AHMM, December 2008 Read online

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Cover by Doug Gray

  CONTENTS

  Department: EDITOR'S NOTES: BANQUET OF SUSPENSE by Linda Landrigan

  Department: The Lineup

  Fiction: GUILT by Gilbert M. Stack

  Fiction: HAVEN'T SEEN YOU SINCE THE FUNERAL by Ernest B. and Alice A. Brown

  Fiction: COMES AROUND by Chris Rogers

  Fiction: THE PROPER APPLICATION OF PRESSURE TO A WOUND by Sherry Decker

  Fiction: GRAVE TROUBLE by R. T. Lawton

  Department: THE MYSTERIOUS CIPHER by Willie Rose

  Fiction: CARRYING THE NEWS FOR A DEAD PAPERBOY by James Van Pelt

  Department: Solution to the November “UNSOLVED” by Robert Kesling

  Department: BOOKED AND PRINTED by Robert C. Hahn

  Mystery Classic: THE SIGN IN THE SKY by Agatha Christie

  INDEX: VOLUME FIFTY-THREE 2008

  COMING IN JANUARY/FEBRUARY 2009

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  Department: EDITOR'S NOTES: BANQUET OF SUSPENSE by Linda Landrigan

  The end of the year is the season of surfeit—of candy and turkey, of gifts and fruitcake—so treat yourself to the helping of crime and mayhem in AHMM. With this issue, as by now you've noticed, we're introducing a new trim size for the magazine and a spruced-up interior design. We've also made our new(ish) feature “The Lineup” more prominent: See below for details on this month's authors. What hasn't changed is the lavish variety of crime fiction we dish up, direct to your mailbox, with each issue.

  We're delighted to share some good news: Two AHMM stories have been nominated for awards. Beverle Graves Myers's “Brimstone P.I.” (May 2007) is a finalist for the Macavity award for Best Mystery Short Story presented by Mystery Readers International. And Loren D. Estleman's “Trust Me” (June 2007), featuring Amos Walker, is a finalist for the Shamus award for Best Short Story from the Private Eye Writers of America. Both awards will be announced during Bouchercon, to be held this year in Baltimore. Look for more stories by Ms. Myers and Mr. Estleman in upcoming issues, and good luck to both!

  LINDA LANDRIGAN, EDITOR

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  Department: The Lineup

  Husband and wife writing team Ernest B. and Alice A. Brown and their Boston P.I. Valerie Dymond make their third appearance in AHMM this month. They are finishing their first Valerie Dymond novel.

  Sherry Decker's short fiction has appeared in AHMM and also in Cemetery Dance, City Slab, Dark Wisdom, and Space and Time. She is currently finishing her first novel.

  Booked & Printed columnist ROBERT C. HAHN also reviews mysteries for Publishers Weekly and New York Post.

  R. T. LAWTON is a retired federal law enforcement agent. His story, “The Boldholder,” appeared in the May 2008 issue of AHMM.

  CHRIS ROGERS is the author of the Dixie Flannigan series (Bantam). Her AHMM story “My Finger's in the Light Socket and my Head's in the Oven” appeared in May 1996.

  "Pandora's Demon,” GILBERT M. STACK's last story for AHMM, appeared in the July/August 2008 issue. He holds a Ph.D. in History with a focus on the Middle Ages.

  Western Colorado author JAMES VAN PELT's novel, Summer of the Apocalypse, was published in 2006 by Fairwoods Press, which will also release a collection of his short fiction, The Radio Magician and Other Stories, in 2009.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Fiction: GUILT by Gilbert M. Stack

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  Ron Chironna

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  I rode up the muddy track through a low ditch until I came to the main doors of Sir Gerald's home in the village of Alving. It was a barely fortified wooden building—old enough to be recorded in Domesday Book—although it wasn't found in those pages. The doors were neither great nor large, and with the light rain, no one seemed to have noticed I was coming. Not even the dogs barked or howled.

  I banged upon the wood with my clenched fist. “Open in the name of King Henry!"

  I had to wait several more moments before a serving girl answered me.

  The household knew in general that I was coming. The king had circulated letters patent through all of his shires informing his people that royal justices were being sent to them. What was more, news traveled rapidly across the countryside and these folk had doubtless followed Lord William's progress toward them. But this serving girl seemed neither to know who I was nor what to do with me.

  "Go fetch your master, girl,” I ordered, using French because this was a Norman household. Without waiting for a reply, I stepped past her out of the rain.

  The building was really quite small, no more than three or four rooms, and from the lack of numbers in what passed for its hall, I estimated very few inhabitants.

  The two men by the hearth rose to their feet, a hound rising with them. “I am Sir Gerald,” the older of the two men announced.

  "I am Edgar, in the service of Lord Justice William of Kent,” I informed him. “Lord William will arrive with an entourage of four by the evening meal. He will require lodging and food for his entire party. In the morning he will open the king's court and dispense justice on your local malefactors. We have much to do and very little time."

