Free The Mills of God by Deryn Lake Page B

doesn’t he?’
    â€˜So would you if you’d just taken a tumble down a spiral staircase,’ Tennant answered drily.
    â€˜Ah, but did he fall or was he pushed,’ the surgeon replied, fingering the corpse’s skull with incredible delicacy.
    â€˜That’s up to you to say.’
    â€˜Well, I won’t know until after the post-mortem but my guess is that he received a clobbering before he descended.’
    â€˜So he had an assignation in his bedroom?’
    â€˜Now, now, Dominic. Don’t go jumping to any conclusions.’
    â€˜When I can get upstairs I’ll have a better idea.’
    â€˜You can do that in a minute, sir,’ called a female voice and Tennant saw that one of the forensics specialists was a woman, who had reached the penultimate step.
    â€˜Anything up there?’ he asked her.
    â€˜Plenty,’ she said, ‘but I won’t spoil the surprise.’
    â€˜You found a weapon?’
    â€˜If you can call a great big statue of Buddha a weapon, yes.’
    â€˜Good God,’ said Tennant.
    â€˜Plus a note attached to the wall.’
    â€˜Well, that clinches it. We’re dealing with another murder, Potter.’
    â€˜I thought so all along, sir,’ answered the sergeant somewhat smugly.
    â€˜Come on. Let’s go and see for ourselves.’
    They climbed the spiral with care, making sure to miss the blood which bespattered the stairs profusely. Forensics watched them with a smile.
    â€˜Careful where you put your feet, sir.’
    Tennant merely growled.
    They reached the top to find that it opened on to a small landing which had been turned into a shrine. Yet again there was a profusion of candles, some still lit, obviously having burned all night.
    Lying on the floor, fallen to one side in a grotesque parody of the corpse that lay below, was a golden Buddha, drenched in a great splatter of red around its head. Somewhere, right in the back of Tennant’s mind, a memory stirred but – elusive as a dream – it was gone before he could catch it.
    The Buddha was about three feet tall – Tennant had never taught himself to think in metres – and probably nearly as wide.
    â€˜Pop downstairs and get me an outsize evidence bag, will you.’
    Potter obeyed. Tennant stood quite still, running his eyes over the crime scene and absorbing every detail. On the wall, in the niche where the Buddha had once stood, was pinned a piece of A4 paper. On it, scrawled in red were the words, ‘Second of the ten. Where next? The Acting Light of the World.’ Tennant took it off the wall with his disposable gloves and placed it in an evidence bag. Potter returned, breathing hard.
    â€˜Here we are, sir. This should be alright.’
    The Buddha was heavy but they managed to get it into the bag.
    â€˜Do you think a woman could have done this?’ asked Tennant, catching his breath.
    â€˜If she was strong, yes I do.’
    â€˜Take a look at this.’ And the inspector produced the piece of paper in its bag.
    â€˜It’s some religious nutter, I’m sure of it.’
    Tennant shook his head. ‘We can’t be certain. Maybe that’s a deliberate bluff.’
    â€˜Well, if it is, he – or she – is carrying it off pretty well.’
    â€˜Do you think the wording means they intend to commit ten murders?’
    â€˜Sounds like it, sir.’
    They reached the bottom of the stairs, carrying the Buddha between them, and thankfully handed it over to the forensic team. The inspector removed his disposable gloves and his protective gear.
    â€˜Now then, where’s the cleaning lady? The one who found the body.’
    â€˜She’s gone home, inspector, in the company of a WPC. Poor old soul was weeping and carrying on about getting her grandson out of bed to go to the job centre. In the circs we thought it was best to let her go.’
    â€˜Quite. What’s the address?’
    They told him the