âHere's a short excerpt from THE TROUBLE.
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âYOU LOOK LIKE YOUâRE in hot pursuit of a fleeing question,â Sr. Grey said.
Kincaid smiled. âIâve been reading that book you gave me. Says burnings were reserved for women and Protestants.â
âDo we know any more about the third victim?â
âEvery bone in her body was ripped from its joints and sockets. Before she was burned.â
âSounds like she was racked,â Grey said. âHow ghastly. And still no idea who she is. Was, rather.â
âM. E.âs hoping for a dental match.â
Kincaid picked up Reformation Saints. âSpeaking of racks, Baldwinâs killer or killers used the bookshelf ladders in the Long Room to replicate the rack Plunkett was drawn and quartered on. âDragged, usually by horse, on the rack, to the place of execution,ââ Kincaid read from Reformation Saints.
âThe horse outside the library,â Sr. Grey said. âOliver Plunkett, Archbishop of Armagh. How much do the current archbishops know about all this,
I wonder?â
âMight not hurt to inform them,â Kincaid said.
âOr warn them,â Grey said.
SISTER GREY DROVE THE cramped Ford Zephyr with her eyes up and her head down, lowered reflexively when the first helicopter buzzed overhead.
âYouâre getting into the routine of things,â Kincaid said.
âAnd youâre not crouching low enough,â she said.
She raised her head when they approached a checkpoint, where a British soldier stuck his nose in the car demanding their business and any papers they might have to support it. Variations on, âA garda? Here? Why?â were the most common questions Kincaid answered, some delivered with more seething than others.
âI lay in bed, hearing bombs or bullets somewhere,â Grey said as they continued onward. âThe other sisters count them like sheep. The first question at breakfast repeats like the machine guns. âWho did we know was killed last night?â They always know someone.â
She parked on Castle Street in Armagh and looking up the street and down it, again and again, unloaded Kincaidâs folded wheelchair from the back seat. She looked through the fence at the cathedral. Â
âIâm sorry Iâm not much help,â he said.
âItâs light and Iâm strong,â she said. âAnd you can still be a sentry.â
She helped him into the chair and they went around to the open gate and along a flat, narrow drive to the entrance. The cathedralâs verger met them near the tall, arched front doors.
âInspector Kincaid, Sister Grey. Welcome.â
âThank you for arranging this.â
âI canât take much credit,â the verger said. âArchbishop Simms was eager to meet you. Heâs been following these killings.â
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