Paige did her best to explain. “Because Giles here knows about medieval weapons, I asked him if he’d ever seen anything that might cause the wounds that the coroner has been finding on the victims.”
Christopher didn’t look entirely happy. “I thought that was information we might hold back.”
“If we did that, we wouldn’t have a chance to actually find the murder weapon,” Paige said. She looked over to the blacksmith. “You did find the murder weapon?”
The blacksmith nodded, and Paige thought she could see Christopher’s slight disapproval melting away in the face of that. He wanted new information on this case as badly as Paige did. Paige could feel the excitement building in her at the thought of finally knowing what weapon they should look for when it came to this case. Once they knew that, there was at least a faint possibility that they would be able to use the information to link it back to the killer.
“At least, I think so. Over here,” the blacksmith said, leading the way to a bench. A dagger sat there, or at least the blade and cross guard of one. It didn’t look finished to Paige. “I made this last night, to designs I found in a couple of old books on medieval weaponry. It doesn’t currently have a handle, and this is just a dummy model that we’ll use for the knight fights, so there’s no edge, but it should be able to give you an idea of what it looks like.”
Paige could hear the note of nervousness in the blacksmith’s voice, and she suspected that part of the reason he hadn’t finished the weapon was because he’d realized that having an exact copy of the murder weapon lying around would look a little suspicious. At the very least, it would lead to Paige and Christopher asking how long he’d had it, just in case he was trying to pass off the actual murder weapon as a mere copy of it.
Paige tested the point. It was indeed blunt. This hadn’t been used to kill anyone, but it had seemed safest to check, just to eliminate the possibility. She looked over the blade. It was slender but square sided.
“So this was a thrusting weapon only?” Paige asked.
The blacksmith nodded. “It’s called a misericord. It’s similar to a stiletto or a rondel dagger, but it wouldn’t have had sharpened edges the way they might. We have records of them dating back all the way to the 12th century.”
“So the idea was… what?” Christopher said, looking the weapon over with a professional eye. “To punch through the gaps in armor?”
Paige saw the blacksmith nod. She was impressed that Christopher could take one look at a weapon and instantly understand what its best tactical use was.
“Usually through the visor,” the blacksmith said.
“Not through the heart?” Paige asked, because that was what had happened with the three victims so far.
“A knight’s armor wouldn’t have made that a good target,” the blacksmith explained. “A breastplate would probably stop this dead, and even a coat of mail backed up by padding would slow it down.”
That was an interesting discrepancy. Did the killer not know that part, or did he just not care that much for historical accuracy, in spite of the symbols he left behind?
“The misericord had another use, though,” the blacksmith said. “Its name comes from the old French for mercy. It was used to kill badly wounded knights who had suffered injuries in battle. In judicial duels, it might be used to deliver the last blow to someone who had lost.”
“Judicial duels?” Christopher said.
“Trial by combat,” the blacksmith clarified. “In most places, the private duel between individuals was banned quite early in the Middle Ages; it was never legal in England, for example, but there would be various forms of trial by combat, sometimes with different weapons depending on the accusation.”
Paige found herself wondering how relevant that was. Was the killer someone who would know the history of the weapon as well as the blacksmith did? What did the inclusion of the fleur-de-lis mean? Did it mean anything, or was the killer just collecting a set of symbols that only made sense within the confines of his twisted mind?
No, Paige wasn’t going to believe that there was nothing to be gained here. This was meaningful to the killer, which meant that understanding that meaning would help to bring them closer to him.
“Thank you,” she said to the blacksmith. She took pictures of the misericord he’d made from as many angles as possible. “You’ve been very helpful.”
She moved away from the blacksmith’s tent with Christopher, so that she could talk to him openly about the details of the case without being overheard.
“So we know what the murder weapon is,” he said.
“I think we might know more than that,” Paige replied. “This is a killer using an ancient symbol of royalty, striking people down with a weapon that might be used after a duel, and reacting to the least insult with deadly force. This is someone who thinks they’re special, they’re royalty, they can mete out what they see as justice to anyone who insults them.”
Christopher was silent for several seconds as he considered it. Paige guessed that it was a lot to take on board all at once.
“Ok,” Christopher said. “I can see that.”
“I think we’re dealing with a narcissist,” Paige said.
“Not a psychopath?”
“It’s possible to be both, but people with Narcissistic Personality Disorder focus more on their own importance, to the exclusion of everyone else.”
“Can we use that to locate the killer?” Christopher asked.
“Maybe, but I want to get into his head more. There’s a local secure mental institution that has several patients with NPD. I think if I talk to one of them, I might be able to work out more about what’s going on with this killer’s pathology.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Christopher asked. “The last couple of times you’ve done this, you’ve been attacked.”
“But I also got insights that helped with the case,” Paige pointed out.
“I… can’t argue with that,” Christopher admitted.
“I need to do this,” Paige said. “If someone else is killed, and I don’t try everything I can to help, then I’ll feel like it’s on me.”
She saw Christopher give in.
“All right, but I’m coming too.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Brentview Hospital was a large and imposing building that looked to Paige as if it had been built sometime in the 19th century, then adapted as required to meet the needs of the inmates it housed. It had a kind of faded grandeur to it that made it look more like a university library than a psychiatric institution, its red brick walls tangled with ivy, its grounds set out with neat lawns and gardens. Paige could see some of the inmates there working in the gardens, possibly as part of some kind of therapy.
The interior of the building was painted in pastel colors that should have been soothing but mostly just seemed institutional to Paige after her time working in a place similar to this. It was a reminder of the times she’d spent in the St. Just Institute, having to sit down opposite some of the worst criminals to assess them, trying to get them to talk about themselves.