Kultus by Richard Ford Read Free Book Online Page A

even so called ‘exemplars’ of the Judicature. It wouldn’t have been so bad but the plain grey doublet and trousers that made up an Indagator’s uniform could hardly be considered prurient.
    ‘Must we persist with this constant duelling,’ said Amelia, her tone reflecting her despondency with Surrey’s games.
    ‘But Amelia, we play so well together.’
    ‘See fit to show yourself out. I would hate for Bounder or Hodge to accidentally step on you… three or maybe four times.’
    Surrey’s smile never broke as he strode past the trio. He even had the gall to give Hodge a sly wink on the way.
    Amelia turned her attention back to the task at hand. Lying on the concrete floor of the warehouse was a body. The face glared upwards, mouth open in a rictus grin. One of the limbs was stiffened in rigor, telling the Indagator that he had been killed sometime in the past three days. His clothes were in tatters, covered in lacerations, but the cause of death seemed obvious, a huge wound to the chest that still lay open, exposing the whiteness of ribs.
    ‘What do we have?’ Amelia demanded of a morticianeer as he hustled by.
    The man stopped, adjusting the heavy magnifying lenses that sat on his nose, and turned his attention to the body. ‘Well, this happens to be the Earl of Westowe, though I guess he has seen better days.’ He opened his mouth in a wide, crooked grin. When Amelia gave no reaction he continued. ‘He’s obviously male, in his forties. He has minor lacerations to his limbs which occurred pre-mortem . His wrists have some abrasions which suggest he was tied down. Cause of death: a blow to the chest with a sharp object and subsequent removal of the heart. I think we can safely rule out suicide.’
    The morticianeer began to snort uncontrollably. Amelia could only assume it was his version of a laugh, but then morticianeers were not known for their sense of humour.
    ‘That’s very helpful,’ said Amelia, pushing the morticianeer along. He went on his way, still sniggering to himself.
    Beuphalus of Westowe. Amelia had heard of the Earl, and not in the most salubrious of circles either. The late Earl had certain habits, a penchant for narcotics amongst other things that could only be found in the Cistern. She made a mental note to pay a visit to that subterranean hive later.
    Amelia stood for a few moments, taking in the scene, trying her hardest to avoid the dead man’s gaze. This was always the worst part of an investigation, examination of the body. It never failed to disconcert her; despite the number of times she had done it.
    The lack of blood around the corpse suggested that the Earl had been murdered elsewhere and his body emptied of all fluids. The warehouse itself was abandoned and unregistered, so no leads there. It was most likely a well-chosen spot that the perpetrators must have known was empty.
    She knelt down beside the prone carcass to take a closer look at the plethora of wounds, trying her best to disregard that grinning face and dead eyes. No matter how many bodies she saw, Amelia still hated to see the looks on their faces.
    The lesions on the Earl’s wrists had been made by a thick object. Had it been a rope there would be several telltale marks, but this looked more like it had been done by a handcuff or manacle. As she looked closer, Amelia noticed something further up the Earl’s forearm. She reached out, grasping the wrist and pulling the shirtsleeve back to reveal more of the pale flesh. As she touched the body she was suddenly glad of her leather gloves. Even with the scant material covering her hand she could still feel the iciness of the dead tissue beneath her fingertips.
    On the Earl’s arm was a fading tattoo in the shape of a stylised V. It was surrounded by a thorny vine that wrapped itself around the letter like an eager lover. It more resembled something one might find on the arm of a dockside swabber than an heir to the Noble Houses. She glanced round at her