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"They were examined by a royal court."

"For eleven days," I replied. "Yet the petition to seize the Locksley estate was filed three days before William was arrested. Two witness statements are missing from the records, and the chapel inventory contains a rather interesting note."

"What note?"

"The floor was taken up during the search. Apparently, there was a strongbox beneath the altar stone, but when your men opened it, they found it empty."

Fitzwalter's expression remained unchanged. His hands, however, told me something different. He'd been turning a ring around his finger since entering the room. It appeared to be a habit, something he did without thinking.

The moment I mentioned the chapel, his fingers stopped moving. I'd spent enough years questioning criminals to recognize when I'd touched on something important.

"Eleven thousand marks," I said.

He turned toward me.

"Excuse me?"

"Collected from four northern shires during the second year of the war. William of Locksley copied the figures directly from the Crown's warrants. The money was intended for the northern garrisons, but they received considerably less."

I folded my arms.

"William recorded the difference in a third column. Seven thousand, one hundred and forty marks, to be exact."

"Military expenses are complicated, Sheriff."

"Not so complicated that seven thousand marks can disappear without explanation."

"Careful."

"Where did the money go?"

His expression hardened. For the first time since he'd entered my chambers, Fitzwalter looked genuinely irritated. "William of Locksley asked that very question."

"And you had him executed for it."

"He was convicted of treason by a lawful court."

"After you'd already taken his estate."

Fitzwalter said nothing. I watched him for several moments, thinking about everything I'd uncovered in those records. There'd never been any conspiracy involving a foreign court. The supposed letters proving William's treason were missing because they likely never existed.

William of Locksley had discovered that thousands of marks collected for the war had been diverted into private hands. He'd recorded the discrepancies and made his intention to present them before the council at Michaelmas known.

That was enough to get him killed.

His trial lasted eleven days. By October, he was dead, his estate confiscated, and his sixteen-year-old daughter was running for her life.

All because he'd kept an accurate account of the Crown's money.

"He was a provincial bookkeeper who didn't understand what he was reading," Fitzwalter said. "He interfered in matters beyond his authority. He was warned repeatedly, but the fool refused to listen. Whatever happened afterward was the consequence of his own stubbornness."

"He was innocent."

"He was inconvenient. There's a difference, Sheriff."

Fitzwalter adjusted his cuff. "And he was careless with his papers. He emptied that strongbox before his arrest and sent something out of the house with his mother. I've spent six years and a considerable amount of money establishing that those documents never reached a court, a bishop, or anyone on the royal council."

He studied me. "Which means somebody still has them."