murderer left any tracks,” he said, “they’re gone now.” He walked over to where Ewan sat perched on the rump of Upton’s horse. “Tell me exactly what you did when you first got here this morning.”

  “Gib and me, we watched for a while,” Ewan said. “We hoped some critter would come along for water, but nothing did. We were fixing to go deeper into the wood when the dog took to nosing about them logs by the burn.” He pointed at the jumble of half-rotted limbs along the bank of the creek, left there during the rainy season when the water ran high.

  As though on cue, the mongrel dog trotted forward to sniff at the deadwood, cocking a leg at each piece to leave its mark on it.

  “I thought there might be a clutch of rabbit under there,” Ewan said. “Gib and me, we broke down the pile to take a look. The dog got to digging in the mud, and that’s when we found her.” He fell silent, as though at the end of his tale.

  “What did you do next?” Kyle said.

  “I went to fetch Master Brodie,” Ewan said.

  “How did you know it was Abigail?”

  “I recognized her.”

  “Even with all that mud on her?”

  “She were under a mantle.”

  “What mantle?”

  “The mantle she were wrapped in.”

  “Did you remove the mantle?”

  “Only enough to see what was under it.”

  “That’s when you saw her face?”

  “Her hair,” Ewan said. “I just saw her hair.”

  “You recognized her by her hair?”

  Ewan nodded. “It were long and silky,” he said, “and of a color that flamed in the sunlight.”

  Kyle caught the wistful expression on Ewan’s face. Despite the boy’s tender age, he was evidently old enough to appreciate the things that enhance a woman’s beauty, even a child-woman like Abigail. “Then what did you do?”

  “I told Gib to stay put,” Ewan said, “while I went for Master Brodie.”

  “You weren’t afraid,” Kyle said, turning to Gib, “that the murderer might come back and find you here?”

  The expression on Gib’s face indicated that the possibility never even entered his mind.

  “It would not trouble Gib if he did,” Ewan said, speaking up in his brother’s defense. “He once seen the Southrons hang a man from a tree in the dead of night, and they never knew he were there watching.”

  Kyle nodded absently at Ewan, his mind already moving to another matter. He picked up a stick and poked around the soft dirt within the shallow grave. After a moment, he tossed the stick aside. He lifted up each piece of deadwood to look under it. Not finding what he was looking for, he trod the perimeter of the glade, sweeping the underbrush aside here and there to peer at the exposed ground beneath. He walked to the open center, his tawny eyebrows drawn.

  “It’s not here,” he said.

  “What’s not here?” Brodie said.

  Kyle removed the girl’s shoe from his pouch. “The mate to this. As your daughter lay on the bier, she wore but one shoe. Did you perhaps lose the other while carrying her body to the chapel?”

  “Ewan and Gib walked behind me the whole time,” Brodie said. “They would have seen the shoe fall and surely would have picked it up.”

  Kyle paced the length of glade, frowning over something Ewan had told him a moment before. “How came you to see only Abigail’s hair?” he said to Ewan. “Was not her face visible when you laid back the mantle?”

  “Nay,” Ewan said. “Just her hair.”

  Kyle’s gaze settled upon Brodie perched upon the shaggy pony. “When you removed your daughter from the grave, what position was she in?”

  “What do ye mean?” Brodie said dubiously.

  “Was she lying on her back? Was she on her side, or maybe even on her face?”

  Brodie’s brown eyes strayed to Ewan and Gib, who were watching him. “I think she were on her face,” he said, his manner hesitant. Encouraged by nods from both boys, who had borne witness to the disinterment, he added with more confidence, “Aye, she were facedown, with her cloak wrapped about her.”

  Kyle then addressed John. “During your examination of the girl’s body, did you only find blood settled along her back?”

  “I did find it so,” John said. “Blood drains to the body’s lowest point after death. From the amount of discoloration I found along her lower body, she must have lain on her back for at least a full day after her death.”

  “So,” Kyle said, “she was put in the ground face downward, with one shoe on and the other nowhere in the vicinity. That suggests to me she was buried in haste, with little care as to her placement in the grave. However, more importantly, it suggests she was killed elsewhere, and her body later moved here for burial.”

  “That Southron tried to hide his foul deed,” Brodie said sullenly.

  “I wonder,” Kyle said, gnawing on his lower lip. “I doubt he would take the time to wrap her in her mantle and dig a grave to lay her in. He would likely dispose of her body as quickly as possible, perhaps dumping it deep in the woods for wolves to consume, or else sinking it in a bog, of which there are many around here.”

  He held up the girl’s shoe for Ewan and Gib to see. “I need to find Abigail’s other shoe. You boys are familiar with these woods, so I want you to keep a sharp eye out for it on your hunting forays. If you find the shoe, mark the location and get word to me right away. I want to see the place with my own eyes, for that might be the very spot where she was killed, and there might be something there to lead to her killer. Will you do that?”

  “Aye,” the boys said in unison.

  With the business at hand finished, Kyle mounted the gelding, and they all started back to Harefoot Law. Brodie led the way at a brisk pace, as though anxious to put the glade far behind him.

