Holy Spy by Rory Clements Page A

the shape of a man’s balls and a hilt in the manner of an erect prick.
    ‘Can I take this?’
    ‘You are welcome to it, John.’
    Shakespeare began to think aloud. ‘His mortal sickness would explain why he was unable to escape his pursuers. He only managed a few paces before they pulled him down. And the state of his lungs would explain his coughing fit at the scaffold. But how will this help Kat? Indeed, can we now deduce that she is innocent, or not?’
    ‘That is for you to work out. I merely deal in facts. All I can tell you is that this man died of strangulation by the noose, but that he would have died soon enough anyway. These are facts that would be of no interest to a court of law, even if I was in a position to present them. If you have had any dealings with Recorder Fleetwood, you will know that nothing will override a dying man’s testimony. To him such things are sacred. Why would a man who knows he must meet his maker in a few minutes go to his death with the mortal sin of a lie on his lips? As to Cane’s motives, that is for you to consider.’
    Shakespeare did not need Peace’s help on the question of motive, for there was an obvious one: knowing he was dying anyway, Will Cane had agreed to commit murder fully intending to be apprehended and executed. Which meant he could not have been committing the crime for money, as he had claimed, but to destroy both Nicholas Giltspur and his wife. But why? Shakespeare rubbed his brow and felt the bruise where he had been kicked. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking clearly. Perhaps there was another possibility that did involve money. What if Cane had been hired to commit the crime on the understanding that the money was to be paid to someone else after his death? Someone close to him like a wife, or child who would otherwise be left destitute once he was gone.
    The question then was this: who else apart from Kat would have stood to gain from the death of Nicholas Giltspur? Only one person could answer that.
     
    He rode to Shoreditch at a strong canter, weaving his horse in and out of the wagons and livestock with reckless haste. When he arrived at the house by the Curtain, he pushed open the door without knocking. Oswald Redd was at his workbench and turned in shock, evidently not pleased to see him.
    ‘Mr Redd, forgive my sudden intrusion. I have urgent business with Kat.’
    ‘How dare you walk in like this? You have interrupted my work. I must mend this gown by the next performance. Please leave immediately, Mr Shakespeare.’
    ‘It is not you I wish to see, Mr Redd, but Kat.’ His voice was low but pressing.
    ‘She is not here. Now go!’
    ‘Mr Redd, I have no intention of leaving until I have seen her. Is she in the loft?’
    ‘No, she is not here. No one is here. Now please be gone, sir.’
‘Then where is she?’
    Redd looked as though he would explode. He was shorter than Shakespeare and armed only with tailoring tools, but his furious eyes suggested he would happily take on an army in his present mood.
    ‘Mr Redd, I do not wish to hurt you, but I will have my way.’
    ‘God damn you, Shakespeare, we have a safer place. She came here only to meet you. Do you think she would entrust the knowledge of her whereabouts to a Walsingham man?’
    Had she really said that? Had she really not trusted him? Why, after all this time, did Kat still have the power to make him feel betrayed? He fought to contain his feelings, instead concentrating on Oswald Redd’s raw emotions. Rivalry would do neither of them any good – and would certainly not help Kat. He forced a little smile, intended to mollify his host. ‘Mr Redd, I am here to help.’
    ‘I do not need your help.’
    ‘If you do not cooperate with me, then you will be harming what little chance Kat has of escaping the noose.’
    ‘Why do you want her?’
    ‘As I said, I have urgent business with her – information that may be to her benefit. Questions to ask . . .’
    ‘Then tell me – and I will