  The muscles in Sir Gerald's cheeks flexed. “I, I thought we would have more warning. This is all terribly new. The king's demands quite—"

  "The king's demands are the king's demands,” I interrupted him. “And you have had months to prepare for my lord's arrival. Come now, Lord William can sleep in your room; his people here in this chamber. Now, have your juries been assembled? Have they investigated the crimes? We have little time, Sir Gerald. Have a servant see to my horse and summon your bailiff so we can begin."

  The man standing beside Sir Gerald stepped forward. He was Norman blond with a broken nose and was roughly ten years younger than the knight. “I am Sir Gerald's bailiff. You may call me John."

  "Very good then,” I said. “Where then shall we begin, in the village?"

  John looked to Sir Gerald, who nodded his consent. “If we must,” he agreed, then led the way back out into the misting rain.

  * * * *

  The trail was slippery with mud and I had trouble keeping my footing as we wound our way down to the village green. “We have only one case of any importance,” the bailiff told me. “It's a murder—a wife and daughter stabbed the husband-father."

  "Did you catch them?” I asked.

  "Oh, yes, they didn't try to run."

  I had to wait for him to pick his way across a particularly sodden piece of ground before he would resume his story. “The neighbors heard him call for help but there was nothing they could do. By the time they arrived he was bleeding out his life from half a dozen wounds."

  "They used a knife?” I asked. It was not the only implement that could be used to stab, but it was the most common one.

  "A tiny little thing,” the bailiff agreed. “It's a woman's tool, used for cutting vegetables when they're not cutting men.” He grinned as if he had made a great joke, and I smiled to keep him talking and cooperating.

  "Which one did it?” I asked, “the mother or the daughter?"

  "They both did,” the bailiff explained. “The mother stabbed him while the daughter held him back."

>   It was fairly easy to visualize. The daughter could have pulled at the man from one direction while her mother slipped up beside him with the knife. In my experience, villagers were usually right about these things. They knew their neighbors well and were often intimately familiar with their private business.

  "Did he say anything as he died?"

  "Garrick? No, he was too far gone. But we really didn't need him to name his attackers. They were standing right over top of him, covered in his blood."

  "Why did they do it?"

  The bailiff shrugged. “Who knows? He wasn't the best-loved man in Alving, but that isn't a reason to murder him."

  "And the women?"

  "Oh, they were liked well enough, I suppose. Well enough that people have fed them while we held them in gaol."

  The first small buildings loomed ahead and now looked neither sturdy nor welcoming. “And is the gaol in the village?"

  "It's their own house. We lock them in at night. It's been most inconvenient. We've even had to post guards to make certain they stayed there and we didn't get fined for letting them escape."

  "Well, it will just be a couple more days now,” I soothed the bailiff, “and then we can hang them, and matters here can return to the way they were before this happened."

  The bailiff nodded vigorously in agreement.

  "Now I would like to take a look at the prisoners and I'd like to meet with the jury and the oath helpers, if any. It's a rainy day, it shouldn't be hard to round them all up."

  The bailiff nodded again, but with less enthusiasm. “Where do you want to meet them?"

  "The biggest building you've got. It's where we'll hold the trial, too, if the sun doesn't come out tomorrow."

  The bailiff scratched his head. “There really isn't any place big enough for the trial unless we use the manor house. For now, I guess we can cram you and the jury into the headman's house."

  "That will do for now,” I agreed. “Now, are there any more crimes for Lord William to pass judgment on?"

  "No,” the bailiff answered. “Isn't one murder enough?"

  * * * *

  Lord William arrived with his retinue just before dark. I was back at Sir Gerald's home to greet him. The preparations were barely adequate, especially for a man of my lord's station, but we had endured worse since beginning this circuit.

  I held the bridle of my lord's horse while he dismounted. “Welcome to Alving, my lord."

  Lord William was a gruff man, but not above sharing the occasional pleasantry with his retainers. “Not as welcoming as I remember it,” he grumbled. “This miserable rain has soaked me thoroughly. I hope Corbin has kept the parchments dry."

  He turned toward the house and saw Sir Gerald waiting for him at the doorway.

  "Sir Gerald,” my lord said, “it's been a good many years. I hope you have a fire going and good food on the table."

  The fire my lord would find. The food, unfortunately, looked barely passable.

  Sir Gerald bowed at the appropriate angle to show his deference to the king's official. “I'm afraid this visit won't be as enjoyable as your last one, Lord William,” the knight said. “We were celebrating Michaelmas then, as I recall. There's no feast planned on this occasion."

  "No feast?” my lord asked. “Ah well, you can change that. I won't go back and report to King Henry that his justices did not receive proper hospitality. But as for Michaelmas,” he added with a grin, “those were the days, weren't they?"

  "We were younger then, Lord William,” Sir Gerald agreed.

  "With far more time for having fun,” my lord said. “Now everywhere I journey, work and unpleasantness await me."

  "You have risen high,” the knight replied, with what might have been a tinge of jealousy. “Won't you come inside?"

  Lord William nodded his consent and a servant opened the main door for them.

  * * * *

  The meal, as I have noted earlier, was meager, and Lord William was not hesitant about informing Sir Gerald of his disappointment.

