Ghosts in the Snow (25 page)

Lars swallowed and leaned even closer. "He still has his organs. I don't think the killer took a single thing from him except his life."

Dubric and Dien both looked up. "Are you sure?" Dien asked.

"Yeah. His throat's slashed once, nearly clear to his spine on the right side—a death blow, for sure—but his back… He's cut, but it barely reached the muscle layer."

Dien stood and Dubric followed suit, despite the fatigue trying to hold him down.
Of course. Men do not matter, so their organs do not matter. Only the girl matters, even if he has to kill a man to get her
.

They knelt beside Meiks to examine the shallow wounds, and Dubric glanced at the morning sky and frowned. The staff would be heading to work soon, and Risley had no one guarding him. Dubric shifted his gaze to Risley's windows. Someone peered through the one nearest the tower. Suddenly the curtains drew closed, leaving the window blank like the others.

Nearly snapping his pencil in his fist, Dubric looked to Dien first. "Risley has been watching us. Any incidents last night?"

"No, sir. They were as quiet as church mice. He opened the door around ten bell, showed us his girlie was sleeping, and asked us not to wake her." Dien paused and shrugged. "I saw no reason to bother them, sir. I heard the trumpet echo up the west tower and got here as fast as I could. Other than Fultin standing at the tower door, I was first to arrive. No one's touched them but us, and I sure as tits didn't see anyone here."

Lars stood. "I'm still watching him all day?"

Dubric looked up to the lad and nodded. "Keep an eye on him, and watch closely when he learns what happened this morning."

"Yessir." Lars turned to go and ran back to the castle.

"He's waking, sir!" a guard called from beside Beckwith.

Dubric shoved himself upright again and rubbed his aching eyes.
Hopefully this witness saw something useful. I do not know how many more ghosts I can survive
.

Lander Beckwith wobbled as he sat on the open ground of the courtyard and the guards stepped back to give Dubric room. "What happened?" Beckwith muttered. He rubbed the back of his head with a gloved hand and dazedly looked around him.

Dubric pounced on him, the two dead bodies forgotten for the moment. "You tell me," he said, licking his ever-present pencil.

Beckwith twisted his neck as if it were stiff. "I'm not sure. We were taking the milkmaid to her barn and it felt like the back of my head burst." He looked at the crowd of people and his dazed but hopeful expression fell. "Oh no. Her, too? What about Meiks?"

Dubric moved to stand in front of Beckwith, hoping he could block off sight of most of the crowd and lessen his witness's newfound stage fright. "Did you see anything? Anything at all before you were attacked?"

"No," Beckwith said as he glanced around. "Nothing, I'm afraid. She was chattering away about how mistreated she was, having to get up before dawn every morning, and Meiks and I followed her, just like we were supposed to. I suddenly had the strangest feeling that someone was staring at us, so I turned." He rubbed his head and winced as he drew his hand away and looked at it. "Then the bastard whacked me on the head." He stared at the smear of blood for a moment and said, "I don't know what happened after that."

"Did you hear anything? Smell anything?"
Just one damned thing
, Dubric thought.
A lead I can follow
.

While Dubric waited for an answer, Beckwith shook his head and groaned. His brow furrowed as he rubbed the back of his neck and gathered his feet beneath him. At last he said, "Nothing. It was like a phantom or something."

Dubric put away his pencil and closed his book. "If you think of anything else, no matter how minor… Anything."

"I'll let you know. Immediately." Beckwith dragged himself to his feet.

"Have the physician tend to your head," Dubric said, "and tell your wife that you are all right and are excused from further guard duty. That should allay some of her fears." Sighing, he turned back to the corpses.
Two more, and one a man! The killer is getting braver, taking chances, hut still not making mistakes. Will this madness ever stop
? Muttering under his breath, he stomped forward and barked orders at Dien and the guards.

Dubric heard the tower door open and he turned, hoping to see Rolle or Halld coming to tend the bodies, but Risley strode to him, frowning.

Risley met Dubric's eyes. "I had Lars escort Nella to work while we talk." Sighing, he looked past Dubric to the two bodies and Beckwith, who was trying to find his balance. "Goddess, is this ever going to end?"

Dubric pointed at Risley's windows. "What did you see?"

