after dark was not the kind of case he that liked to have to write reports for.
It was still early and as he looked around him the streets were relatively empty although people were beginning to wake already. The shutters on the windows of the houses and shops that faced the street were being thrown open to let in the light and it wouldn't be long before the streets began to fill up.
'Reckon it would be quicker if we go through the alleys,' Cromwell said, as he led the way.
'Did you move the body?' Winterburne asked. He was still fumbling with the buttons of his waistcoat and his patience with them was already wearing thin. His neck was stiff, he was thirsty, and his head ached.
'No.' Cromwell shook his head. 'We left her as she was found, just like you said we should.'
'Good.' Winterburne was pleased that some of his ideas were finally getting though to his men. Not that murder in the streets was a common occurrence in Highport, but it was especially rare to find any crime in the North Quarter. If anywhere in the city of Highport could be classed as prosperous then the North Quarter was probably it, although even here there were pockets of deprivation. 'But you covered the body, though?'
'Yes, Sir. We thought it best to at least give the poor girl a last bit of dignity. Some of the men have already formed a cordon around the scene too but there's quite a crowd gathering. Word of murder travels fast through the back streets. Especially when it's one of their own.'
'Probably to be expected,' Winterburne said. 'How much further is it?'
The pair turned a corner to find that there were a large number of people in the area, milling around, most likely they were either coming from, or going to the crime scene.
'Not far now, Sir,' Cromwell replied, indicating up ahead. 'It's through here.'
The end of the alley approached fast and Winterburne pushed his way past the crowd. Eventually, he reached the cordon where some of the men were trying to hold the people back. 'Get them out of the way, will you?' he said, to one of the men that was doing his best, but failing.
'We're trying, Sir,' the Watchman replied, 'but there's too many of them.'
'Well threaten them with the stocks or something.' Winterburne was already getting frustrated with all the hangers on, but equally the pounding in his head didn't help. 'Use your imagination,' he barked, 'anything, just get them out of my way!'
The Watchman puffed his cheeks and turned, shouting at the crowd, many of whom grumbled back at him. Others turned to walk away.
Winterburne carried on over to the spot where the body had been protected with blankets. He knelt next to it, lifting the covering, taking a long look at the pale face of the girl. Her straggling hair covered her cheeks, and her eyes were still wide open. He reached down and closed them.
'She looks so young,' he said.
His eyes continued on down the girl's torso until it met the dark stain that marked the entry point of the knife. Her dress clearly showed the hole where the blade had broken through, but there seemed to be very little blood around considering that she had bled to death. He covered her up and stood, looking around him at the street, and then up to buildings. 'The rain must have washed most of the blood away,' he said.
Cromwell nodded. 'Not much could have resisted that amount of water.'
'Any idea who she is, yet?'
'Her name was Agatha Lovell, works at the Palace.' Cromwell paused. 'I mean worked, Sir.'
Winterburne looked around him at the scene. There were a large number of doors and windows backing onto the street, and in the day light it was hard to imagine how dark and lonely this place would be at night. 'Did she have any family?'
'Her mother, Sir,' Cromwell said. 'She's been told already.'
Winterburne pointed at the buildings all along the street. 'I want all these houses checked, Lieutenant.'
People were looking out of doors and leaning on the window sills talking to their neighbours. Most of them were engrossed with the scene.
'Knock on every door,' Winterburne said. 'Find out if anyone saw or heard anything last night. Don't take ''no'' for an answer. I'll get authority from the Emperor to break down every door on this street if I have to.' Some of the people around here would most likely choose to be awkward, but that wasn't going to stop from him from doing what he needed to do. 'And yes, you can use that as a threat if you have to.'
'We'll get on it right away.' Cromwell looked towards two of the Watchmen who seemed not to be doing anything productive. 'Hey! You two!' he shouted, walking off towards them.
Winterburne was grateful that his men were dispersing the worst of the crowd, at least, but the citizens of Highport could be a persistent lot, and, in all honesty there was no law against people watching from their windows. But, perhaps they might start getting somewhere once they were gone.
'Sir?'
Winterburne recognised the voice of Sergeant Moore and he spun around to look at him. 'What is it, Sergeant?'
'Sir, one of the men found this.' The Sergeant was holding out something that dangled on a broken chain in front of him.
The object was swinging as the Sergeant approach him. Winterburne took it and held it in his hand. 'Its quite heavy,' he said, turning it over. 'Did it belong to the girl?'
'Don't know,' Moore replied, 'but it was found over there.' He pointed in a direction along the wall, a little further on than where the girl's body lay.
Winterburne's gaze returned to the object. It was a circular medallion about three inches in diameter and about an eighth of an inch thick. The colour of the metal suggested to him that it was probably made of bronze, and he had not seen its like before. He moved it close, trying to check out the detail. The edge of the medallion was milled, like a coin, and the reverse was polished smooth, its front face had an image of a woman. The figure's head was bowed to the right and protruding from her back were wings. In her right hand she held a sword and in her left was, what seemed to be, the jagged representation of a bolt of lightning. There was some kind of writing on the front, around the top of the medallion, but it was in a script that Winterburne could neither read or understand.
