Whispers of the Dead by Peter Tremayne

saint, why you came rushing out crying the saint’s body was uncorrupted. Had you not known what the relics were like, had you not known what Aróc looked like, it might have been explicable…”
    “I told you, it was dark in the oratory and I truly thought…”
    “Truly?” Fidelma smiled cynically. “Not for one moment did you consider any other option than to rush forth and proclaim that Declan’s dusty relics had been suddenly translated to incorrupt flesh?”
    Brother Ross wore a stubborn look.
    “I have told you all I know in this matter.” He folded his arms defiantly.
    Fidelma’s lips thinned and she gazed an inordinately long time on him; examining, particularly, the front of his robe.
    “Do you have any suspicion of who killed Sister Aróc?” she finally asked him.
    “I know only that she died a violent death here when there was no need for such an end to her life,” he replied belligerently.
    Fidelma turned away toward the agitated figure of Rian, the Abbot of Ard mór.
    “I am grieved, Fidelma. I am the head of my community, theshepherd of my flock. If there was violence brewing I should have felt it.”
    “You are only a man and not one of the prophets, Rian,” Fidelma admonished. “There is no need for you to take any blame for this onto your shoulders.”
    “How can I help resolve this matter?”
    “By answering a few questions. Did you know Sister Aróc?”
    “I am abbot,” he responded gravely.
    “I meant, know her on a personal level and not merely as one of your flock.”
    The abbot shook his head.
    “She was brought to me six months ago by Sister Corb, who wished to induct her into the school of the novices. She was of the age of choice. She struck me as a religious girl although not overly bright. Apart from my one interview with her, I have only seen her at a distance.”
    He paused, and then glancing swiftly across the chapel ground toward Sister Corb, he continued.
    “Sister Corb came to me a few days ago to lodge an official complaint. It was only then that I heard of her curious behavior; what was it that Brother Echen described it as—‘otherworldly’? Echen was sent to speak with her but he reported that she was eccentric but not dangerous.”
    “Do you know whether Sister Corb might have other motives for complaining about Aróc?”
    The abbot flushed slightly and then grimaced.
    “I know what you mean. I had not thought that applied in this case. But Sister Corb does have several liaisons which I would not approve of. But, as abbot, sometimes it is diplomatic to feign a lack of knowledge.”
    “Several?” Fidelma’s brows arched. “Could it be that some of her—her liaisons, as you call them, might have been jealous of Sister Corb?”
    The abbot looked startled.
    “Do you mean…?”
    “Questions again,” snapped Fidelma. “Every question I ask, I seem to get answered by a question!” She repented at once as the Father Abbot seemed to wince at her outburst.
    “I apologize. It is just that it is so difficult to extract information.”
    “No, it is I who should apologize, Fidelma. There are several members of the community who would be angered by Corb’s attention to Sister Aróc, if that is what you are asking. But I do not think that they would be worth considering in this case.”
    “Why not?”
    “If my meager knowledge of law is anything to go by, as well as being a suspect by motive, you must also be suspect by opportunity.”
    “Your knowledge is correct,” affirmed Fidelma.
    “Well, you indicated to Brother Echen and to Sister Corb that this murder took place shortly before your group of pilgrims arrived at the hilltop. Look around you.”
    The Father Abbot spread his arms.
    Fidelma knew what he meant without looking. The hill, as they wound their way up the only track, was just a round grassy hump without trees, without bushes, and only the small oratory on top. Anyone leaving the oratory shortly before the arrival of the band of pilgrims