By P. D. James
Whilst the quiet Little sacristy of St. Matthew's Church turns into the blood-soaked scene of a double homicide, Scotland backyard Commander Adam Dalgliesh faces an fascinating conundrum: How did an upper-crust Minister come to lie, slit throat to slit throat, subsequent to a local derelict of the bottom order? Challenged with the research of a criminal offense that looks to have unending explanations, Dalgliesh explores the sinister net spun round a half-burnt diary and a violet-eyed widow who's pregnant and entire of malice--all the whereas hoping to fill the space of good judgment that joined those disparate males in vibrant crimson dying. . . .
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Additional info for A Taste for Death (Adam Dalgliesh Mysteries 7)
Suddenly she wanted him gone so urgently that it was all she could do not to order him to get out. Instead she held out her hand. Bending, he took it in his and then raised it to his lips. The gesture, theatrical and ludicrously inappropriate dis-concerted but did not disgust her. After he had left, she found herself looking down at her thin, ring-encrusted fingers, at the age-mottled knuckles against which, briefly, his lips had rested. Was the gesture a tribute to an old woman facing with dignity and courage a last tragedy?
It'll be no trouble. And when the press come bothering, just tell them as little as you need. No speculating. No use in specu-lating, is there? Just tell it how it was. A lady from your congregation and a boy found the bodies and the boy fetched you. Better not give any names unless you have to. You saw that they were dead and rang for the police. No need to say more. ' The statement, stupendous in its over-simplification, opened a new abyss before Father Barnes's horrified eyes. He had forgotten about the press.
They'll send someone round, either here or to your house. After all, you and Tom and Maggie are very important witnesses. And then when we've done that, I shall need to be un-disturbed in the study. I wasn't able to say Mass. ' 'Yes, Father,' she said, her voice almost meek. And there was something else he ought to do. Strange that thought hadn't occurred to him before. Surely it must be his duty to call in the next day or so on Paul Berowne's wife and his family. Now that he knew what had to be done, it was remarkable how different he felt.