Yet there were more differences, too, and I wondered if the differences themselves were telling.
One body had been left fully intact, the other in pieces. One body had been dumped for others to find, the other had been returned home, for his wife or others to discover. Though it could be said, as Leana did last night, that both were very public settings. The murderer clearly had no concerns over the bodies being found.
Indeed, the incredible similarities couldn’t be ignored and it was likely we were dealing with the same murderer. That fact offered up a worrying possibility: that the killer was still in the city and would strike again. Who was to say that this all stopped with Grendor?
I was not in the business of relying upon coincidences where patterns or connections could be perceived. I needed much more information about the bishop and Grendor. Hopefully an examination of Borta’s house this morning, and a thorough interview with her, might bring me closer to that.
It continued to be a pleasant morning. Flower sellers were out with their carts, and in surprising numbers. People crowded them, buying huge quantities of bright-red flowers or digging into boxes of petals to scatter about the pavements, transforming them into shades of pink, white and yellow. It left a wonderful fragrance about the city. I wondered if it was a religious holiday, for priests were also walking the streets in brightly coloured robes chanting the wonders of Astran and Nastra, their censers swinging back and forth adding to the heady scents of the flowers. Today certainly contrasted with the usual woodsmoke and horse manure one could normally expect from any city in Vispasia. Some of the citizens laid petals at the feet of an enormous old man, who wore a large double-horned helmet and a loincloth, which only just showed beneath his rolls of fat. Blue spirals had been painted on his flesh and he sat cross-legged and rather serenely on the steps of a temple, seemingly oblivious to the gestures of the people around him.
The main forum of the prefecture, a stone’s throw from Grendor’s house, was packed. The crowds moved fluidly between the islands of stalls, which were not in rows but of a circular design without awnings. People gathered around them buying various vegetables, spices, leather goods, cookware and hunting equipment. The wares of the most popular stall by far would have eluded me, so big were the crowds, had it not been for the carcasses strung up behind on large, sturdy poles. The meat glistened in the morning sunlight.
We arrived once again at the newly built street where Grendor of the Cape lived and slowly made our way towards the bottom of the stairway, casually examining the scene to see if daylight could give us more clues. A few stains could be perceived by the lower steps and that was all. Sheltered from the evening rain, the blood was clearer now, but suggested there had not been a struggle. Grendor would have already been dead by this point.
We continued up the stairs and knocked on the door. Borta in a long, high-collared blue dress answered almost immediately and urged us to step inside. She peered back down the stairs nervously before closing the door firmly.
‘Does your family have enemies?’ I asked.
‘My family?’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘No . . . I’m not aware of any.’
I indicated the child’s woollen sock lying on the floorboards behind her feet. ‘Just the one, or do you have more?’
She took the sock and added it to a pile of washing. She seemed vaguely embarrassed. ‘They can be quite a handful. I have two, by the way. Two boys. Would either of you like a drink? We have a good selection of tisanes. Grendor was always bringing me home new varieties.’
Leana asked for a cup of water and I agreed to try one of the tisanes. Borta left us momentarily.
This place was certainly impressive. Though I generally admired age and heritage in my houses, for homes to feel lived in, this was filled with a freshness of style. There were fabrics on display that had travelled far; the designs were not merely the natural, animalistic motifs found around the rest of Koton, many were from further afield – the gold star and red crescent of Locco, the white wings on blue of Theran. Much of this was consistent with a man who had travelled widely in the navy, or worked in a trade that dealt with imports and exports. There must have been some stories behind these – were they simply traded goods or had they been gifts from foreign ambassadors?
The apartment, all on one level, was a large complex of rooms and long corridors, and must have occupied all the space above the shops below. From just a casual glance down the corridors drapes hung from the walls and there was an eclectic display of ornaments. There was a lot of wealth on show.
The sound of children playing drifted in from another room – it suddenly occurred to me that they would now be fatherless.
The thought brought back memories of my own childhood. My mother, a loving, kind woman, died when I was very young and remained a notable absence despite my privileged upbringing. How much do these events during our youth go on to define us when we are older? Luckily I had taken on some of my mother’s more considered, perhaps tender ways, and was not as stern as my father had been. But her absence affected me greatly, and so I understood what the two children might be going through – or about to go through – if their mother had not yet told them.
Borta returned with our drinks and guided us to the orange and purple cushions, which were arranged around a low oak table. The window beside it faced directly down onto the busy forum, and I marvelled at the number of people who were already milling about the stalls and tables.
‘One can lose an entire day staring from that window,’ she said. ‘Grendor would often sit where you are, Officer Drakenfeld.’
We sat down on the cushions and I hoped that she might continue a casual discussion of Grendor, something to set the scene of his personal life, but she didn’t reveal anything else. Instead her bright-green eyes were focusing on the table. Her hands were in her lap, her shoulders slumped. It was understandable, of course, that she would not be all that forthcoming.
‘Was he a religious man?’ I asked, a question that surprised her.
