01 - Murder in the Holy City (20 page)

As he neared the end of the street, he thought he was going to be unsuccessful and that he would need to begin buying cakes so he could identify the style of wrapping paper. Then he saw them on the very last stall in the row. He paused at the corner and looked up and down the alley that ran to the left and right. It was dingier than the bakers’ street, and there were one or two stalls selling what looked to be broken pots and pans. The alleyway disappeared into shadows in either direction, and Geoffrey felt uncomfortable not knowing where they led. His military training told him he ought to explore them before speaking to the baker—for it was a foolish warrior who did not know his escape routes—but, he decided reluctantly, this might merely serve to arouse suspicion.

The stall owner had her back to him, busily wrapping bread for an elderly man who was complaining about his sore gums in a high-pitched, tremulous voice. When she turned, Geoffrey was startled to recognise Melisende Mikelos. She recognised him at the same moment, and her reaction was far from flattering.

“You! Not again! Will you pester me forever?”

Geoffrey hoped not, but the way she was appearing in the most unexpected of places suggested otherwise. He felt a sudden surge of disappointment that, after all they had been through, she was guilty after all. He had come to accept her innocence after Loukas had been killed while she was in custody, but her clear link with the poisoned cakes gave him cause for serious doubts. Even if she had not committed the murders herself, she must surely be involved. She met his gaze with her clear gold-brown eyes, and Geoffrey’s disappointment intensified. She was an attractive woman—if her personality was not taken into account—and it seemed a shame that she had embroiled herself in the unpleasant business of murder.

He smiled politely. “I have come for some cakes.”

She shot him a disbelieving look. “For your elderly mother?” she jibed.

“For my dog,” he retorted, and regretted it instantly. He was not going to gain information from Melisende Mikelos by being offensive. The dog, meanwhile, had recognised the scent of the cakes that had caused him so much discomfort the night before; it paused only to nip Geoffrey hard on the ankle to repay him for the force-fed milk, before sloping away up the street with its tail between its legs. Melisende watched it go, while Geoffrey surreptitiously rubbed his ankle.

“Your dog has no more sense than you do,” she said. “What do you really want?”

“Do you know a scribe named Dunstan?” Geoffrey asked, deciding a direct approach might work better than subterfuge with this outspoken woman.

“No. Why? Does he like cakes?”

“He did. Before he died.”

“Died? You mean murdered?”

Geoffrey looked at her curiously. “No, I mean died. Why do you ask if he was murdered?”

Melisende shook her head impatiently. “Because that is what seems to obsess you. Murder. And you said you are investigating the murders of the knights, so I assume there must be a connection.”

Geoffrey could not fault her logic. “These cakes of yours,” he said, changing the subject. “Do you make them yourself?”

“I do not, as a matter of fact. My skills lie in bread, not cakes. These are made by my servant, Maria. Do you want to interrogate her here, or bear her off to the dungeons?”

“Here will do,” said Geoffrey. “Where is she?”

Melisende eyed him with disapproval, but called to a passing urchin to tell Maria Akira that a knight was waiting to speak with her.

“Akira? Is she a relative of Yusef Akira, the butcher?” And the man in whose shop the body of Brother Pius had been found, thought Geoffrey.

“We usually refer to Crusaders as butchers,” she retorted. “And Akira as a meat merchant.”

Was she fencing with him to gain time to think, or was she simply unable to resist the ample opportunities he gave her to insult him? he wondered.

“You have not answered my question.”

“Yes,” said Melisende with sudden exasperation. “She is his daughter. But they are estranged. He does not know she works for me, and I would rather you did not tell him. I might have known that thieving reprobate would be the kind of person with whom you would associate.”

“He is a very dear friend,” said Geoffrey. “He taught me everything I know.”

She glanced at him sharply and smiled reluctantly. “I suppose you met Akira because one of the priests was killed in his house. Like a knight was killed in mine. But of course
he
was not arrested and dragged off through a riot to the citadel prison.”

Geoffrey’s patience was beginning to wane. He decided he preferred to question witnesses when they were afraid of him, rather than when they clearly regarded him in the same light as a loathsome reptile. He glanced up the street, heaving with bakers and their customers, and conceded reluctantly that rearresting Melisende so that he might gain some honest answers from her was out of the question. Fate would be unlikely to deliver him from a furious mob a third time—although he was sorely tempted to put her under lock and key.

“It is interesting,” he said, turning back to face Melisende, “that Maria is connected to the deaths of John and Brother Pius because she is acquainted with both you and Akira.”

“So are half the people in this market,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Not to the same extent,” he said. “Akira is her father, and you are her employer.”

“So what?” she said with contempt. “That means nothing at all. Akira has other relatives: I employ one of them to tend my garden.”

That Melisende knew something about the murders was obvious to Geoffrey. How to prise it from her without causing a riot was less clear. A thought suddenly occurred to him.

“Was he blackmailing you? Dunstan?”

She gazed uncomprehendingly at him, eyes vivid in the sunlight. “What? Who is this Dunstan? And what could he blackmail me about?”

“All manner of things,” he replied with a shrug, seeing Roger walking toward him beaming broadly and proudly bearing someone on his arm. “Perhaps an unwanted birth, or selling undersized loaves to your customers, or a string of male visitors …”

She spun round, her hand moving fast to clout him around the face, but his reactions were quicker, and he caught her arm before it struck him. Her eyes flashed in fury, and she was shaking with rage.

“How dare you! How dare you say those things!”

“Oh, come mistress,” he said, maintaining his grip on her arm. “Do not pretend to be shocked. Here is your servant, Maria Akira, better known as Maria d’Accra to every knight in the citadel who knows his brothels.”