"Just you looking things over." He stared at Nansy's eviscerated body and said, "I stood at the window while Nella dressed, saw what had happened, and turned away. I didn't want her to know. Didn't want her to see. I still don't."

Dubric looked Risley over from top to bottom, and blinked in surprise.
For King's sake, is the boy that addled
? He drew a single breath to steady his voice, keeping the tone of his remarks conversational. "You have blood on your trousers."

Risley shrugged, returning his attention to Dubric. "Cut myself." His manner remained calm yet concerned and he shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "You going to be able to catch this bastard? I can ask my da to send a few dozen soldiers, if you think it would help."

Dubric pursed his lips and said nothing.

"Dammit, Dubric, this madness has to stop. You don't trust me? Fine. I honestly couldn't care less. But girls are dying every damn night and you don't seem to be making a lick of difference. Let me help you."

Help you hide behind your soldiers, you mean. It will be a cold night in the seven hells before I allow you that particular luxury
. Scowling, Dubric pocketed his notebook and took a single step toward Risley. "I do not need you or your father's assistance, and I suggest you continue on your way before I charge you with interfering in an investigation." His hand fell to his sword and he stared at Risley. "Now."

Throwing his hands into the air, Risley stomped off while Dubric let a relieved sigh slip free.

"He causing trouble, sir?" Dien asked, coming to Dubric's side as he finished the last of his notes.

"No more than usual," Dubric said. "But his clothes were bloodstained and someone had recently stitched his left hand."

"Peg my mother. Is he so arrogant he thought you wouldn't notice?"

"Perhaps. Either that or he is completely innocent."

Dien put away his notebook. "Or trying to confuse us. Damn it all to the seven hells." They watched Risley enter the tower and disappear into the castle. "How the peg can we throw Lord Romlin's son in gaol without risking war?"

Dubric sighed and rubbed his aching eyes. "By being completely certain and having the evidence to back us up."

* * *

The killer slipped a hand into the right side pocket of his leather coat. The stolen kidney remained a delightful weight, moist and still warm. It would make a perfectly lovely snack, and his mouth filled with saliva at the thought.

As expected, his rooms were quiet and empty. Once he assured himself of his solitude, he emptied his pockets onto a low table and stripped to his skin, leaving his clothes where they fell. He cleaned himself, scrubbing his fingers until they shone. That done, he rinsed the kidney, dried it, and placed it upon a shining plate edged in gold.

Humming happily, he threw his filthy, bloodstained clothes into his hearth, poking them into the coals until they caught aflame. Licking his lips, he picked up a wad of hair from the low table. He looked at Nansy's hair for a moment and crushed it in his fingers, remembering the loose weight of her head as he had cut off her hair. She had died easily, but loudly, screaming as her steaming guts fell onto the ground. But it was all over in an instant. He smiled. Perhaps her heart had burst with the surprise and shock. Not tidy, but certainly quick. An improvement to be sure, and it had brought him within sight of his goal.

He sniffed her hair and strode to his bedchamber, pulling a pillow from its case. He unfastened the pillow's laced hem and slipped the hair inside, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of the other dead girls. He could identify each one, from the gypsy's spicy tang to the calming quality of the first milkmaid, each a distinct reminder of how he was nearly clean, nearly perfect once again.

Back to the table, he looked at the kidney waiting on his plate, then fetched himself a fork, a knife, and a lovely glass of wine. As he poured the wine his stomach grumbled.

He'd already decided how he wanted his breakfast.

Raw. With a bit of salt. How perfect for such a salty girl.

And after breakfast there would be one quick errand. He was so close now, nearly purified. Dubric must be reminded of how perfect he had become. How untouchable.

Smiling, he picked up his knife and began to eat.

* * *

While Otlee and Dien tended to the examination of the newest murder scene and interrogation of any potential witnesses, Dubric dealt with the frightened, angry people of the castle, a battalion of fatigued guards, the physicians, the tenth and eleventh bodies, and Lord Brushgar.

Lord Brushgar was not happy, had not been happy for days, and Dubric had nothing new to tell him.

But Lord Brushgar did not seem to care what progress Dubric had or had not made. He only wanted resolution. "I want this stopped,
now
," he said as he loomed over his desk.

