Tombland

‘If you were elsewhere, no matter why, you must say. It could make all the difference to you, and to your wife.’

He shook his head. I persisted, ‘I will be frank, sir, I do not think you have been truthful with me. Please, if there is any way of saving yourself, tell me now.’

For a second Boleyn hesitated. Then he said, ‘I was in my study.’

I sighed. ‘Well, if I can find other new evidence, we can present it at the trial. As well as the locksmith, I intend to interview the twins about their attack on Scambler.’

He looked up sharply at that. ‘Be careful.’

‘We will. We are also trying to trace Grace Bone, as she left your employ just before Edith vanished nine years ago. In case there is something new she can tell us if she is still alive, or her family can. I understand she gave you only a week’s notice of her leaving.’

‘Yes, notice which she did not even take. Just left the same day.’ Boleyn shook his head. ‘They could not find her nine years ago; she may be dead by now.’ Then he looked at me with sudden sharpness. ‘Do you think something might have happened to her as well?’

‘It is well worth exploring. Her disappearance just a little before Edith’s was strange.’

‘I always thought she was just another who had had enough of Edith, even though they had seemed close.’ He sighed. ‘Well, the twins could not have been responsible for that. They were nine at the time.’ He fell silent.

I said, ‘I shall see you again tomorrow, or at worst the next day.’

He smiled wanly. ‘And then at the trial.’

* * *

I REJOINED NICHOLAS and Toby outside. I said, ‘I still think he is lying, that he went somewhere on the night of Edith’s death, perhaps to meet someone, and has some important reason for hiding it.’

‘Or used the time to kill her,’ Toby said flatly.

Nicholas said, ‘For once, I agree with you. Remember, we are here to investigate the circumstances, not represent Boleyn. He is not our client.’

I thought a moment. ‘No, he is not. You are right. But there are matters we have discovered that need investigation. The locksmith especially.’

‘Witherington seemed to think Boleyn a weak fellow,’ Toby said. ‘Someone whose lands might be occupied with impunity. Yet he fought back, and hard. And a weak man would not have brought Isabella into his house in defiance of local opinion. And all who know him say he has a temper.’

Nicholas asked, ‘How did he react to what Michael Vowell told you?’

‘He denied ever trying to force himself on Edith. He thinks she probably lied to her father. Said she was mad. What I do not understand is that, if he still cares so deeply about Isabella – who, as Flowerdew was keen to point out this morning, will be put out on the street if he’s hanged – that, surely, would move him to tell the truth about his alibi, if he is lying. Could the truth be something damaging to Isabella?’ Then I burst out, ‘God’s death, every question only leads to another question.’

* * *

MASTER THEOBALD AT the Maid’s Head was keen to help as usual, and after some brief enquiries among the staff he was able to tell us that Snockstobe’s shop was in a little lane running between Tombland and Elm Hill.

We found the shop, which had a sign showing a pair of crossed keys over the narrow door. Inside, it was gloomy, with the sharp tang of metal in the air. Nobody was at the counter, but I could hear tapping from a little room at the back, and called out. A tall, thin lad of about sixteen in the blue smock and cap of an apprentice hurried out.

‘Good morrow, lad,’ I said civilly. ‘We seek Master Snockstobe.’

‘He’s out delivering some keys; he should be back soon.’

‘We will wait.’

He looked at the robes Nicholas and I wore. ‘Do you need a key or lock made? Or – is it legal business?’

I did not answer, instead asking, ‘I understand your master has been employed for some years by Master John Boleyn, of Brikewell.’

He looked at us apprehensively. ‘I believe so,’ he answered cautiously. ‘Don’t he be in the castle gaol, awaiting trial at the Assizes?’

‘Yes. We are looking into the case, trying to talk to everyone who knew him. I am Serjeant Shardlake. What is your name?’

‘Walter, sir. But you must talk to my master about all that.’ The boy looked distinctly nervous now.

‘Of course. I understand his sons, Gerald and Barnabas, may have brought you some work recently,’ I added non-committally.

The boy shook his head. ‘Please, sir, you must speak to Master Snockstobe. It’s not fair to threap me with questions. Master’ll pash me if I talk about his business.’

‘He means beat him,’ Toby explained.

Walter shifted anxiously from foot to foot, clearly afraid of Snockstobe.

‘All right,’ I said. The boy scuttled back to the workshop and we waited a few moments. Behind the counter were rows of keys on rings, hundreds of them. I was studying them when the outer door opened and a skinny little man in an apron, with long greasy hair and the bulbous red nose of a drinker, bustled in. Like Walter, he drew up short at the sight of us.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked warily.

‘Master Snockstobe?’