'I've never seen one of those before, Sir,' Moore said.
'Nor I, Sergeant. It's certainly a curious thing.' Winterburne slipped the medallion and its chain into his pocket. 'Where does the mother live?'
Moore pointed over to their left. 'Through that alleyway,' he said, 'the girl was nearly home by the looks of it, Sir. Do you need me to take you?'
'Yes, please.' Winterburne nodded. 'I think it's time, don't you?'
oOo
A old woman sat at a tired and worn wooden table in the kitchen of her home and was crying into her pale green linen handkerchief. The room was dark and the small window high up in the corner of the place barely let in enough light to see by. Two candles, placed on the table, burned in their holders. Winterburne wondered what the world was coming to when someone had to spend their days in lodgings like these. Another woman sat next to the grieving mother and she was holding her hand tightly.
Agatha's mother wiped her nose several times as Winterburne approached. 'Mistress Lovell?' he asked, forcing a smile, trying to offer a hint of the sympathy he found hard to feel for her.
'Yes,' nodded the woman, looking up at him.
He pulled out a chair from beneath the table and straddled it, sitting beside her. 'Mistress Lovell, I know this is going to be difficult for you right now, but I do need to ask you a few questions.'
The old woman looked across the table at him and took her handkerchief away from her face. She nodded through the tears.
'Do you have any idea why anyone would want to hurt Agatha?' Winterburne tried his best to be as sympathetic as he could but this was part of his job that he had never felt comfortable with.
The old woman shook her head and began to sob again.
'She was a good girl, Sir,' the second woman said. 'She worked hard, and she was saying only yesterday morning that she hoped that one day she might be able to find a ni
ce husband and have a home of her own.'
Agatha's mother continued to cry into her handkerchief.
'Now that will never be possible,' the second woman added.
'And you are?' Winterburne asked.
'Agatha's aunt.'
Winterburne nodded at her. At least Agatha's mother had the support of close family. 'I promise that we will find whoever did this,' he said, to both of the woman, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out the medallion, letting it swing on the chain over the table before placing it down in front of them . 'Please,' he said, 'Mistress Lovell, can you tell me if this was Agatha's?'
Agatha's mother reached forward and picked up the medallion. She looked it over for a moment, then shook her head. 'No,' she said, 'I've never seen this before.'
'Are you sure?' Winterburne asked her again. 'Could she have bought it without you knowing?'
'No,' Mistress Lovell said, 'she would never have been able to keep something like that to herself. Agatha would definitely have told me. I've never seen this before, Sir,' she said. 'I don't know what it is.'
'Hmm,' Winterburne replied, 'neither do I.' He took the medallion from the woman and stood, spinning the chair and pushing it back under the table. As he turned to leave, he placed his hand on the woman's shoulder for a moment. 'I am truly sorry for your loss,' he said.
Winterburne made his way to the door and back outside the rooms into the daylight, squinting as the brightness assaulted him. Cromwell waited for them out in the street. 'What do you make of this thing?' he said, holding up the medallion.
Cromwell took it and looked over the smooth bronze, rubbing his fingers over the embossed image. 'The casting is excellent quality.' He continued to examine the object.'It wouldn't have been cheap to make,' he said. 'I mean, it's not something that you might pick up from a market stall.'
'I thought that too. It's the figure on the face that interests me, though,' Winterburne said. 'The wings make me think that it might be the image of an angel, but I haven't seen one looking quite like this before. The words don't mean anything to me either.'
The Lieutenant passed the medallion back to Winterburne. 'It's a fine object, and there's no doubt of that,' he said. 'I don't recognise the writing, Sir, but the fact that she is even on this thing suggests that she might have a meaning. Maybe what she represents is important to someone.'
'Perhaps,' Winterburne replied. He looked around at the activity that continued in the street. Everything seemed to be under control, and it was clear to him that he was no longer needed. 'Finish up here, will you?' he said to Cromwell, as he reached up to rub his neck. It still ached. He grimaced as he tried to squeeze some of the tightness out. 'Then take the body to the Infirmary. Mistress Lovell can collect it when she has been able to make the necessary arrangements.'
'Of course, Sir.'
Winterburne patted Cromwell on his back. 'Well done.'
'What for?'
'Keeping control of the situation.'
Cromwell glowed.
Winterburne stood on the edge of the street, looking around the square. 'Milo,' he said after a while, 'I need you to do something for me.'
'Anything. What is it?'
'I need you to get a list of all the people that the Lovell girl knew, or came in contact with in the days leading up to her death. That includes, if necessary, the Emperor and the Empress.'
'Sir?' Cromwell looked surprised as he heard the request. 'Surely, you don't think—'
'No, of course not, but we must be seen to be thorough, Lieutenant.' Winterburne put his hand into his pocket and felt the warm, smooth metal of the medallion. 'I'm heading back to the Watch House. Let me know if anything else comes up, will you?'
12
The Twenty-Fourth Day of New Year,
Imperial Year 2332
Two days and nothing. Winterburne opened the top drawer of his desk and took out the medallion, leaning back in
Angels Page 19