‘Not at all, no.’ She paused, as if contemplating her initial reaction, thinking hard. ‘Well, he believed in things, of course. Who doesn’t have their own religious superstitions? But he never really went to a temple as long as I’ve known him.’
‘What were his superstitions?’
‘They were mainly based around the sea or the weather. He claimed he had seen all the wonders he’d needed to see in life as it is, though he never spoke ill of religion. Why do you ask?’
‘You have no religious items around the house, is all. There are no statues. I could not see a family shrine. It’s rather unusual when a home doesn’t invite the gods inside.’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘He said that the gods blessed him continually, without him needing to make the effort.’
‘So he felt he was a lucky man?’
‘I guess you could say that. Despite his age, he kept in very good health.’
There was a commotion outside where, in the streets below, a farmer was trying to drive cattle through the crowds with limited success. ‘This is a busy street. Do you get much peace and quiet?’
A smile came to her lips. ‘Many think that, but we always loved it here – to see the world passing by. It made us feel part of something bigger.’
‘I have to ask some questions that may seem a little strange at first, Borta, but they will all help. All I ask is that you answer truthfully. If you need secrecy or feel in danger, we can ensure your safety. I have no previous connections with Koton, so revealing any secrets to me will not cause problems in the same way it might were a local person involved.’
She gave a nod, but didn’t reply.
‘Was Grendor in any financial trouble?’
‘Not at all. His pension from the royal court was very high, and due to the advice he sometimes gave on trade routes he secured us an additional income. Not to mention that merchants, too, often sought advice from him.’
‘Was h
is business in trouble?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Did he conduct business in this house with other merchants?’
‘Sometimes. Or in taverns throughout the prefecture. It depended on his mood really.’
‘Were you ever worried about the people he was dealing with? Did they ever seem to threaten him in any way? Was there ever a conversation you can recollect where things became tense?’
Borta was incredulous at my suggestion. ‘They were all merchants of good standing. They were gentlemen and fine women, all of whom could be trusted. They spoke openly in front of me whenever I was in the room.’
‘And you’re certain there were no questionable deals he might have been doing behind anyone’s back?’
‘That wasn’t in his character.’
It could have been behind her back, of course, but I did not reveal the thought. ‘So he never showed concern when he returned from his meetings.’
‘He didn’t have to worry about business.’
‘So what did he worry about?’ I asked.
She gave a sigh, and a sad smile. ‘Getting old mostly. He was sixty-one years old and very conscious of it – with young children around. He wanted to see them grow up. I think that brought a sadness of sorts. He had so much energy about him, you see. He bought good meat and fresh vegetables, so we ate well. He would often talk about what he was like as a younger man and tried to stay young. As I said, he was very active, even for his age. Each morning he would jog about the city and stretch his limbs.’
Now that it had cooled I sipped the tisane, a wonderfully minty and invigorating drink. She must have noticed the surprise on my face and smiled knowingly.
‘I’d like you to tell me what sort of person he was – his manners and so on – so that I might build up a picture. I appreciate if it’s difficult right now, but it will help me.’
‘Oh he was very kind and thoughtful,’ she replied eagerly. ‘You might wonder about our age difference, but he was so gentle with me, never condescending, often seeking my opinion on matters. He had never married before me, never having a need to, but he craved a family later in his life, children to continue his legacy. He was gracious with others too and very generous with his money. Though this house is wonderful, if it wasn’t for all Grendor’s donations to the needy, such as the large orphanage not too far from here, then we could probably have afforded to live in a much bigger property. But neither of us needed it, Officer Drakenfeld. This place is more than enough for us . . .’ She paused for a brief moment and glanced out of the window. ‘It is more than enough for me, I should say.’
There again was a similarity between Grendor and Bishop Tahn Valin, though it appeared superficial. They were not merely high-profile individuals in the city, they were also men of fine reputations in the eyes of others. Both were well respected by those close to them and admired for their good nature. From what I’d heard, these were fundamentally kind people, too – so much so that the notion didn’t sit well with me. Kind people can be murdered, of course. But two kind people who were entering their later years butchered in such a cruel way, in a manner that was usually reserved for unkind people? Of course, we were dealing with the words of those closest to them – perhaps blinded out of love or admiration. Who Borta was describing was not necessarily the real Grendor of the Cape.
‘Did he ever cross paths with Bishop Tahn Valin?’ I asked.
Borta thought about the question for a moment, glancing out of the window, though clearly searching her mind instead of paying attention to what was going on below.
‘Never. As I said, Grendor wasn’t a man for such things. But even in a social setting, or a ceremonial event, I can’t think of a time when the two of them would have met. I mean, it is possible that they were both at the royal court at the same time, but I wasn’t aware of a friendship, no matter how small. Grendor does tend to tell me everything.’
There was a silence, then Borta said, ‘May I see my husband’s body again?’
‘That can certainly be arranged, if you wish it,’ I replied.
‘I do,’ she sighed.
