I was struck by a sudden thought.
‘Richard!’ I exclaimed excitedly. ‘What about those two men you talked to? Those two ruffians I drew to your attention. Maybe, when I thought they were watching John Overbecks’s bakery, they were really watching Jasper’s across the street!’
His face changed, becoming closed and secretive, as it had done the previous evening.
‘Oh, no! It wasn’t th-them,’ he answered positively. But his tongue tripped over the final word, as though he had been beset by a sudden doubt.
‘How can you be so sure?’ I demanded indignantly. ‘What have you learned about them that you’re not telling me?’
His mouth thinned. ‘Just let the matter drop, Roger,’ he requested tersely. Then, seeing me prepared to argue the point, he added, ‘The sheriff knows all about them, and is of my opinion.’
That silenced me. But there was a mystery here that I intended to sniff out if I could.
He must have recognized the expression of determination on my face. ‘I’ve told you, let it lie,’ he advised sharply. ‘Well, we can’t move the body yet awhile. It’s in too awkward a position to get down those stairs while it’s stiff. Let’s look around. We might find something in one of the other rooms.’
There were three of these; one, next door to the kitchen, contained a bed, an oaken coffer in which Jasper kept his clothes and an unemptied chamber pot, whose unsavoury contents I rather thought I would leave to the law to dispose of. (Neither Jack Gload nor Peter Littleman would turn a hair.) The other two rooms were small, very empty and very dusty. We made no exciting discovery in any one of them.
But four rooms! Four rooms for one man, while Adela, the three children and I were confined to a one-roomed cottage. I must have muttered aloud, because Richard Manifold, who was casting a last look around the kitchen, glanced at me over his shoulder.
‘Jasper rented this shop,’ he volunteered, ‘from John Overbecks the elder, and later, after the old man died, from the younger. Didn’t you know that? Of course, I keep forgetting! You’re not really a Bristol man, are you?’ He spoke with all the infuriating condescension of one born and bred in the place. ‘Old Overbecks was an astute businessman and, at various times, bought up properties all over the town. This is one of them.’
I was intrigued. ‘That explains it, then.’
‘Explains what?’
‘Why Jasper never tried any of his nasty tricks on John Overbecks. Why he never made any attempt to put a rival — and a successful rival, at that — out of business. I’ve often pondered the reason. It was so out of character for Jasper. Did he resent, do you think, being the tenant of another man?’
Richard Manifold shrugged. ‘Who’s to say what Jasper felt or didn’t feel? I had very little to do with him. He covered his tracks so well, had his bully-boys so much under his thumb, that it was impossible to link him to any of the crimes committed in this city. People were far too frightened of him to complain or point the accusing finger. He got away with murder.’
‘Until he was murdered himself,’ I muttered slowly, surveying the corpse once more. ‘He eventually overreached himself with someone. But he certainly wasn’t expecting the violent reaction he got.’
There was the sudden clatter of feet on the stairs and, a moment later, John Overbecks entered the kitchen. He stopped abruptly at the sight of Jasper’s body lying across the table, and recoiled a little.
‘Dear God in heaven, so it is true!’ He steadied himself with a hand on the door jamb. ‘I’ve only just heard.’ He must have seen our sceptical looks, because he went on, ‘No, truly! Dick Hodge and I have been in the bakery all morning, catching up on a late order for more bread from the priory. They’re expecting an influx of visitors, ready for the start of the fair on Saturday. So Dick and I were up at the crack of dawn and shut ourselves away until the order was completed. After that, there were our own loaves to bake, and it wasn’t until the arrival of the first hucksters that we were told the news. It took me a moment or two to take it in. Then I decided I’d better come straight over.’
‘Why?’ With this second intrusion, Richard was in no mood to be diplomatic.
John Overbecks clucked indignantly. ‘Because it’s my property, of course! If there’s been a fight, I want to know what sort of damage has been done.’ He stared around him and heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Fortunately, none, by the look of it.’ He walked round behind the body and gave it his careful consideration, then nodded approvingly. ‘Whoever did that, did a quick, clean and efficient job. Beautiful. Just the way we used to dispose of sentries and lookouts in France. Creep up behind them and a quick thrust up under the ribs with your dagger into the heart — so!’ He demonstrated. ‘They were in heaven or the other place before they even knew you were there.’
It was obvious that John Overbecks’s response to Jasper Fairbrother’s murder was the same as that of everyone else — indifference, tempered with relief.
‘Well,’ he continued, ‘as there’s no damage done, I’ll be going, Sergeant, and leave you, with Roger’s help, to get on with your investigation.’ He gave me a sly wink, so I knew that he was being deliberately provocative. ‘Have you a suspect in your eye? Rather like looking for a tree in a forest, I should imagine.’ He crossed to the door, where he paused and glanced back. ‘What about that stranger we saw with Master Fairbrother yesterday morning? You know who I mean, Roger. You and Adela were with me. He and Jasper were arguing.’
Richard turned a frowning look in my direction, but I ignored him.
‘He can’t be the murderer, John. Sergeant Manifold and I have worked out that Master Fairbrother probably wasn’t killed until around ten o’clock last night. By that time, our Breton friend had left the city. Cicely Ford and I both saw him much earlier, walking up Saint Michael’s Hill, past the boundary stone and striding out on the road towards the down.’
‘He might have returned to the city,’ the baker argued.
‘I doubt it. He was carrying his pack and cloak.’
John Overbecks shrugged. ‘That’s no proof. He might have intended to leave, but, for some reason or another, changed his mind and came back. How long before curfew was it?’
Reluctantly, I admitted that it had lacked some time to the closing of the city gates.
‘Well, there you are, then.’
Here Richard Manifold broke in angrily. ‘Will one of you tell me who it is you’re talking about? This may be vital evidence, God save the mark!’
‘Roger will tell you. I have to get back to my shop,’ the baker said, and disappeared through the open doorway and down the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him.
I was left to face the irate sergeant, so I told my tale as briefly as I could. Indeed, there wasn’t much to tell, although I did remember to include my third sighting of the stranger in Broad Street during the afternoon.
‘Coming out of Robin Avenel’s house, you say?’ There was an air of suppressed excitement about Richard Manifold’s question that intrigued me. Also, he had started to bite his nails, a sure sign, in him, of perturbation. ‘Well, well! Who’d have guessed it?’
But when I asked him to speak more plainly, he clammed up and said it was nothing: he had merely been thinking aloud.
‘You’re certain that this man was a Breton?’ he asked, as we descended the stairs together. ‘Is the ship he arrived on still moored in Saint Nicholas Backs?’
‘In answer to your first question, I’m almost certain. As for the ship, I don’t know.’
A little crowd of people had once again gathered outside the bakery, but Richard dispersed them with a few curt words and, using the key he had found hanging on a nail on the kitchen wall, locked the street door behind us.