Whispers of the Dead Read Free Page A

snorted with cynicism.
    “How could you possibly know that?”
    Fidelma simply pointed to the left hand of the corpse.
    “There are marks around the third finger. They are faint, I grant you, but tiny marks nevertheless which show the recent removal of a ring that has been worn there. There is also some discoloration on her left arm. What do you make of that, Brother Donngal?”
    The apothecary shrugged.
    “Do you mean the marks of blue dye? It is of little importance.”
    “Why?”
    “Because it is a common thing among the villages. Women dye clothes and materials. The blue is merely a dye caused by the extract of a cruciferous plant
glaisin.
Most people use it. It is not unusual in any way.”
    “It is not. But women of rank would hardly be involved in dyeing their own materials and this dye stain seems fairly recent.”
    “Is that important?” asked the abbot.
    “Perhaps. It depends on how we view the most important of all the facts this poor corpse whispers to us.”
    “Which is?” demanded Brother Donngal.
    “That this girl was murdered.”
    Abbot Laisran’s eyebrows shot up.
    “Come, come, now. Our apothecary has found no evidence of foul play; no wounds, no bruising, no abrasions. The face is relaxed as if she simply passed on in her sleep. Anyone can see that.”
    Fidelma moved forward and lifted the girl’s head, bringing the single braid of hair forward in order to expose the nape of the neck. She had done this earlier during her examination as Brother Donngal and Abbot Laisran watched with faint curiosity.
    “Come here and look, both of you. What, Brother Donngal, was your explanation of this?”
    Brother Donngal looked slightly embarrassed as he peered forward.
    “I did not examine her neck under the braid,” he admitted.
    “Well, now that you are examining it, what do you see?”
    “There is a small discolored patch like a tiny bruise,” replied the apothecary after a moment or two. “It is not more than a fingernail in width. There is a little blood spot in the center. It’s rather like an insect bite that has drawn blood or as if someone has pricked the skin with a needle.”
    “Do you see it also, Laisran?” demanded Fidelma.
    The abbot leaned forward and then nodded.
    Fidelma gently lowered the girl’s head back onto the table.
    “I believe that this was a wound caused by an incision. You are right, Brother Donngal, in saying it is like a needle point. The incision was created by something long and thin, like a needle. It was inserted into the nape of the neck and pushed up hard so that it penetrated into the head. It was swift. Deadly. Evil. The girl probably died before she knew that she was being attacked.”
    Abbot Laisran was staring at Fidelma in bewilderment.
    “Let me get this straight, Fidelma. Are you saying that the corpse found near this abbey this morning is a woman of rank who has been murdered? Is that right?”
    “And, after her death, her clothes were taken from her and she was hurriedly dressed in poor peasant garb to disguise her origin. The murderer thought to remove all means of identification from her.”
    “Even if this is true,” interrupted Brother Donngal, “how might we discover who she was and who perpetrated this crime?”
    “The fact that she was not long dead when Brother Torcan found her makes our task more simple. She was killed in this vicinity. A woman of rank would surely be visiting a place of substance. She had not been walking any distance. Observe the soles of her feet. I would presume that she either rode or came in a carriage to her final destination.”
    “But what destination?” demanded Brother Donngal.
    “If she came to Durrow, she would have come to the abbey,” Laisran pointed out. “She did not.”
    “True enough. We are left with two types of places she might have gone. The house of a noble, a chieftain, or, perhaps, a
bruighean,
an inn. I believe that we will find the place where she met her death within five or six