“Time? I couldn’t tell you that, mister. It were dark, and it felt lonely, so it must have been the middle of the night. You know how everything feels far away then? Except him, of course,” she added, rocking the child in her arms.
“Did you look out?” Sedgwick asked. The room’s sole window opened on to the court.
The girl shook her head.
“Not at first. I mean, the noise stopped, so I didn’t think much more of it, and I had to deal with the babbie. But when it started again, I did.”
He looked at her pinched face, alert now.
“Started again? You mean there was more? How much later was that?”
She considered her answer.
“Not long. I don’t know, I’d just got him settled and fed, and I was going to go back to sleep when I heard it.”
“And what did you see?”
“There wasn’t much of a moon, so I couldn’t really make it out proper. But it looked like someone pulling something, I thought it were a sack of rubbish or summat. I thought it was an odd time, but folk are strange, aren’t they?” she asked with an almost childlike sense of wonder at the world.
“They are, yes.” He smiled kindly at her. “Did you see or hear anything else?”
“Not really.” She frowned as she tried to recall. “A bit more noise from down there, and that’s it. I didn’t really see anyone, not enough to make them out or owt. Once it went quiet again, that was it.”
“Was it a man or woman you saw?”
The girl shook her head.
“I didn’t really notice. Just a shape.”
“Thank you.” Sedgwick noticed that the boy she called Will had barely glanced up throughout the conversation, a sullen expression on his face.
“Will Littlefield,” he said, and the youth turned sharply. “You do right by this lass of yours, or I’ll be back.”
“You know him?” the girl asked, taken aback.
“Oh aye,” Sedgwick replied. “Been friends a long time, haven’t we, Will? Just haven’t seen much of him recently, and you might say that’s a good thing for everyone.”
He bowed to the girl and left.
Not a bad night after all, he said to himself as he strolled back down Briggate towards home. It might even make the bollocking he’d get from his wife worthwhile.
10
Telling the girls about Pamela’s death hadn’t been as bad as he’d feared, Nottingham reflected the next morning. Rose, with her feelings always close to the surface, had sobbed, comforted by her mother, but Emily, always self-absorbed, had been stoic.
As he poured water from the ewer into the basin and cleaned his teeth with a piece of sponge, he could hear them all in the kitchen. Mary was issuing her quiet instructions, Rose was trying too hard to inject some gaiety into her voice, to sound lively and happy, while Emily’s brooding presence was evident in her silence.
The subject of death was carefully avoided as they broke their fast with porridge and small ale. But the conversation remained stilted, almost as if Pamela’s ghost was in the room with them. As soon as he’d eaten Nottingham pulled on his coat and left, eager to escape the close atmosphere of the house.
Sedgwick was waiting at the jail, dark circles underlining his eyes. He’d arrived home long after the clock struck midnight and had been back by six, listening to the reports of the two men who made up the night watch. He was a good young worker, the Constable thought, there was no doubt of that.
Nottingham sat and listened carefully as his assistant explained what he’d discovered the previous night.
“Good,” he nodded appreciatively. “I talked to Amos Worthy yesterday, and he told me Pamela was often at the Ship. Now we need to find where she lived. I’ll take care of that. Have we found the killing ground yet?”
“Not yet. But from what that lass said, it can’t be far away. I’ve got a couple of men searching; we should have it this morning.”
“You keep on looking for anyone who might have seen Morton the night before last. The bugger was somewhere before he was killed.”
“What about George Carver?” Sedgwick wondered.
The Constable rubbed his chin. Carver was a local legend. He’d been a successful merchant once, selling cloth to the Continent. Somehow the business had slipped away from him and he’d lost everything, his family, his house, whatever money he’d had. No one knew how he earned a living now, but he was in the inns every night, drinking. Pleasant, even charming, company when sober, once he was drunk he turned belligerent and violent, going out of his way to pick fights. He was under five feet six, his body bloated by years of alcohol; all too often he was the one who ended up bloody and unconscious. He’d spent plenty of nights in the cells, as much for his own protection as for the trouble he caused. It was hard to picture him as any kind of murderer, let alone killing in cold blood. But stranger things had happened.
“If anyone saw him with Morton, we’ll bring him in,” he decided.
Sedgwick nodded, then said, “By the way, the cutpurse hit again last night. Twice.”
Nottingham sighed slowly and pushed a hand through his hair.
“Jesus God, how many times is that? Are you sure it’s the same one?” Anger rippled through him. He didn’t need this on top of the murders.
“Got to be, boss. No one saw or felt anything. One of the victims this time was a merchant.”
Nottingham swore.
“He’ll be complaining to the Mayor. That’s all we need right now.”
“He’s a clever bugger, whoever he is,” Sedgwick said, shaking his head in admiration. “Slick, too.”
The Constable rubbed his face. Already it seemed as if this was going to be a very long day.
“You know it’ll be sheer good luck if we get him, don’t you?” He sighed again. “Still, we’d better show willing and put someone on it. Who can we spare?”
Sedgwick pursed thin lips and thought for a moment. Including the two night walkers, they had a total of six men. It wasn’t enough, and they both knew it. Nottingham kept trying for more money from the Corporation, but they weren’t prepared to pay. Safety was good, as long as it came cheap.
“There’s Wilkins,” he suggested. “He’s not the sharpest lad, but he’s willing.”
“He’ll do,” Nottingham agreed. “Tell him to spend the day walking around and keeping his eyes open.”
“He’ll be doing it within the hour.”
The Constable sat back in his chair, framing his thoughts.
“We need to find out
Sedgwick chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered his reply.
“It must have something to do with sex,” he agreed with conviction. “It has to. He’d not have gone to all the trouble otherwise, dragging the bodies around like that to make his point.”
“Go on.” Nottingham was giving his full attention, intrigued by where this might lead.
“Whoever did it can’t be right in t’ head. Laying them out like that, it’s a sick thing to do.”
“True,” the Constable agreed.
“They weren’t robbed,” Sedgwick continued, counting the points on his fingers, “so we can forget that.”
“So how do we find the killer?” Nottingham asked him bluntly.
“If we knew that, he’d be in the cells now, boss.”
A slow silence filled the room.
“I agree the murderer’s probably mad in some way,” Nottingham said finally, “but that just makes him more