  When they reached the village, Ewan and Gib slid from the backs of the horses to the ground. Their faces were wreathed in smiles as they scurried away together.

  “Do ye still want to go to the field?” Brodie said.

  “I do,” Kyle said.

  Brodie turned the shaggy pony’s head northward, and Kyle, John, and the two English soldiers followed him through the woods. After wending their way through the trees for a short while, they came out into an open stretch of land. Thorny brambles and briars dominated the landscape. Several large parcels of ground that had been cleared were already striped from the plow in preparation for spring planting.

  Kyle and the others advanced into the field behind Brodie, who rode over to where able-bodied men from the village were chopping at shrubs and digging up roots to clear more usable ground. Several children were busy dragging the uprooted fronds over to a huge pile for later burning.

  Brodie exchanged a greeting with the nearest villager, who doffed his cap and expressed a word of sympathy on the loss of his daughter. He acknowledged the man with a nod before he called out to Tullick and two other young men who answered to the names of Alex and Will. “Come hither,” he said, his voice raised. “I’m wanting a word with ye.”

  Tullick was a well-built young man with dark hair and dark eyes. His bearded features were regular, neither handsome nor plain. Alex was short and heavyset, with limp red hair and a straggly reddish beard. Will was tall and thin, with a pallid complexion and a pronounced overbite. All three wore belted tunics that reached their knees, with their sleeves rolled back to the elbow. None of them looked older than twenty.

  “I’m sorry about Abigail, Master Brodie,” Tullick said, his booted foot on the wing of his spade, ready to shove the blade i
nto the earth. “As ye can see, I’ve work to do here and cannot stop to chat just now.”

  A man with a salt-and-pepper beard and gray hair at his temples laughed aloud. “That never bothered ye before.” His comment elicited a round of guffaws from the men around him.

  Tullick ignored the jibe. “Another day, perhaps.” He leaned his weight on the spade and pushed down on the wooden handle to pry a tough rootstock from the dirt.

  “I’m not here for a chin-wag,” Brodie said. “Deputy Sheriff come out this way on business. He wants to question ye some.”

  Every man in the field paused at his labors, his eyes on Tullick, Alex, and Will, as though to see what they would do.

  Chapter 5

  Tullick exchanged a glance with Will and Alex before he propped the handle of the spade on his shoulder. Alex and Will did the same, and all three headed over to where Kyle sat on the sorrel gelding beside Brodie. Their pace was slow, and the concern on their faces at being called to account by a man of law was understandable. None of the three seemed unduly alarmed, though, as they shuffled to a halt a couple of yards away.

  Kyle noted that each of the three young men bore superficial grazes on his forearms, likely from briar thorns. He saw nothing, though, that resembled the distinctive pattern of fingernails raked across bare skin. He fixed his gaze on the most likely of the trio to hold a female’s interest.

  “How well did you know Abigail?” he said to Tullick.

  “Well enough to bid her the time of day,” Tullick said. “Master Brodie called me now and then to help him with the heavy work on the farm. She were there most times I went.” His dark eyes shifted to Brodie and back to Kyle. “I cannot believe she’s really gone.” The sadness on his face turned to hatred in a single heartbeat. “It were that Southron’s fault.”

  “Did you see him kill her?”

  “Nay,” Tullick said, “but he come out this way three days past, him and his fine dark horse. I saw that well enough.”

  “Do you know him by name?”

  “Lucky Jack, they call him,” Tullick said, his upper lip curled in contempt.

  Kyle next questioned Alex and Will. He learned that they, too, worked for Brodie on occasion. They also claimed a passing acquaintance with Abigail, and they saw Jack Sweeney in the vicinity around the time she disappeared.

  During Kyle’s interrogation of Tullick, Alex, and Will, the village men in the field had drawn close to listen. For them, it was a welcome diversion in their mundane existence. Kyle took advantage of their proximity to make an announcement.

  “I shall call Lucky Jack Sweeney to account for his movements on Friday,” he said to the lot of them. “In the meantime, be on the watch for any amongst you who takes flight, for he may be the murderer seeking to escape the noose. Send word immediately to me at the garrison so I may bring the hounds to hunt him down.”

  The village men glanced at one another, nodding their accord with Kyle’s request. They might spurn English law, but Abigail was one of their own, which made it unlikely any of them would shield the man who killed her.

  By that time, the sun was high overhead. The village men abandoned the field, carrying their tools with them as they headed to their houses for their midday meal. Brodie went along with them to join Esa at the chapel, while Kyle, John, Upton, and Turnbull started back to town.

  About halfway to Alloway, Kyle gave in to a compulsion to turn off the beaten track. The others followed as he rode up the northward path through a belt of trees.

  John gave Kyle a sidelong glance. “It’s still there,” he said, “if that’s what ye might be wondering.”

  “How do you know?” Kyle said, his eyes on the trail ahead.

  “I’ve seen it,” John said.

  Kyle glanced at the older man riding beside him. “Why?” he said, intrigued.

  “It was on my way to the village beyond it,” John said.

  They left the trees behind to enter open country. The land stretched out before them on an almost level course, bathed in sunlight, rich with spring clover. Off in the distance, a boy with a black and white dog tended a sizeable flock of sheep.

