The Dead Songbird (The Northminster Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF

flesh of the neck. “Or at least bruising of some description.” Then with a flick of his finger he had pulled back an eyelid. “Dilated pupils. That’s interesting, certainly.”
    “A ligature!” exclaimed Watkins. “Are you saying –?”
    “I’m not saying anything yet,” said Carswell.
    “A ligature – that means strangulation,” said Watkins. “Dear Lord above! Strangulation! But who in the world want to strangle poor Charlie Barnes? Why, he was practically a child!”
    “Mr Carswell is only speculating at this point, Mr Watkins,” said Giles. “What caused this remains to be seen.”
    “Something – somebody caused it,” Watkins said. “You just don’t lie down and die like that. Charlie was as fit as a fiddle. This... this is murder! There is no other word for it!”
    Whatever it is, it is strange, thought Giles staring down at the carefully arranged body while Carswell continued his cursory examination.
    “But who on earth would wish to murder young Barnes?” said Lambert. “I shall have to go and tell the Dean,” he added with a sigh.
    “Yes, you had better. And you, Mr Watkins, you can tell me everything you know about Mr Barnes.”
    Carswell stood calmly making his sketch while Giles led Watkins to one of the benches by the side.
    “Everything?” Watkins said after a minute.
    “Every little thing that you can,” said Giles, taking out his notebook.
    “Well, he’s... he was,” Watkins corrected himself with a gulp, “one of my best tenors, with an exceptional range. Very sweet, pure voice that blends well. Perfect top notes. Could sing alto at a pinch. And getting better everyday. Just the sort of man one needs. Last Sunday for example, I gave him the solo in the Nunc – Bryce in F, and he sight sang it at short notice and did a good job. Perhaps you heard it?”
    “I was away on Sunday,” said Giles.
    “Usually Harrison would have done it but he was ill. Or at least said he was – I’m not sure he wasn’t exaggerating. Jos Harrison has a touch of the prima donna about him, on occasion, but I let him get away with it, because he is so exceptional.” The words faded and Watkins glanced away, overcome for a moment. “What will I tell him, for God’s sake? He will be heart-broken.”
    “Mr Harrison is another of the Vicars Choral?”
    “My other first-class tenor, yes.”
    “And they were close, Mr Barnes and Mr Harrison?”
    Watkins nodded.
    “Like brothers,” he said. “This will be dreadful news for Harrison. I should go and find him.”
    “All in good time, Mr Watkins,” said Giles. “What can you tell me about Mr Barnes’ family? Was he a Northminster man?”
    “I don’t think so. Not by birth. But he lived with his uncle – can’t recall the name – but he’s that bookbinder down the little lane past the White Hart. Charlie was still apprenticed to him – that was the trade he was supposed to be learning but his heart was not in it, and I think with good reason. He was not just a fine singer but he was a promising organist.”
    “Sledmere, perhaps?” said Giles.
    “That’s the fellow. Heavens, what a specimen he is! I took a few scores in there for repair and he treated me as I was asking him to bind some obscene portfolio. Practically a dissenter. He did not like Charlie singing at the Minster, I am sure of that. I think he believes that music is the work of the devil.” Watkins shook his head.
    “And did Mr Barnes have a sweetheart?” Giles asked.
    “I don’t think so,” said Watkins. “But you should talk to Jos Harrison. He knew him better than I did.”
    “I will,” said Giles.
    “I should like to have known him better. I had hoped to. I have not been here so very long, you see, Major Vernon, and, perhaps a little preoccupied in my spare time with various matters...” Watkins got up walked over to the body, and stood gazing down at it. “And now I shall never know him, shall I? Or hear that wonderful voice again. I was writing a