Read Online Unholy Rites by Kay Stewart, Chris Bullock - Free Book Online Page B

and they got out, the dog watching every move. Its splotched face reminded Danutia of Mia, loyal companion of the victim in her first homicide investigation, on sparsely populated Salt Spring Island. Had Mia adjusted to her new home with the victim’s daughter in bustling Vancouver, or did she hunger for open spaces, herd strangers on city sidewalks?
    Kevin introduced himself to the farmer, Peter Heathcote. “And this is Constable Dranchuk, from the RCMP in Canada,” he said. “She’s here to study our rural crime reduction initiatives. I understand you’ve lost a sheep.”
    â€œOne of my best ewes,” Heathcote said. He turned to Danutia. “The breed probably doesn’t mean much to you, but she’s a Derbyshire Grit, Gritstone, that is, like the ones over there.” He gestured towards a stone pen open on two sides where maybe a dozen black and white ewes and twice as many lambs huddled out of the wind. Two eweless lambs at the edge bleated piteously. “Maisie’s a little way down the field.”
    â€œLet’s take a look,” Kevin said.
    Heathcote led them along the outside of the dry stone wall, the collie keeping them bunched together, until they approached a small gap where time or weather had dislodged the top few layers. “That’s where the killer got in,” he said. “I noticed the gap when I moved the sheep here from the lambing shed yesterday. I was coming to mend it when I saw the buzzards circling. Zach was acting skittish-like, so I was watching out. Elsewise I would have trampled over his tracks.”
    Kevin knelt to examine the prints, brushing away loose dirt and pebbles. “Man’s size nine or ten, I’d wager. There’s a lot of overlapping where he came and went. Not enough definition for a cast.”
    â€œYou’ll have to clamber over to see Maisie, I’m afraid. The through-stone will give you a leg up.” A couple of feet away, Heathcote stepped onto a protruding stone, swung himself over, and dropped to the ground. Kevin and Danutia followed.
    The body of the ewe lay some twenty feet away, concealed by a rocky outcrop. High above, buzzards circled. Danutia drew her jacket closer against a sudden gust of wind. Crows hopped away as they drew near. She stared down at the lifeless clump of wool. An empty eye socket, crawling with blue bottles, stared back at her. The eye had been removed with a sharp instrument, not pecked out. Strips of tissue had been cut from the jaw, the teats had been removed, and a hole had been cut in the belly near the foreleg. The foreleg was black and white, like its face. The hind leg was missing.
    â€œProbably removed some internal organs,” Kevin said. “There’s not much blood, so its neck is likely broken. We’ll leave it to a vet to do a complete necropsy. Any others killed or wounded?”
    The farmer shook his head. “No, but I’ll likely lose the orphans. Grits are good mothers, but they’ll not take kindly to strange sucklings at this age. Could be worse. Last year I lost twenty head to rustlers. Guess I should put some llamas in the field, like my neighbor. Mean bastards, llamas are.”
    â€œWell, we’ll see what we can do,” Kevin said as they headed to their vehicles. He backed to a pullout and turned around. “After that, I need a pint. What do you say to stopping in at the Reward?”
    Danutia looked from Kevin to the dashboard clock and back again. “It’s only 10:45. That’s a little early, isn’t it?”
    â€œPub opens at eleven,” Kevin said. “It will take us fifteen minutes to get there.”
    â€œThat wasn’t what I meant,” Danutia said.
    Kevin grinned, his teeth startlingly white in his sun-reddened face. “I know. Say, how was your trip to Manchester?”
    Danutia was relieved that he’d avoided the subject of Heathcote’s mutilated sheep. Before she could