"I realize that, sir," Dubric said and rubbed his eyes. The ghosts flickered, a few faded and disappeared, but most remained standing among the chaos of the office. Dammit, he needed to get some sleep before he simply dropped dead from exhaustion.

Brushgar waved his hands in the air and knocked over a stack of rolled maps and scrolls. "Then stop it."

"It is not that simple. He is somehow finding lone women—"

"Then do not allow them to be alone."

Dubric wanted to sigh his aggravation, but he refrained. "I have tried that. They panic, they hide, they disobey. Somehow he finds them. This morning he attacked a woman with two guards. Separating the women is not helping us, sir, it seems to be helping him."

Brushgar slammed his palms on his cluttered desk. "Two guards? Who the bloody hell could attack two men like that? Who?"

Dubric pulled out his notebook and flipped through. "I considered that question myself, sir. Logically speaking, everyone has been cut from very close range, so far, so I doubt our killer is an archer. They are not prone to utilizing close combat, after all."

Brushgar rolled his eyes and spoke as if addressing a small child. "The soldiers are all wintering with their families, you fool. We only have six archers in the castle now and none of the footmen."

Why did everyone insist on reminding him of things he already knew? "I realize that, sir. With the army gone, it severely limits the possibilities of who the attacker might or might not be. If we remove the six archers from the possibility list, that reasonably only leaves us five names, myself included. Assuming the culprit lives in the castle."

"Five? That's it?" Brushgar waved his hand as if dismissing the problem. "Arrest them all and sort it out later."

Dubric frowned and held out his book. "Perhaps you should look at the list, milord."

Brushgar took the book from Dubric's hands. The page was filled margin to margin with close compact writing, details of the crimes, but the suspect list was reasonably easy to see. It was a list of eleven names surrounded by a box and separated from the other notes.

Dubric knew Brushgar would recognize each and every name, and every man could be trusted, had been trusted, for summers. Brushgar shook the book at Dubric, his face turning red. "This is it? This is your list? Dammit, Dubric, my grandson's on here!"

"I realize that, sir. So am I, all six archers, however doubtful they are—"

Adjusting his spectacles, Brushgar read on. "
Both
of my squires? You've lost your mind."

Dubric nodded. "Yes, milord, yours and mine. Eleven names total."

Brushgar tossed the book on the desk amid the rubble. "Impossible. It's not any of these men."

Dubric snatched his notebook back and flipped it open again. "Then who the bloody hell is it? Who else can do this? I have been tracking the bastard for nearly a phase now, and have no real leads other than he is quick, clever, and apparently invisible. It has to be one of these men. By reason, it
has
to. We are on very short supply of men trained to use weapons, men trained to kill, who are young or healthy enough to spend who knows how long out in the cold, waiting for a victim to walk by. And now he is attacking men, too. If it is not one of them, who else could it be? My other possible suspect spent the latter part of the night in gaol and he was securely contained during the latest murders. His apparent innocence leads me back to the same eleven damned names."

Brushgar loomed over his desk again and his voice rumbled. "I tell you, it's someone else. It's not any of these men."

Dubric reread the list for the thousandth time. "I know that, sir. They have all been watched. All have passed."

"Good, then." His hands clasping over his ample belly, Brushgar sat and peered at Dubric.

"No, milord, it is not good. It has to be one of them. Reason demands it. But it is not, not unless they had help, someone else who is killing, as well, and that does not seem to be the case, either. I have had every one of them followed and watched, myself included, by at least three independent pairs of eyes. All accounts have come back clean. So, if it is not myself, Risley, Dien, Fultin, Derre, Borlt, Egger, Quentin, Almund, Werian, or Ghet, then who in the seven hells is it?"

He flipped back a couple of pages. "The only clues I have are that he is taking kidneys and hair, he is possibly a right-handed smoker, left Nella Brickerman and Lars Hargrove alive by choice, Lander Beckwith probably because of time constraints, might be using a shaving razor, is tall, seems to be eating what he takes, and is keeping some kind of list. No one has seen him, but one witness may have seen his shadow and claims he wears a cloak. He also is not afraid of armed men. Both Beckwith and Meiks were put down quickly, and Meiks died. I am missing something, an elusive connection, but try as I might, I cannot see it."