Whispers of the Dead sf-15

by Peter Tremayne

  Laisran, fretting a little at this preamble, cut in: “Brother Roilt caught a great salmon. He showed it to me. It was just right for the dish to present to Salvian. It would show him how well we live in this part of the world. .”

  Brother Dian, nodding eagerly, intervened in turn. “The fish was prepared and Brother Roilt had started to cook it a short while ago for we knew that the gratias was about to be said. I was in charge of preparing the vegetables, so I was working at the far end of the kitchen. Brother Roilt was cooking the fish over there. .” He indicated the respective positions with a wave of his hand. “A short while ago, the chief server entered and told me that everyone was ready at the tables. I looked up to see whether Brother Roilt was ready also so that the servers could take in the fish. I could not see Brother Roilt. I came down to where he had been cooking the fish and. . and the fish was gone.”

  Abbot Laisran gave a groan. “The fish has been stolen! The delicacy that we were to present to the Venerable Salvian! What shall I do?”

  Fidelma had not said a word since she had been summoned from the refectory. Now she spoke. “The fish is missing. How do you deduce it was stolen?”

  It was Brother Dian who answered. “I made a thorough search of the kitchens and questioned the kitchen staff.” He gestured to the half-dozen or so brothers who stood gathered in their silent group. “Everyone denies knowledge of the missing fish. It has simply vanished.”

  “But what of the cook, Brother Roilt?” Fidelma demanded, irritated by the lack of explanation of the obvious. “What does he say about this matter?”

  There was a pause.

  “Alas,” moaned Brother Dian. “He, too, has disappeared.”

  Fidelma arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying that one moment he was cooking the salmon over a fire in this kitchen, with half a dozen others around him, and the next moment he had vanished?”

  “Yes, sister,” the man wailed. “Maybe it’s sorcery.Deus avertat! ”

  Fidelma sniffed disparagingly. “Nonsense! There are a hundred reasons why the cook might have disappeared with his fish.”

  Brother Dian was not convinced. “He took such care with it because he knew it was going to be placed before the emissary from Rome. He caught the fish in the River Feoir itself-a great, wise salmon.”

  “Show me exactly where he was last seen with this fish,” Fidelma instructed.

  Brother Dian took her to a spot at the far end of the kitchen beside an open door leading into the abbey gardens. There was a table below an open window to one side and next to this was a hearth over which hung both a bir, or cooking spit, and an indeoin, or gridiron.

  “It was at this gridiron that Brother Roilt was cooking the fish,” the red-faced brother informed her. “He was basting it with honey and salt. See there.” He pointed to a large wooden platter on the table before the open window. “There is the platter he intended to put it on.”

  Fidelma bent forward with a frown. Then she put a finger to the platter where she had seen grease stains and raised it to her lips.

  “Which he did put it on,” she corrected gently.

  Then her eyes fell to the floor. There were a several spots on the oak boards. She crouched down and looked at them for several seconds before reaching forward, touching one with her forefinger and bringing it up to eye level.

  “Has anyone been slaughtering meat in this part of the kitchen?” she asked.

  Brother Dian shook his head indignantly. “This area of the kitchen is reserved for cooking fish only. We cook our meat over there, on the far side of the kitchen, so that the two tastes do not combine and ruin the palate.”

  Fidelma held her red-tinged fingertip toward Abbot Laisran.

  “Then if that is not animal blood, I presume our cook has cut himself, which might account for his absence,” she observed dryly.

  Abbot Laisran frowned. “I see. He might have cut himself and dropped blood over the fish and, seeing that it was thus tainted, might have been forced to discard it?”

  Sister Fidelma smiled at the chubby-faced abbot.

  “A good deduction, Laisran. We might make you a dálaigh yet.”

  “Then you think that this is the answer?”

  “I do not.” She shook her head. “Brother Roilt would not simply have vanished without telling his staff to prepare some substitute dish. Nor would he have deserted his kitchen for such a long period. There are more blood spots on the floor.”

  Keeping her eyes on the trail of blood, Fidelma followed it to a small door on the other side of the open door to the garden.

  “Where does that lead?”

  “A storeroom for flour, barley and other grains. I’ve looked inside. He is not hiding there, Sister,” Brother Dian said.

  “Yet the spots of blood lead in there.”

  “I did not see them before you pointed them out,” confessed the second cook.

  Fidelma opened the door and peered inside. There were several large cupboards at the far end, beyond the stacked sacks of grains. She walked swiftly toward them, having observed where the blood spots led, and opened the door of the central one.

  The body of an elderly monk fell out onto the floor to the gasps of horror from those about her. A large butcher’s knife protruded from under the corpse’s ribcage.

  “This, I presume, is Brother Roilt?” she enquired coldly.

  “Quod avertat Deus!” breathed the abbot. “What animals are we that someone kills the cook to steal a fish?”

  One of the younger brothers began to sob uncontrollably. The abbot glanced across in distraction. “Take Brother Enda and give him a glass of water,” he instructed another youth who was trying to comfort his companion. He turned back to Fidelma apologetically. “The sight of violent death is often upsetting to the young.”

