Sign of the Cross Read Online Free PDF

what looked like hatred. A greenish tinge to the forehead gave a first hint of decomposition.
    Spike formed the photographs into a pile and passed them back, hand now steady. ‘My uncle was not capable of this.’
    ‘His prints were the only ones on the knife.’
    ‘Someone could have broken in. Dressed the scene.’
    ‘A ground-floor apartment? The front door triple-bolted, the windows barred? In order to gain entry, my Mobile Squad had to take a hacksaw to the bedroom window . . .’
    Spike looked over at the photographs on the desk. Teresa was missing her dressing-gown cord, he saw.
    ‘The only other prints in the flat were your aunt’s. They didn’t even have domestic help.’
    ‘Assuming for one moment it was murder–suicide – what’s the motive?’
    Azzopardi glanced down at his perfectly filed nails. ‘There’s an aspect of the case we’ve chosen to treat with delicacy.’
    ‘Which is?’
    ‘The pathologist who carried out the post-mortem on your aunt. He found traces of spermicide. The quantity suggested use of a condom.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘So in Malta, married couples don’t tend to indulge much in contraception. Especially when they’re of a certain age.’ Azzopardi pressed on hurriedly. ‘Forensic tests on your uncle showed no indications of recent sexual activity. No prophylactics of any kind were found in the flat . . .’
    ‘So you’re trying to tell me my aunt was having an affair?’
    Azzopardi returned to the file, flicking through like an estate agent seeking particulars of the right property. Lighting upon one photograph, he passed it over. A broken bottle; next came an image of a towel discarded by the kitchen doorway. ‘Your aunt’s prints were all over the bottle of rum,’ Azzopardi said, leaning back again in his chair. ‘Your uncle downs half before confronting her. They struggle, the towel falls. She grabs the bottle and breaks it over his head. Then he really loses it. They’re in the kitchen, he goes for a knife. An argument over adultery turns into a bloodbath. It’s a common scenario, even in Malta. Just rarely with this much violence.’ A note of relish had crept into Azzopardi’s voice; Spike gave him back the photographs the wrong way up.
    ‘Any DNA evidence from this third party?’
    Azzopardi shook his head.
    ‘Then why aren’t you trying to track him down?’
    Azzopardi glanced up at the icon of the madonna. ‘As you may have noticed, Mr Sanguinetti, Malta remains an extremely Catholic country. Until recently, the Church wouldn’t allow the burial of suicides on holy ground. Abortion is still banned, we’ve only just legalised divorce. Do you know the only two countries behind us in that regard? The Vatican and the Philippines.’ He hazarded a sympathetic smile. ‘You want the whole of Valletta society to know your aunt had a lover on the side? At times like this the police prefer . . . discretion.’
    ‘Church and police in perfect harmony.’
    ‘You got it,’ Azzopardi said, apparently missing the ironic tone.
    Spike put his palms to his cheeks, feeling the rasp of fresh stubble. When he looked back, a business card had appeared between Azzopardi’s elegant fingers. ‘Any questions, you can reach me here at the Depot.’
    ‘The Depot?’
    ‘Our local word for the police station.’ He stood. ‘Let me show you out.’
    Spike declined, walking alone through the squad room back to the foyer, where the fat duty sergeant still sat at his booth, filling in forms.
    Out in the square, Spike leaned against the side wall of the Curia, jaw clenched as he steadied his breathing. Then he turned back towards Valletta.
    4
    Just 6.10 p.m. and the city was deserted. A cool February breeze was gusting in off the Mediterranean up the deep, straight gullies of the streets. Spike could see why Jean de Valette, Grand Master of the Knights, had chosen a grid structure for his city: ventilation. He tugged down the sleeves of his navy V-neck and continued towards Triq