Holy Spy by Rory Clements

feast, I am told. When he emerged at about midnight, his steward Sorbus and others of his retinue were waiting to convey him home by his carriage. As he stepped towards the coach, his killer moved out of the shadows and thrust him a single deadly blow to the throat. The weapon was a bollock-dagger with a nine-inch blade. So violent was the thrust that the blade pierced poor Mr Giltspur’s throat from beneath the left crook of the jaw to the right. The killer removed his weapon and dropped it in the street. Mr Giltspur died within a minute in a floodtide of his own blood. This was all confirmed in a report from the searcher.’
    ‘And the killer?’
    ‘He managed no more than twenty paces as he tried to escape up New Fish Street. He was brought down and apprehended by Mr Giltspur’s servants. At no time did he bother to deny his guilt and he immediately revealed that the dead man’s widow had contracted him to do the evil deed. “Hundred pounds she said I’d have. Ten before and the rest on proof of death,” were the words he used, as I recall. The servants all confirmed this. And Cane said the same to me himself, from the dock.’
    ‘Did he name the woman who had hired him?’
    ‘Yes, he did so at the scene. Then later at Newgate and also in my courtroom. There can be no question of her identity. He said it plain and described her in detail, down to the gap between her teeth and the mole on her wrist, all of which were agreed upon as distinguishing marks by those who knew her.’
    ‘And did he say how she came to meet him?’
    ‘No, he refused to say more, only that he had been to Giltspur House, in Aldermanbury, and that she had admitted him to her bedchamber, where the transaction had been settled.’
    ‘And that is it?’
    ‘That is it. He swore all this on the Holy Book and asked mercy of God. I sent him down and he was dispatched yesterday at Smithfield. I fear the punishment was not adequate to the crime, which I consider to have been among the most heinous I have tried. For a wife to kill a husband must always be considered petit treason.’ He leant forward and touched his guest’s hand. ‘Mr Shakespeare – John – I fear that if you are looking for some hope that your friend is innocent, then you are to be sore disappointed. The case against her is simple and clear. When she is caught, she will hang.’
    ‘So it seems.’ The old judge could have no concept of how heavy-hearted he felt. This was raw, gut-churning news. He had one last question. ‘Was anything known about the killer, Cane?’
    ‘The constable told me he was an associate of Cutting Ball and his crew. Certainly the use of the bollock-dagger as a weapon would bear this out, for they all carry them, as though it were their livery. I imagine that if you wished to find a hired assassin, Cutting Ball or his villainous friends would be a good place to start.’
    Cutting Ball. Shakespeare winced. A name to be feared. It was said he took a share of all the crime proceeds north of the river from Whitechapel to the Isle of Dogs – and that he handed down his own brand of outlaw justice to any man or woman who dared defy him. A justice that involved more pain than even the Tower torturer could manage to inflict. He stood up. ‘Thank you, though I fear you have brought me no joy.’
    Fleetwood heaved himself to his feet. ‘Cutting Ball,’ he said. ‘Now there is a man I would dearly love to have before me in the dock. God willing, the egregious Mr Ball will be apprehended and brought to my sessions house in Old Bailey, where I may send him to his doom.’ He rubbed his plump hands together. ‘And I hope and trust this will occur one sunny day soon.’

Chapter 8
     
    ‘Boltfoot, have you heard of a man named Cutting Ball?’
    ‘Yes, master. I do believe every man and woman in London town knows of him.’
    ‘What have you heard?’
    ‘I know that he is reputed to be an infamous villain, much given to violent persuasion in the getting of