Free Vices of My Blood by Maureen Jennings

sir.”
    “You’re right, Murdoch. I’ll have one sent up.” He flapped his hand. “Sit down, for goodness’ sake. I can’t keep looking up at you, it makes things worse.”
    Murdoch took the chair in front of the inspector’s desk. He almost felt sorry for the man, he looked so bilious. The whites of his eyes had a yellowish tinge.
    “I want every single person interviewed who lives in the vicinity of the church. Somebody must have seen somebody. I don’t care if it was the mayor himself taking a stroll with his paramour, I want to know about it.”
    “Does Mr. Kennedy have a paramour, sir? I hadn’t heard.”
    Brackenreid groaned in irritation. “No, of course not. It was a figure of speech. You know perfectly well what I mean.”
    “You mean that as the Reverend Howard was a man of prominence in the community, we must leave no stone unturned to find his murderer, even if that proves to be another person of prominence.”
    “What? No, for heaven’s sake, Murdoch I didn’t mean that. We all know he was killed by some passing tramp. Find him and soon. I want a daily report from you. Don’t forget, Murdoch, I promoted you and I can unpromote you just as fast.”
    “Yes, sir. It’s not something I would forget.”
    Brackenreid’s flash of anger seemed to have aggravated his headache and he sat for a moment with his head in his hands.
    “Is that all, sir? Shall I have Gardiner send up that tea?”
    “Yes, good idea. What is your plan now?”
    “I’m going back to see Mrs. Howard. I hope she is able to talk to me.”
    “Mrs. Brackenreid and I met her just after the pastor’s appointment to Chalmers. Some charity concert, I think it was.” He struggled to remember. “Or was it at Mrs. Maclean’s soiree? Oh blast, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, does it?”
    “Probably not, sir. Unless you think that somebody at the concert is a likely suspect.”
    “What? Dammit, Murdoch, you go too far.”
    “I beg your pardon, sir.”
    “As I was saying. I met the Howards not so long ago. She is a handsome woman and I preferred her to him. Decent-enough fellow, don’t get me wrong, but a bit airy-fairy for my taste. I like to see a fellow with some fire to him. Nothing like a tip-top sermon to set a man up for the day.”
    Sermonizing hadn’t had much impact on Brackenreid’s need for the little devil drink, thought Murdoch. He shifted slightly in his seat. Whenever the conversation approached even obliquely to the topic of religion, he knew that he could expect some kind of riposte. Ah here it came.
    “I don’t know how you manage in your religion, Murdoch. With all that Latin, you can’t get any direction at all, surely?”
    “The prayer book does have an English translation on one side of the page, sir. And the sermon, or homily as we call it, is in English.”
    Brackenreid started to shake his head in ostentatious disbelief but thought better of it.
    “All right. Get on with it then. I suppose I don’t need to remind you to handle the poor woman with kid gloves, do I?”
    “No, sir, you don’t.”
    “Quite. That’s something I’ve noticed about you Catholics, you are good at dealing with women.”
    This remark was so stunningly peculiar that Murdoch had no reply. He stood up.
    “Don’t forget the tea,” said Brackenreid as Murdoch left.
    The maid’s face was puffy and blotchy from crying. “Mrs. Howard is in the drawing room with Mr. Swanzey, sir.”
    “I do need to talk to her, Doris.”
    “Yes, sir.” With the merest tap on the door, she showed him in.
    Louisa Howard was sitting on the couch by the window, Swanzey beside her. He stood up to greet Murdoch, but Louisa didn’t even turn to acknowledge him. She was staring out of the window and he presumed her expression was grief-stricken, but he could see nothing because of the obscuring widow’s veil she was wearing. She was already dressed in deepest mourning and Murdoch wondered not for the first time if every married woman of