  Two hundred yards ahead of them in the middle of a ploughed field stood a small cottage, which looked like a rectangular blot of gray stone and thatch on the pristine landscape. A fat sow and half a dozen goats roamed within a wood-rail fenced enclosure next to the dwelling. The thread of white smoke rising from the chimney stood out against the expanse of blue sky.

  “Who lives there now?” Kyle said, reining in.

  John eased the mule up beside him. “A young couple in need of a home.”

  “I see they fixed the roof.”

  “It needed fixing,” John said.

  Kyle drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh air. “I always liked it out here,” he said, looking around him. “It’s so peaceful.”

  “It reminds me of home,” Upton said with a heavy sigh.

  Kyle turned to look at the young English soldier. “Where are you from?”

  “Cumbria,” Upton said.

  “Which part?” Kyle said.

  “West of Carlisle.” Upton tilted his head at the other English soldier. “Turnbull was a family retainer at the manor there. Father insisted I take him along for protection.” He snorted affably. “If anybody needs protecting, it’s Turnbull. The old relic’s getting on a bit now, and he’s far too ancient to be chasing round after me.”

  Turnbull rolled his eyes to the heavens, as though in mute appeal for patience.

  “You hail from border country, then,” Kyle said.

  “I do, indeed,” Upton said.

  Kyle smiled. “That explains your tolerance of us Scots.”

  “Border folk try not to get involved in disputes between kingdoms. Too many of us have kith and kin on both sides.”

  “Ayr is quite a distance from Carlisle. How came you to be posted at that garrison?”

  “The luck of the draw, I suppose. I’ve been there for nearly a year now.”

  “Then you know more of what goes on than I,” Kyle said. “Has anyone in the barracks ever missed curfew?”

  “Quite a few,” Upton said with a laugh, “and often, too. Sometimes they come back in the morning. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes only their horse shows up at the gate.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It does no good to ask what happened to the rider, because nobody seems to know. I’ve learned the hard way that sniffing up the wrong tree can earn a man a bruise or two.”

  “It sounds like discipline is lax there,” Kyle said. Such an environment, in his opinion, was ideal for English soldiers to raid the countryside at night, only to return in the wee hours without ever being missed and no questions asked. “I counted forty-odd horses in the stable, but there must be more men than that billeted in the barracks. How many would you say?”

  “About ninety or so. It’s hard to get an exact count with all the comings and goings from other garrisons. It seems men are always transferring in or out.”

  Kyle mulled over Upton’s words, his eyes on the pastoral scene spread out before him. As he looked on, four mounted English soldiers burst from the trees along the far side of the open field, driving ahead of them a skittish cow and a couple of ewes.

  The shepherd boy in the field spotted the soldiers coming toward him. Their westward course, as they headed toward Ayr, would take them straight through the middle of his flock, which would scatter the sheep and make it difficult to separate out the interloping ewes.

  The boy whistled to the dog and made a sweeping motion with his arm. The dog circled around behind the sheep and began nipping at the backs of their legs, racing back and forth until the entire flock was on the move. The dog harried the sheep until the whole lot shifted closer to the cottage, thus taking them out of the path of the oncoming soldiers.

  “That’s a well-trained dog,” Kyle said with appreciation.

  “The boy didn’t do so badly, either,” Turnbull said, interjecting one of his infre
quent comments.

  “It looks like somebody just paid their rent,” Upton said.

  “I doubt it was collected gently,” John said with a sigh.

  Upton shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun with his hand. “The fellow in the lead sits his horse like Sweeney from the garrison.” His upper lip twitched in disgust. “He and those bullies with him enjoy their work a little too much to suit me.”

  “Do you recognize the others?” Kyle said.

  “That’s Inchcape on the black horse,” Upton said. “The two others must be Weems and Archer. Sweeney hardly goes anywhere without them.”

  “That’s a magnificent black,” Kyle said, his eyes on Inchcape’s horse in the distance. “It looks a lot like the one in that stall when I first met you.”

  “It is the same horse,” Upton said.

  Kyle turned the full brunt of his stare on Upton. “If you don’t mind my asking, exactly what were you doing in the black’s stall that day?” He posed the question without really expecting an answer.

  “I was checking for mud,” Upton said, his gaze steady and clear.

  Kyle could tell Upton was speaking the truth, but the response he received was nonetheless baffling. “Why?”

  “To see if Inchcape had ridden the black the night before,” Upton said. “It rained earlier, you see, and the road was muddy.”

  “And did he?”

  “He must have done,” Upton said. “Its legs and belly were crusted with dirt, as I suspected.”

  Kyle peered more closely at Upton, wondering at the young man’s interest in the nocturnal activities of a fellow soldier. “Men will often venture forth in inclement weather for a woman’s favors.”

  “I doubt Inchcape did that,” Upton said with a grin, “seeing as how she would likely charge him twice the usual fee. He’s no prize, even on a good day.”

  John shifted in the saddle, as though anxious to be away. “Why don’t ye go on to town,” he said to Kyle. “I’ll be along later. I cannot rest until I see what harm those Southrons might have wrought on those folks yonder.”