CRIME IN THE SPA a fiercely addictive mystery (Detective Markham Mystery and Suspense Book 13) by CATHERINE MOLONEY

Author:CATHERINE MOLONEY [MOLONEY, CATHERINE]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joffe Books Crime thriller and mystery
Published: 2021-08-25T22:00:00+00:00

8. Carnivora

Friday, 8 January was gloriously crisp and cold, the snow not yet having turned to slush and glittering like silver in the winter sun.

Markham was glad of it as he headed towards St Agnes Parish Church on the outskirts of Bromgrove. Olivia was with him for moral support, and he appreciated the gentle sympathy which readily understood his need for silence as they drove to Dr Yasir Nariman’s requiem.

At the church, she melted discreetly away, joining Muriel Noakes who was sitting halfway up the body of the nave wearing one of her fearsomely baroque funeral outfits, an extraordinary veiled titfer topping a double-breasted black dress and jacket, which clung to her in all the wrong places. Natalie was at her mother’s side, wearing a sulky expression that suggested she would have been happy to skip the ‘smells and bells’. No doubt the presence of Rick Jordan was a powerful inducement, and she had clearly dressed to impress in a well-cut trouser suit and trench coat with no hint of a plunging neckline. With her peroxide-blonde hair twisted into a chignon and understated make-up — a vast improvement on her usual Polyfilla-style foundation — she looked eminently presentable. Only her discontented pout spoiled the picture.

Noakes, of course, was bowled over by the perfection of both wife and daughter, regarding them with considerable complacency. Doyle, for his part, was simply grateful to have the width of several pews between himself and Natalie.

St Agnes Parish Church was beautiful, infused with the smell of incense and old stone that somehow immediately made him feel at peace despite the saddening breath of death and decay in the chill air. His eyes were immediately drawn to the remarkable Stations which he found infinitely touching, especially the crucifixion in which an alabaster saviour in the flowing frock of a prophet stood upright on the foot-rest of his cross with arms extended as though to embrace the clustering houses below.

The building was dim, but the sun’s rays slanted in through a row of plain leaded window bays on either side. The real magic came from the three stained-glass windows above the main altar, which made Markham feel as though he was looking into some medieval heavenly kingdom. Behind a network of lead streaks were Christ, the Virgin Mary and innumerable holy people in shining yellow and green and violet, framed by arches and pillars of glimmering celestial bowers wound about with mystical foliage and branches of strange bright leafage.

Noakes hissing in his ear jolted the DI back to reality. ‘Did they run out of fancy glass for the side bits or what?’

‘I believe it was deliberate, Sergeant . . . to contrast earthly travails with the glories of heaven.’

A grunt greeted this observation.

‘And anyway, the altar makes up for it,’ Markham continued, his gaze travelling down the nave to the gilded panels on either side of the jewelled and enamelled tabernacle, inlaid with images of the church’s patroness bearing her breasts on a platter (mutilation having been part of her martyrdom) and being menaced with iron hooks.

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