Murder in the Crypt (Redmond and Haze Mysteries, #1)

by Irina Shapiro

“You’ve handled your share of dead bodies, haven’t you?” Constable Haze asked softly. “I’ve read about your war in the papers. Wouldn’t wish that on any man, having to kill one’s countrymen. Families divided, brother fighting against brother. Makes it all so much more personal. Never wanted to be a soldier myself. Don’t have the stomach for it.” “Yes, Constable, I’ve seen the kind of carnage that makes a man question everything he believes about his fellow man. It also makes one doubt the existence of God.”

But had Micah been his son, Jason would never have allowed him anywhere near a battlefield. He’d have left him at home, where he’d be safe from bullets and cannon fire, and where he’d have the chance to grow up without ever seeing the carnage firsthand or knowing the cruelty of men, who, drunk on limitless power, treated their fellow men worse than he’d treat any beast.

“This is a small village, Captain. Very little of interest happens here. People will be talking about this murder for years to come, decades even. And the upper classes are no different than the common folk when it comes to a gory tale. They love a tragedy, as long as it doesn’t affect them directly.”

The English viewed Americans with suspicion and thought them to be uncultured, unmannered, and generally rough around the edges, whereas Americans saw England’s upper crust as an elitist group who valiantly clung to the past, looked down their noses at anyone who didn’t share their arcane values, and would generally do well to remove the stick from their collective ass.

Miss Talbot shook her head. “No one wants to dwell on the murder. It’s frightening, so people rationalize it by choosing to believe that the young man had done something to bring it on himself. Since he was an outsider, they think it has nothing to do with them and want only to see him buried, so they can forget it ever happened.”

Taking a life destroys a piece of your soul, even if you’re never held accountable for your actions.”

Had the assailant hit Mrs. Harris a little lower, he most likely would have killed her. Jason examined her thoroughly before announcing the diagnosis. “A bump on the head,” he said in his most soothing tone. “I ’ave one of them cushions,” she argued, seeming disappointed. “I just know it.” “I don’t believe you have a concussion, Mrs. Harris.”

Daniel chuckled. “You are the unlordliest lord I’ve ever met.” “And have you met many lords?” Jason asked, grinning with amusement. “More than I care to name, in the line of duty, of course. Frightfully pompous old sods, one and all.” “Then I’m glad I’m the exception.