Roger reached Melisende’s stall and stood with Maria Akira’s delicate hand resting gently on his brawny arm. Melisende looked from Geoffrey, to Maria, and back to Geoffrey again. For once, she was at a loss for words.

“Good morning, Sir Geoffrey,” bubbled Maria Akira, flouncing up to him. “I did not know you were partial to cakes, or I would have brought you some.”

“I like cakes,” announced Roger loudly.

Maria looked up at him and giggled. “Then I shall see you have some next time.”

“Next time?” queried Melisende, finding her voice. “What is going on? Maria?”

Maria smiled prettily, while Geoffrey watched the exchange with interest.

“Maria is a favourite of all the knights at the citadel,” said Roger, making Maria blush modestly. “She works at Abdul’s Pleasure Palace on Friday nights.”

“And every other Saturday,” added Maria helpfully. “When I have time off from working for Mistress Melisende.”

Melisende’s jaw dropped, and Geoffrey began to laugh. Maria, ever fun-loving, laughed too, but Roger was unsure where the humour lay.

“Maria is very good,” he protested valiantly. “One of Abdul’s best. All the knights agree!”

Melisende’s jaw dropped further still, and she gazed at Maria in stupefaction. Geoffrey laughed helplessly, while Roger remained confused.

“How could you?” Melisende managed eventually, although whether her comment was addressed to Maria for being a prostitute, or to Geoffrey for laughing at her discomfiture, was unclear. “I no longer require your services,” she said coldly to Maria, before turning abruptly on her heel and striding away.

“No!” Maria was horrified. “I need this job! Abdul can only keep me two nights a week at most. What will I do?” She watched Melisende’s upright figure striding away down the alley, her dainty hands clasped at her throat. Maria gave Roger a hefty shove in the chest which made no impact at all. “This is your fault!” she wailed, and turned and fled.

“Catch her,” said Geoffrey to Roger, still struggling to bring his laughter under control. “Bring her back. I will talk to Mistress Prickly.”

With long strides, he caught up with Melisende who had made good progress down the alley, away from the market. She was rigid with anger and shock, and ignored him as he fell into step beside her.

“You should not abandon your shop,” he said gently. She stopped and spun round to face him, seeing the laughter still playing about in the depths of his green eyes, although his face was quite serious.

“Leave me alone! Every time you appear, trouble follows!”

“It is not my doing that your servant has other occupations in her spare time,” said Geoffrey reasonably. “As far as I know, she has worked for Abdul for several years. If this has not affected her service to you up until now, where is the problem?”

“Where is the problem?” she echoed in disbelief. She shook her head. “A typical Norman response! I am a respectable widow—or was. Now I have murders committed in my house, and I discover my faithful servant is a harlot in her spare time.” She turned from him, and Geoffrey saw tears glitter in her eyes.

“So that is not what Dunstan was blackmailing you about?”

She tipped back her head and took a deep breath. “No,” she said, once she had regained control of herself. “I was not being blackmailed. I know no one called Dunstan. And …”

“And?” he asked, seeing her hesitate.

“Dunstan,” she said, looking away. “A fat man with a tonsure?”

This was not a helpful description in a city where most monks ate well.

“Black, wiry hair, and a thin scar on his upper lip,” he supplied, trying to imagine Dunstan’s bloated features as they might have been before he had hanged himself.

“Yes,” she said, screwing up her face as she thought. “Yes. I think I do know a man of that description and name. Not well. But he buys cakes from me from time to time.”

“When did he last buy them from you?”

She shook her head slowly. “I am not sure. Not this week.”

“He had some wrapped up in a parcel in his desk.”

She shrugged. “Many of our cakes are soaked in honey, which preserves them. He may have had them for a week or more, and they would still be perfectly all right to eat.”

“Did you prepare the packets of cakes for him in advance, or did you wrap them for him when he came to your stall?”

“The latter. He did not come on a regular basis. I imagine, like most people, he only came when he felt like eating cakes.”

“The cakes in his drawer were triangle-shaped with diamond patterns iced on them. There were perhaps ten of them in the one parcel.”

“Ten? Oh no. He did not buy that many. And he usually wanted a selection of different ones, not ones of the same kind.”

Geoffrey regarded her sombrely while he thought. Was she lying or telling him the truth? He had never experienced such difficulty in distinguishing lies from honesty before, and Melisende had him perplexed. The poisoned cakes were definitely from her stall: Geoffrey recognised them, and Melisende had sold cakes to Dunstan by her own admission. But did she poison them? Did Dunstan really buy different types of cake, or was she cleverly trying to throw him off the scent by confusing the issue? And had she only admitted to selling Dunstan cakes now because denying it would merely look suspicious in light of the evidence she must know he had?

“So now what do I do?” she said, regarding him as intently as he was studying her. “I have just lost a servant whom I considered a friend. I am hounded by the Advocate’s men because I was unfortunate enough to have had my house chosen as the scene of a murder, and now you think a fat clerk is blackmailing me because I sold him some cakes.”

“If you truly value Maria’s friendship, you will talk to her and come to some mutually acceptable agreement,” said Geoffrey after a moment’s thought. It seemed unfortunate that Maria should lose her job because of Roger’s indiscretion, although Maria seemed rather proud of her talents, and he wondered how Melisende could not have known. But Abdul’s Pleasure Palace was mainly stocked with Arab girls, and Maria was the only Greek. Perhaps that was why Maria had chosen to work for Abdul’s establishment. Even though the population of Jerusalem was small, the different communities were insular and tended to be exclusive, so Geoffrey supposed it was possible that the Greeks were unaware of Maria’s actions in an Arab-run brothel serving Crusader knights.

He began to walk with Melisende back toward the market. “Is there anything else you can tell me about Dunstan?”

“Nothing,” she replied with a shrug. “I have probably said too much already. I should have denied knowing him so that you would go away and leave me alone.”