Murderous Acquaintances...

A reappearance by an old friend.

He had bitten, chewed and nibbled his fingernails over a period of weeks until they were raw and ragged. Blood had dried and crusted around the uneven edges of his nails, like rust that flaked and peeled on the metal links of armour. These weeks of worrying, however, had not been able to prevent his murder.

“It was natural causes, right? He was always complaining that his humours were imbalanced.” Matthew Harker looked up from where he was kneeling to scowl at the uninvited diagnosis. Captain Berringer leant closely over his shoulder, peering down over neatly trimmed facial hair at the body curled defensively on the floor.

“No.” Harker replied caustically. The captain’s stale breath was unpleasantly warm and moist against his face. “It’s murder.” Standing abruptly he moved, putting distance between himself and the captain, knowing all the while that the other man delighted in making him feel uncomfortable. For once, however, it was the captain who was visibly perturbed.

“That’s ridiculous. Nobody wanted Hugh dead. He probably just had some kind of seizure.” Harker considered the captain through narrowed eyes. His adamant denial of foul play was curious, but not necessarily suspicious. After all, Berringer knew the soldiers under his command better than a surgeon and outsider ever would. Yet the apparent facts could not be denied.

“His nails are bitten and there is some evidence of wear on his teeth from grinding. These indicate he was concerned about something.” The captain looked as if he wanted to interrupt, but Harker continued his observations in a clinically impassive voice. “There’s a slight redness and swelling to his mouth. If you turn him over you’ll find a small amount of vomit on his clothes. All evidence points to a poison of some kind. It most likely came from that.” He gestured towards the half-eaten meal on the table.

“But who would go to such trouble to poison him? Any of my men would just have gutted him if they felt they had cause. Poison’s the weapon of a coward. It has to be one of the locals.” Harker made no comment on the captain’s deductions as he efficiently collected together his instruments. “I want you to find out who did this. And quickly. Murder will be bad for morale and I don’t want to have to deal with any half-cocked retaliation.”

“No.” Harker protested fiercely. “You wanted cause of death – you have it. But I have no interest in the petty squabbles of soldiers, nor do you have the authority to order me to do so.” Harker was in fact one of the ‘locals’ of the occupied Eastern city. The French army had drafted him into their ranks to fix and mend their soldiers. His unwilling cooperation had been ensured through threats and his own insatiable curiosity.

The two men glared at one another, acknowledging the mutual animosity that had existed between them for several months. Harker knew things about anatomy that the captain considered to be dark magic. Whilst Berringer had a casual disregard for the sacredness of life that was evident in his willingness to kill anyone if it advanced his cause. The surgeon was not unaccustomed to violent death, but a true leader knew when to spare a life and when to take one.

“True, you may not be under my command, but I know lots of interesting things about you and yours Monsieur Harker.”Alarm arrowed through him and Harker struggled to retain his cool demeanour. He had not realised how much the captain had found out about a past he believed to be buried. Hot-headed anger demanded that he free the knife secreted in his clothing and strike Berringer. The captain smiled with as much charm as a deadly serpent. His tone was triumphant, knowing he had won this particular battle. “Find the culprit of this crime and I may forget them. Fail and I promise that they will suffer.”