  “I know who must have done this evil deed,” interposed one of the young men, who was wearing a clean white baker’s apron over his habit. “It must be one of those wandering beggars that were camping by the river this morning.”

  The term he actually used was daer-fuidhir, a class of people who were more or less reduced to penury and whose labor was as close to slavery as anything. These were criminals or prisoners taken in warfare who could not redeem themselves and had lost all civil rights in society. They often wandered as itinerant laborers hiring themselves out to whoever would offer them food and lodging.

  Abbot Laisran’s face was grave. “We will take our revenge on this band of miscreants if-”

  “There is no need for that,” interrupted Fidelma quietly. “I have a feeling that you will not find your fish thief among them.”

  They all turned toward her expectantly.

  “Abbot Laisran, you must return to your distinguished guest. Is there some other dish which can replace the fish that you were to serve him?”

  The Abbot glanced at Brother Dian.

  “We can serve the venison, Father Abbot,” the second cook volunteered.

  “Good,” Fidelma answered for Laisran. “Then get on with the meal and while you are doing that I shall make some inquiries here and find out how Brother Roilt came by his death and who stole the fish.”

  The Abbot hesitated but Fidelma’s expression was determined and confident. He nodded briefly to her and, as an afterthought, directed Brother Dian to obey all her instructions.

  Fidelma turned to the table under the window and stared down at the empty wooden platter with the now drying grease marks on it. After a moment or two, she raised her eyes to gaze into the tiny plot beyond. It was a small, enclosed herb garden.

  It was clear, from the blood spots, that Brother Roilt had been standing here when he was stabbed. He could not have walked to the store cupboard on his own. The killer would have had to drag him there, probably on his back, pulling him by his two arms. Had he been dragged on his stomach then the blood trail would have been more noticeable. The physical removal of the body would not have been difficult for Brother Roilt was elderly, small and frail in appearance. Ind
eed, he did not look remotely like the typical cook. But why had no one else in the kitchen seen anything?

  She swung ’round.

  The kitchen staff were busy handing platters to the servers who were waiting to take them to the tables in the refectory beyond.

  There were six workers in the kitchen. It was a long, large chamber but, she realized, it actually was L-shaped. Part of it was hidden from the other part. Brother Roilt would not have been seen by anyone beyond the angle. Furthermore, the center of the room, along its entire length, contained preparation tables and a central oven. The kitchen was fairly wide but, with a series of wooden supports running along its center, it was obvious that certain lines of sight would be met with visual obstruction. Yet while these might obscure vision from various points, it was surely impossible that no one had been in a position to see the killer stab the cook and then drag him to the storeroom, even if the murder had been executed almost sound-lessly.

  That a murder could have been done in full view and no one had noticed it was also impossible.

  She glanced back down to the platter. Who stole the fish? Why kill someone to steal a salmon? It was not logical. Not even an itinerant worker would come forward and attempt such a thing in these circumstances.

  She went to the open door and stood looking out into the herb garden. It was no more than ten meters square, surrounded by a high wall and with a wooden gate at the far end. She walked down the paved pathway toward it and saw that it carried a bolt. The bolt was firmly in place and this would have prevented any access into the garden from the outside. Furthermore, anyone leaving by this means could not have secured the bolt behind them.

  She turned and walked back to the kitchen door. There was nothing unusual; nothing out of place. By the door stood a spade and some other gardening tools. Next to them, on the ground, was an empty tin dish. Presumably, the tools were used for tending the garden. Fidelma realized that there was only one conclusion. Brother Roilt must have been killed by someone who had been in the kitchen.

  She was so engrossed in contemplating this fact as she re-entered the kitchen and took her stand by the empty fish platter that she did not see Brother Dian return to her side until he cleared his throat in order to regain her attention.

  “The dishes have been taken into the refectory, Sister. What do you wish us to do now?”

  Fidelma made a quick decision. “I want everyone who was working in the kitchen to come forward,” she instructed.

  Brother Dian waved the men forward. “I was here; then there was Brother Gebhus, Brother Manchán, Brother Torolb, Brother Enda and Brother Cett.”

  He indicated them each in turn. They stood before her looking awkward, like small boys caught in some naughty escapade and brought before their senior. It had been the youthful Brother Enda who had given way to his emotions at the sight of the dead body. Now he seemed in more control, although his eyes were red and his facial muscles pinched in maintaining his calm.

  “I want each one of you to go to the position where you were working at the time when it was noticed that Brother Roilt was missing.”

  Brother Dian frowned. “To be truthful, Sister, it was the fish which I noticed was missing first. I was, as I said, at the far end of the kitchen preparing the vegetables. Brother Gebhus was my assistant, working at my side.”

  “Go there, then,” Fidelma instructed.

  Brother Dian walked to the far end of the room with Brother Gebhus trotting after him. They were hidden from sight by the central obstructions but did not go into the area which was hidden by the angle of the L. She stood at the spot where the murdered man must have worked. She could not see the second cook or his assistant from that point.

  “Now repeat your actions when you came to check on the readiness of the fish,” she called.

  Brother Dian appeared around an obstruction at the top of the kitchen, hesitated, and then came toward her.