‘I’ll see if I can arrange it for the afternoon.’
Another silence lingered, which was interrupted by one of the children giggling in another room. Borta cocked her head in that way mothers of young children do, somehow connected to two rooms at once, fully focused on each.
Eventually she looked back and whispered, ‘You think the person who killed my husband killed the bishop as well?’
‘There remains a chance that we are dealing with two separate murderers,’ I replied, ‘but the details are a little too similar for comfort, I must admit. From the evidence we have so far, I believe your husband’s killer had already struck once, a little earlier. There is no reason to say that this person is still within the confines of the prefecture.’
A look of alarm came over her.
‘But this would not be a bad thing,’ I replied, ‘since it means we would be able to find them. They might not have escaped yet.’
Borta permitted us to take a look around her house – I reassured her that it was just in case we saw something that might be useful to the investigation, not that we were accusing her of anything. She grew relaxed at my sensitive negotiation of the matter.
While she tended to her children, Leana and I spent a good hour inspecting the other eight rooms. Each room was large, and each had shelves of exotic ornaments, statues, paintings or trinkets. Grendor was a man of fine tastes. Some of the Detratan amphorae on display were among the finest that the country had ever manufactured.
His study was bright, clean and well organized, and though I was allowed to sift through all the drawers and ledgers, there appeared to be nothing out of place for someone who was an expert in shipping and trade. There were dozens of maps of Koton, and quite a few that focused on the coastal region north of Kuvash, the estuary through which all ships would have passed. There were several beautifully bound books on maritime law and a stunningly illustrated bestiary on the various many-limbed sea creatures rumoured to inhabit the oceans. I tested the room for hidden compartments, loose panels in which he might have kept a secret or two from Borta, but there was nothing to be found.
Leana investigated other rooms independently and when she returned concluded that she had found little of interest. All of this suggested that Borta had nothing to hide. She remained in the dining room with her two young children, and I could hear her singing to them, an act that reminded me of my own mother.
The melody was interrupted after the older one asked, ‘When’s Father coming back from his business meeting? He was supposed to take us out riding today.’
We left quietly.
Outside, Leana and I were able to talk about the interview, but neither of us raised any concerns.
‘Simply a rich and good man, and now a dead man,’ Leana said. ‘Was the bishop rich too? Were these killings to do with money?’
‘That might be worth looking into, but surely there are more efficient and less time-consuming methods to relieve two men of their money. Why go to the trouble of all those cuts? Why remove their tongues?’
‘The strongest possibility remains that the act was to silence them, that perhaps they both knew something independently, and whatever that knowledge was had been too much of a threat to the murderer. This also bears hallmarks of a revenge killing – and if that is the case, then we need to consider just what type of person would commit such a bloody revenge.’
‘Someone needs to look at the bodies together,’ she concluded. ‘Similarities and differences will help establish what these hallmarks are.’
‘I’ve asked that the physician, Carlon, give them a thorough examination.’
‘Good,’ Leana replied. ‘Those cuts were not easy to make. I would say that the torture required a room away from people in which to work. It is important to know if these men died first or experienced the cuts as torture.’
‘A physician,’ I mutte
red. ‘Koton, it seems, has quite a few good physicians. People with familiarity of working with bodies.’
‘Even Sulma Tan,’ Leana said.
‘Even her,’ I replied.
But Leana had prompted another train of thought: a killer knocking the men out, dragging them back to a room, before later returning the body. If that was the case, then presumably there would be some place to carry out the torture. If both murders were within the prefecture, then that room would probably be close by. It would have been difficult to drag a corpse outside to the Kuvash Prefecture and back in again to the Sorghatan Prefecture. Therefore it was likely we were looking for someone based inside this part of the city.
Mentally I began to sketch out a profile of our killer. It was a human reaction to assume those who carried out such brutal acts were of the barbaric sort – ex-soldiers, street fighters and the like. These were considered crimes, and thus were probably committed by or at the request of someone with more deviance. A meticulous planner who possessed a suppressed rage, one which was only now coming to the surface. Moreover, if the killer was based inside this prefecture, it meant they must have a decent job, or had inherited enough money to be able to get by in the richer part of the city. I was put in mind of a physician, or a courtier, or a wealthy tradesman.
A different class of butcher altogether.
A Ring
It was time to make an unannounced visit to the former bishop’s temple.
It took Leana and me, still largely unfamiliar with these streets, a good hour to locate the right way. We must have doubled back on ourselves twice, losing ourselves amidst the unrecognizable buildings and strange lanes, pausing to reflect upon examples of unique architecture or compelling faces among the crowds.
Priest Damsak, enveloped by a thick crimson cloak, was standing at the top of the steps of the temple. He was speaking quietly with two refined ladies, each of whom was carrying a basket of food, presumably offerings for the temple.
Distracted by our presence, he soon walked over to us with a calm demeanour and a soft gaze. ‘Greetings to both of you. How can I be of assistance today?’
Retribution (Drakenfeld 2) Page 12
