The Advent of Murder (A Faith Morgan Mystery) Read Free

T-shirt, and jeans. His trainers would cost a lot, even second-hand. The exposed skin on his hands and face, and a bared patch of thin midriff, bore scratches of the kind that might be inflicted from branches or twigs. When he was alive, he had chewed his nails.
    Traces of silt covered every bit of him.
    “He’s been washed down the river – some way I would have thought,” she said out loud. For a moment she had forgotten she wasn’t part of the investigating team – that wasn’t her job any more. Ben flicked her a glance of recognition – just like him to notice her slips.
    “Maybe.” Harriet got to her feet. “He’s a mess,” she said briskly. “I’ll have to get him back and cleaned up before I can tell you more.” The direction of her gaze shifted to a point just beyond Faith. Faith saw her eyes widen and turned to see a large Dobermann a couple of yards away, slavering copiously. She took an involuntary step back, bashing into Ben.
    “Damn it!” he snapped, apparently not alarmed by thedog’s belligerent appearance. “You’d have thought we could be spared rubberneckers way out here. Get that dog away from the crime scene!”
    A petite woman accompanied by a second large Dobermann had come down the path from upriver. A well-preserved forty-something wearing a new tweed jacket of fashionable cut and matching tweed skirt, she strode toward them swinging a bright blond wood walking stick.
    “Go on, sergeant – get rid of her. We don’t want her blasted dogs trampling evidence.” After a split second’s understandable hesitation, Peter set off. “Why don’t you go with him?” Ben continued to Faith. “Now that looks like a potential member of your flock. Make yourself useful.” Faith narrowed her eyes at him. This provocation was starting to annoy her. His gaze met hers in mocking challenge. Faith liked dogs but she wasn’t keen on breeds created to guard and attack. Ben knew that. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of admitting her apprehension, she turned resolutely to go.
    The dog hadn’t moved. It stood square, ears pricked, its bright eyes fixed on her. She set out to follow Peter, giving the beast a wide berth. As if pulled by an invisible thread, the soft side of the dog’s pointed muzzle curled up, exposing a flash of impressive teeth. The well-muscled barrel chest emitted a low hum.
    Still some yards away, the woman slapped her walking stick against her booted calf in a flash of irritation.
    “Jam! Shush!”
    The dog dropped its ears and lowered its head. The Dobermann joined its partner at its mistress’s heel.
    The woman turned her stare toward Peter and lifted her chin. “What’s going on here?” she asked, exposing perfect white teeth. Bonded, thought Faith. Her jaw line was sharp –not a trace of softening, even though Faith thought she might have turned fifty, now she could see her up close.
    “There’s a police investigation in progress, ma’am,” said Peter. “I must ask you to move on with your dogs, please.”
    The newcomer didn’t move. “Has there been a death?” She turned her attention from Peter to examine Faith. She noted the dog collar. “Have you come to arrange the funeral?”
    “I am here only by chance,” Faith explained. “I am vicar at St James’s.”
    The woman tossed her head. “Of course. The new one. I attend the cathedral – although I have no problem with women vicars myself. We haven’t been introduced.” She pulled off her glove and reached into the inside pocket of her jacket for a laminated business card depicting an artful shot of some exotic bloom. “Mavis Granger – I have a florist shop in town.” As she talked she craned her neck to look past Peter to see what she could of the activity around the water’s edge. The body was concealed behind a patch of reeds and the forensic team were erecting the tent over it.
    “Faith Morgan,” said Faith, taking the card. A brooch pinned the turquoise blue pashmina scarf around