  “What made you take the trouble to do this?” she enquired.

  “The server who was to take the fish to the table had entered from the refectory. The door as you know is at the top end of the chamber near where I was working. He told me that the gratias was about to be said. That was why I turned and saw Brother Roilt was not at his position and when I came along I saw that the fish was missing.”

  “How many entrances are there to the kitchen?”

  “Three.”

  “And these are. .?”

  “The garden entrance, the door from the refectory and the one which leads into a small anteroom in which the servers prepare their trays and plates to go into the refectory.”

  “So if anyone left the kitchen they would have to go directly into the refectory or into the servers’ room?”

  “In which case,” Brother Dian pointed out, “they would have been observed. The only way in and out without going through one of those rooms is through the kitchen garden. That is why I agree it was the itinerants who slunk in-”

  Fidelma held up a hand. “The garden is surrounded by a high wall. There is a wooden door which gives the only exit or entrance. That door is bolted from the inside.”

  Brother Dian pursed his lips. “The reason it is locked Sister, is because I locked it. When I noticed the fish had gone, I went out to see if the culprit was still in the garden.”

  Fidelma gestured in exasperation. “And was the door shut or opened at that time?” she demanded.

  “It was open. That was very unusual. Indeed, I clearly remember that when we arrived to start the meal this evening the gate was shut and locked. That’s why I threw the bolt on it, to make sure no one else came through that way.”

  “I am glad that you have told me.” She was reflective. “It could have led to a wrong conclusion.” She did not explain further but turned to the others.

  “Will everyone now go to the positions that they occupied?”

  She saw that Brother Enda and Brother Cett immediately went into the area beyond the angle of the L at the far end of the kitchen. It was obvious that they could not see around the corner.

  She called them out into her line of vision again. “How long were you in that area, Brothers?”

  The two young religieux exchanged glances. Brother Cett spoke for them both, for the red-eyed Brother Enda was clearly still upset.

  “This is where we prepare the fruit. We were washing and cutting pieces for the dessert course. That is our only task and so we were here most of the time. There was no reason for us to be anywhere else.”

  “When did you last see Brother Roilt?”

  “When we arrived in the kitchen to start to prepare our dishes. As he was head cook we had to report to him.”

  “Stay there then.” She walked back to her original position. “Now the rest of you. .”

  Brother Gebhus still remained out of sight at Brother Dian’s original position. Brother Torolb stood on the far side of the kitchen in front of another big range supporting meat spits, while Brother Manchán took a position at the center table next to some clay ovens where he had obviously been preparing bread.

  Fidelma regarded their positions carefully. If Torolb and Manchán had been glancing in Roilt’s direction, then they would have seen him, although with various obstructions depending on what they were doing. For example, if Brother Torolb had been bending to his cooking range he would have been facing the opposite wall, and even when he turned there would have been a central table with a low central beam from which a number of metal pots and pans hung which would have obstructed his view. He could only have seen the midsection of Brother Roilt.

  She checked each of their views carefully before sighing in exasperation.

  If everyone had been totally engrossed with their work, it might just have been possible for someone to enter from the herb garden, stab Roilt, drag his frail body to the storeroom and then steal the fish. Yet she was sure that the murderer had not come in from the garden. It made no sense. Why kill Roilt for a fish? The plate was by the window. If they we
re so desperate, they could have waited until Roilt’s attention was distracted, leaned forward across the windowsill and grabbed the fish. Why take such an extraordinary risk of discovery and resort to murder? And there was the matter of the gate.

  Perhaps she was looking at this from the wrong viewpoint?

  “I shall speak to each of you individually, starting with Brother Dian,” she announced. “The rest of you will continue about your duties until you are called.”

  With the exception of Brother Dian, the others, reluctantly it seemed, resumed their tasks in other parts of the kitchen.

  “How long have you been second cook here?” Fidelma began.

  Brother Dian reflected. “Five years.”

  “How long had Roilt been cook here?”

  “Is this relevant? We should be searching for the itinerants,” he began, and then caught the glint in her eye. “Roilt had been here for a year longer than I. That was why he was head cook.”

  “Did you and the others get on with him?”

  “Roilt? No one liked him. He was a weasel of a man.” He stopped, flushed and genuflected.“De mortuis nil nisi bonum,” he muttered. Of the dead say nothing but good.

  “Vincit omnia veritas,” replied Fidelma sharply. Truth conquers all things. “I prefer to hear the truth than false praise.”

  Brother Dian glanced around. “Very well. It is known that Roilt liked the company of the young novitiates, if you know what I mean. Male novitiates,” he added with emphasis.

  “There was hatred toward him because of this?”

  Dian nodded. “Many brothers disliked his abuse of the young.”

  “Abuse? Do you mean that he forced his attentions on them against their will?”

  Dian gave an expressive shrug by way of reply.

  “Did Roilt have affairs with any of the kitchen staff?” she demanded.

  Dian blinked at the directness of the question. “I must protest, Sister. . you are here to find out who stole the fish. .”

  “I am here to find out who murdered Brother Roilt,” snapped Fidelma, causing Brother Dian to start.