The Beast of Brunhausen by Paul J Bennett

Author:Paul J Bennett [Bennett, Paul J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Paul J Bennett

Part VIII

Edda Schumacher

CYRIC and Alvaro strolled past the fountain, pausing on their way to visit Edda Schumacher.

"This is a gruesome business," said Alvaro.

"So it is," agreed Cyric, "but we shall get to the bottom of it."

"You sound confident."

"I am beginning to understand what happened."

"Anything you’d like to share?"

Cyric halted, turning to stare into the bubbling waters of the fountain. "I believe Elise Langer’s body was moved after her death, though not very far."

"What makes you say that?"

"Luzia Vargas found the body and was shocked by the amount of blood."

"I’m afraid I’m not following."

"She was face down, and it was dark. The only way she could have seen blood is if it was on Elise's clothes."

"But she did see blood," said Alvaro, "didn’t she?"

"I believe she did, but if Elise was face down, how did she see blood on her clothes?"

"She couldn’t have, could she? Do you suspect she’s lying?"

"No, I think there was blood all over the back of her dress."

"What would explain that?"

"Stand still for a moment," said Cyric. "Now, imagine I have a weapon, let’s say a knife, and I come at you from the front." He mimicked an attack.

Alvaro instinctively backed up.

"There," said Cyric, "you see?"

"I’m afraid I don’t."

"You’ve got your throat slit, and you’re bleeding out quickly. The first instinct would be to clutch the wound. You stagger back, likely falling. Which way would you end up facing, up or down?"

"Up, I suppose."

"Yes, and then the blood would pour from your neck, staining the ground."

"That you’re lying on," said Alvaro. "Which means it's beneath you. Now I understand, but why turn the body over?"

"Remorse? If the attacker really loved her, he might not be able to bear the sight of her dead face."

"I don’t see how this changes the investigation."

"It tends to support the idea someone had feelings for her, and it definitely rules out a random attack."

"Do you think the other deaths were staged as well?"

"I do," admitted Cyric, "but I want to talk to Edda Schumacher before I make up my mind. Let’s continue, shall we?"

The Schumacher house was a modest affair, similar in design to that of Stefan Langer but in much better condition. Cyric knocked on the door while Brother Alvaro waited patiently, his eyes skyward to the darkening clouds.

"Who is it?" came a voice.

"Brother Cyric. I’m with Brother Alvaro. We’re here to talk to you about your daughter, Gertie."

"One moment." Footsteps shuffled towards them, and then the door opened a crack, revealing a middle-aged woman, her hair greying at the ends, her face haggard with sunken eyes.

"Are you well?" asked Cyric.

"Why wouldn’t I be?" she replied.

"I know you were taking kingsleaf the night that your daughter died, and that’s used to manage pain. Please, let us in. We’re here to help."

The woman stared at him with a blank expression, then finally relented, letting the door swing open the rest of the way.

"Come inside," she said, "though I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything."

Cyric stepped into the sparsely furnished room, but something about the simple layout drew his attention.

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