Deadly Sin by James Hawkins Read Free Book Online

Daphne Lovelace back to the labyrinth, a wide-peaked red hat plonked fiercely over her forehead. Sunday tea was a disaster: they came, they ate, they went, Misty and RobJenkins and the little Jenkinses — three teenage thugs, in Daphne’s eyes, with tattoos and metal rings in every painful place and iPods that were never off. “The dogs?” they said. “Just puppies.” The stereo? “Ignore it.” Late-night revelries? “Boys will be boys.” Motorbikes? “A Yammy and a Kawasaki,” said Rob Jenkins as if Daphne should be impressed. “And I’m savin’ up for a Harley,” piped up one of the lesser Jenkinses, and at that point Daphne decided she might as well keep the second Victoria sponge for herself.
    The spectre of a long-haired woman drifts out of nowhere as Daphne circles the labyrinth with her eyes down, seeking inspiration, or at least some peace and quiet.
    â€œOh dear. I can feel your pain,” says the woman as she slowly passes on an adjacent path.
    â€œAren’t we supposed to keep silent?” whispers Daphne a touch harshly from under her hat.
    â€œI could hear you from over there,” insists the woman, bringing Daphne to a confused halt, protesting, “I haven’t said anything.”
    â€œNot you — your soul. Crying out; searching for answers; seeking salvation before you journey into the next world.”
    Daphne steps back and lifts her hat to take a close look at the spindly, barefoot, and obviously bra-less middle-aged woman, thinking,
A peony in her hair and a guitar and she could have walked straight here from Woodstock.
    â€œLet me help you, Daphne,” the woman continues as she takes the older woman’s hand and peers into her eyes.
    â€œHow do you know my name?” shoots back Daphne, forgetting that she signed the visitors’ book at the entrance.
    â€œThe Lord is all-seeing. He has sent me.”
    â€œThat’s good of him,” she says as she looks around praying for help from a less ethereal source. Then the woman hands her a business card and echoes the information.
    â€œAngel Robinson, spiritual guide and psychic,” she says, adding, “Give me a call when you’re ready,” as she drifts away.
    â€œI should get her to contact Maggie and Phil,” muses Daphne half-seriously. “Perhaps she can find out what I did to upset them.”
    â€œI expect nothing — I repeat, nothing — to mar today’s proceedings, Chief Inspector,” Fox warned Friday morning before leaving to conduct operations at the scene, and as noon approaches, Bliss makes a final check to ensure that everyone is in place.
    â€œIt’s in the lap of the gods now,” he says to Sergeant Williams as the pageant begins and he hears the BBC welcoming listeners to “this monumental occasion” while reminding them that it was only recently that the Queen was described as the enemy of Islam by some of the more radical imams.
    The procession is flawless. The cameras work. There are no stray aircraft, no rooftop snipers, and few rubber-neckers along the route.
    â€œSo far so good,” Bliss sighs as the motorcade makes it through the centre of London unhindered, and by the time he checks back with the BBC they have wheeled in an expert to dissect the body theocratic.
    â€œThis is a difficult time for the Crown,” admits the sage. “Not only are we seeing a growing rift between Christianity and Islam as well as outbreaks of ethnic violence between Hindus and Sikhs, but there are splits within the Anglican Church itself over the ordination of women, same-sex unions, and voluntary euthanasia. In addition, there is a rise in anti-Semitism, continuing sex scandals in the Catholic Church, not to mention the growing movement of radical evangelism.”
    â€œThat just about says it all,” says Bliss as he switches his focus to the front of the mosque, where