By P. D. James
While 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 interesting 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 against the law that looks to have never-ending causes, Dalgliesh explores the sinister internet spun round a half-burnt diary and a violet-eyed widow who's pregnant and whole of malice--all the whereas hoping to fill the space of good judgment that joined those disparate males in shiny pink loss of life. . . .
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Extra resources for A Taste for Death (Adam Dalgliesh Mysteries 7)
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. A biblical phrase dropped into his mind, 'Doing evil that good may come'. But he quickly put it away from him. It was too close to blasphemy to be comfortable. Book Two Next of Kin After leaving the church Dalgliesh went briefly back to the Yard to pick up his files on Theresa Nolan and Diana Travers and it was after midday before he arrived at 62 Campden Hill Square.
One small mystery, at least, was solved. AD could relax and get on with the inquiry. And so, with luck, could he. 11 Even Father Barnes's predecessor, Father Kendrick, hadn't been able to do much with St Matthew's Vicarage. It occupied the corner of St Matthew's Court, an undistinguished three-storey, red brick block of flats bordering the Harrow Road. After the war, the Church Commissioners had finally decided that the existing huge Victorian house was unmanageable and uneconomic, and had sold the site to a developer on the understanding that a maisonette on the ground and first floor should be made over, in perpetuity, to house the parish priest.
Those few who did attend church found a congenial home with Father Donovan at St Anthony's with its steel bands, car-nival processions, and general interracial bonhomie. None of them ever knocked on Father Barnes's door. They saw, with watchful and expressionless eyes, his almost furtive comings and goings. But he was as much an anachronism at St Matthew's Court as was the church he represented. He had been escorted back to the Vicarage by a plainclothes officer, not the one who had been working most closely with Commander Dalgliesh, but an older man, broad-shouldered, stolid, reassuringly calm, who had spoken to him in a soft country accent which he couldn't recognize but was most certainly not local.
A Taste for Death (Adam Dalgliesh Mysteries 7) by P. D. James