Goodwife Rooke pleaded again, desperately, ‘What should I do, sirs?’

Cecil took a deep breath. ‘Say nothing to the coroner, not yet. If people ask, say Elias never came back.’

‘Lie to the officials?’

‘Yes. For now. We have powerful friends, we can protect you from any trouble. Do not ask us more just now, but rest assured we shall hunt down Elias and Master Greening’s murderers.’

I glanced at Cecil. ‘They may be the same people. Could you describe them, Goodwife Rooke?’

She spoke in a dead tone. ‘I could not see them clearly, it was dark. They were dressed roughly, like vagrants. Both young and strong. One, though, was near-bald. He looked at me for a second. A strange, wild look. It sore frightened me. He carried a club.’ The poor woman put her face in her hands and shook violently. Then she seemed to collect herself; she glanced upstairs towards her daughters. ‘Please,’ she whispered, ‘keep them safe.’

Cecil nodded.

I asked, ‘That cart outside. Have you any idea who it belongs to?’

She shook her head. ‘I never saw it before last night.’

I exchanged a glance with Cecil. Greening’s killers – and it was obvious from Goodwife Rooke’s description that it was they who had also killed Elias – might have learned that Elias had vanished, and been waiting around the alley lest he came home, a cart ready to remove the body. Had the boy not managed to shout out, he would never have been seen again.

Cecil said, ‘I will arrange to have Elias’s body taken away.’

For the first time, Goodwife Rooke looked hostile. ‘Is my son to have no proper funeral?’

‘It is safest, believe me. For you and your daughters.’

‘And as we have told you,’ I added, ‘Elias’s death will not go unpunished.’

She bowed her head.

‘And now, might Master Shardlake look at Elias’s body?’ Cecil took her hand. ‘We will say a prayer.’

She looked at me angrily. ‘See what was done to my poor son.’ She addressed Cecil. ‘Was he killed for his beliefs? Was Master Greening?’

‘As yet we do not know. But it may be.’

Goodwife Rooke was silent. She knew she was at our mercy. ‘Come, Master Shardlake,’ Cecil said quietly.

‘Do not let my daughters see,’ Goodwife Rooke called after us with sudden passion. ‘If you hear them outside Elias’s room, send them downstairs. They must not see that.’

ELIAS LAY FACE UP on a straw bed in a tiny bedroom, the afternoon sun full on his bloodied face. He had been struck on the right cheekbone, hard enough to shatter it, for splintered shards of white bone showed through the dark mess of his face. He had also been struck on the top of the head, his hair a mess of gore. The shutters were open and blowflies had entered and settled on his head. In sudden anger I waved them away.