The Connicle Curse by Gregory Harris Page A

espousing the basest possibility?”
    â€œHow dare you—”
    â€œAnswer the damn question,” Inspector Varcoe cut in.
    Denton Ross flicked his eyes between Colin and Varcoe, a look of distaste pinching his mouth. “We’ll find it once the sun comes up.”
    â€œOh, bloody hell!” Varcoe growled as he waved a couple of his men over. “You lot start looking for a rock around here with blood and god knows what other kind of matter on it. And you, Mr. Ross . . .” He leveled a damning gaze at Denton. “I don’t give a ruddy shite what you think . I want the facts! ” He shoved himself past all of us before suddenly turning and adding, “And don’t you or your toady touch a damn thing, Pendragon. I’ll not have you fouling this scene to prove your conjectures.”
    â€œConjectures?”
    â€œThere is currently NO indication of any connection between this man’s death and the ritualistic killing yesterday of Edmond Connicle,” he seethed. “And I will thank you to remember that.” He shifted his gaze to Denton Ross and stabbed a finger toward him. “I want your full report on my desk by midday. Do you understand? !” He didn’t wait for an answer but instead stalked off toward the driveway muttering his fury.
    â€œI’ve hardly slept this entire night,” Denton Ross fumed in the inspector’s wake. “And now, because of you, I have a blasted deadline. So piss off! ” To my surprise Colin immediately stepped back, so I did the same. While I was certain Denton hoped we would move off completely, I knew he was grateful to get whatever he could.
    The young man who assisted Denton slumped forward with a stretcher rolled up under one arm. He set it on the ground next to Albert’s remains and kicked it open with an irrefutable look of disinterest. “Ready,” he muttered before they knelt down and grabbed Albert’s body, Denton at his shoulders, the assistant grabbing the twisted legs. Rigor mortis had already begun to set in, leaving Albert looking like a broken wooden doll, stiff and contorted in ways he was never meant to bend.
    â€œYou must forgive me,” Colin spoke up delicately once they had set the body onto the stretcher. “I didn’t notice any particular sort of trauma point on the prone side of the face. Where did you get the idea that he struck a rock when he fell?”
    Denton’s face puckered. “I am not about to explain my process to an amateur and his sycophant.”
    Colin allowed the ghost of a grin to settle on his face. “Speculation can hardly be called a process. Surely you can see that this man did not die as a result of blunt trauma to his head. He was murdered elsewhere and quite deliberately placed in that deformed position to make it appear that he had fallen from that tree.”
    â€œYou don’t know anything.”
    Colin sighed with unaccustomed patience. “Have you asked yourself why he was in the tree? I don’t see any shears or a saw, so he couldn’t have been trying to prune it. Do you suppose he was just up there waiting to enjoy the sunrise?”
    â€œWell, how the hell would I know that?!” Denton bristled with annoyance. “It’s not my job to explain the whim of every nutter who runs into trouble.”
    â€œRuns into trouble? He’s dead, man.”
    â€œI know what he is!” Denton snarled, spittle flying from his lips. “Lift!” he shouted at his aide, and the two of them roughly hoisted the stretcher up.
    As they began to move off, Colin spoke up once more. “You will find abrasions on the prone side of Albert’s face and chest consistent with having been dragged behind a horse. I’d say you’ll also find contusions from a rope around one or both of his ankles or wrists. That man was murdered and dragged here, Mr. Ross, as surely as this day is upon us.”
    Neither