Free The Dalwich Desecration by Gregory Harris

He tossed the sheet over the midsection of his abbot’s body. “He would not want it.”
    â€œWe mean no disrespect,” I said before Colin could reply.
    Brother Silsbury’s face was ashen and very much distressed. “Please tell me you are finished here.”
    â€œWe are.” Colin spoke up, his tone as smooth as ever. “We have learned a great deal. Thank you.”
    â€œGood.” The relief was immediate on Brother Silsbury’s face. “Then perhaps all of this”—he waved a rigid hand toward the abbot’s body on the table—“will have served some purpose.”
    Colin nodded grimly. “Rest assured that we are already drawing nearer to the perpetrator of this horrendous murder. I believe we shall see a resolution within the week.”
    Brother Silsbury looked stunned. “Then I owe you an apology, sir,” he said stiffly, “for I confess I did not think such a thing possible.”
    â€œYou must have faith,” Colin answered wryly. “And you may be certain that I will not fail the brothers of this monastery, no matter the outcome.” He gave a curt nod and exited the room before Brother Silsbury or I could respond in any way.

CHAPTER 6
    A fair-haired monk who looked to be in his late twenties with a trim shape, compact features, and an expression about as welcoming as any we had yet seen sat across from us in the well-stocked library. Brother Morrison had brought us here to introduce us to the monastery’s librarian, Brother Bursnell.
    â€œI am hoping you might be able to give us some information,” Colin was saying. “Is this an appropriate place for us to speak . . . ?” he asked, sliding his gaze around the otherwise unoccupied space.
    â€œAs you can see,” Brother Bursnell answered with a congenial nod, “you won’t disturb anyone here today. I seldom get many visitors. Sometimes I think I do my job more for posterity than any daily usefulness,” he added wistfully.
    Though that may have been the case, this was the largest single room we had yet visited in the monastery with the exception of the refectory. Bookcases hugged the four walls from the floor right up to the low-slung ceiling, and there were half-a-dozen rows of shorter bookcases that rose to a height of some five feet arrayed all around the large, rectangular oak table that we were sitting at in the room’s center. The table had a dozen chairs pulled up around it and, given its well-worn appearance, I presumed that many a gathering had taken place here in spite of Brother Bursnell’s contention.
    â€œI shall leave the three of you to it,” Brother Morrison muttered in his usual way. He started to leave and I noticed that he limped slightly, causing him to favor his right side. When he reached the door he turned back and added, “I was much heartened by your intention to conclude your investigation within the week.” But I did not think the gruff, elderly man sounded in the least bit heartened. “It is important for the lot of us to return our attentions back to God’s work. It is who we are. It is why we are here. Our abbot would wish it so.”
    Colin’s expression remained steady, though I caught a flicker of displeasure charge across his eyes. “Of course.”
    â€œAfter all, you would be wise to remember that justice belongs to God alone.”
    â€œAh”—Colin flashed a tight grin—“I thought God attended to those who attend to themselves.”
    â€œThat is not Scripture, Mr. Pendragon,” Brother Morrison grumbled. “It is moralistic tripe used to exonerate otherwise inappropriate behavior. Please do not misconstrue my great affection for Abbot Tufton with my commitment to God and this brotherhood. For I can assure you that I do not confuse the two.” And having said his piece, he pushed out into the hallway, letting the door snap shut firmly in his