  "This will not do!” he insisted. “My people and I cannot perform our duties on such scanty provisions. Make no mistake, Sir Gerald, at breakfast and at all future meals, you will do better, or I will have my man, Edgar, here, do better for you."

  Sir Gerald glowered at Lord William's threat. “There was very little time—"

  "I will not hear it!” Lord William insisted, smacking the palm of his hand down on the table to emphasize his point. “You will do better!"

  Sir Gerald swallowed his next comment and then tried another tack. “I am just a poor knight—"

  Lord William cut him off again. “You will do better!"

  Sir Gerald ceased to try and voice his protests, but his eyes clearly showed how bitterly he resented my lord's imposition.

  "Now, Edgar,” Lord William continued, turning toward me in a manner that suggested he was excluding Sir Gerald from the conversation. “What dark crimes await me in the village tomorrow?"

  "Just one, my lord,” I informed him, still noting the resentment on Sir Gerald's face. “It's a murder."

  "A murder?” Lord William repeated with some gusto. “Well, that's something interesting, at least.” He shifted his attention back to the knight. “Nothing else, Gerald? No property disputes or thefts to occupy me?"

  Sir Gerald bristled under the implied suggestion that he was suppressing crimes from the notice of the king. “It's a small village. They're mostly good people."

  Lord William harrumphed at that notion. We'd seen more than our share of the dregs of the kingdom. It affected our outlook on the rest of the peasants.

  "At least it should be over quickly then,” Lord William said. “Is the jury assembled? The oath helpers?"

  "All is in readiness, my lord,” I assured him.

  "That sounds well,” he said. “What do you say to that, Sir Gerald? We will have the trial tomorrow and hang the criminal the day after. You'll be rid of us the day after that."

  "As you say, Lord William,” Sir Gerald replied.

  * * * *

  The sun was out the next day. By midday the ground would likely be dry, but I couldn't delay the trial that long. I was up before dawn to eat some watery gruel and drag John the bailiff back down to the village as soon as the sun appeared over the horizon.

  "We'll hold the trial out of doors,” I told him, “here on the green. Lord William will sit here under this tree with his scribe and servants behind him. You'll need to find a chair for him—make it big and sturdy. That one he sat in at table last night will do.

  "The scribe will also need a chair, although he carries his own writing board. I presume Sir Gerald will also wish to attend. His chair should be set halfway back from Lord William's to emphasize my lord's station and office. But it should still be close enough that Lord William can turn to speak to him. He may pretend to consult with Sir Gerald as a sign of the king's respect."

  The bailiff took in these instructions without comment or expression. I kept right on explaining what needed to happen.

  "The jury will stand over there to my lord's right. The accused will stand directly before him some ten paces away. Part of our duty is to make certain that they don't lunge forward and touch my lord, either in violence or in begging for forgiveness.

  "We will want your village priest to say a prayer for justice and the king's health before we begin. Tomorrow, of course, we will want him to walk beside the women as we take them to the gallows, praying loudly for the salvation of their souls."

  The bailiff shuddered ever so slightly at the callous way in which I had said this. I felt a moment of sympathy for him. “Have you had many hangings here?” I asked him.

  "No,” he answered quietly.

  "Well, let me tell you what to expect,” I said. “Today, the villagers will turn out to watch the trial. They'll probably start out quiet and respectful, but later it is likely they'll turn raucous and rowdy, especially if the trial lasts a long while. I assume that both victim and kil
ler have a lot of family in the village?"

  The bailiff nodded as I knew he would. Everyone was pretty much related to everyone else in a small village. “Well, we'll have to be prepared for trouble. Wear your sword. It looks bad if we let a mob kill the murderers before we can hang them, or worse, if we let them hurt Lord William or Sir Gerald."

  "Does that happen often?” the bailiff asked. “The crowd getting violent, I mean."

  "No,” I told him truthfully, “it doesn't. Mostly they will see this trial as a spectacle—a wonderful chance for unusual entertainment. And tomorrow will be worse. They may even come in from other villages. After all, how often do you see two women hang?"

  The bailiff shuddered again.

  "It's a fallen world,” I reminded him. “We each can only do the best we can."

  * * * *

  Lord William and Sir Gerald rode into town on their horses. They made a fine procession of it with Corbin the scribe, the two man servants, and the members of Sir Gerald's household coming up behind them.

  The bailiff and I were waiting for them together with the whole of the village from the youngest bawling infant to a blind old grandmother. We did not have to force open a path through the crowd. The peasants were good folk—well behaved—and they readily backed away from the horses to make room for their betters.

  I caught the bridle of my lord's horse and held it while he dismounted before passing the animal on to one of the man servants. John the Bailiff followed my lead with Sir Gerald and his horse.

  Among the duties I handle for my lord, by far the worst is acting as his executioner.

  Father Stefan, the village priest, came forward and blessed both men in Latin so garbled I could make no sense of it, but Lord William accepted the blessing as his due before seating himself with the same aplomb with which King Henry mounted his throne.

  "Father,” Lord William said, “your blessing on these proceedings please. Ask the Lord to guide us to justice as we hold this trial today."

  Father Stefan smiled. This time he spoke in English and it was immediately clear that he planned to pray for a very long time.