Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (best desktop ebook reader .TXT) 📗

Dehan gave a small, humorless laugh. “You won’t be. Reverend, you mentioned yesterday that Simon had taken out substantial insurance coverage…”

He gave two or three big nods. “Oh, indeed. He took his duties as a husband and a father very seriously. Yes, he left Sylvie very well provided for.”

“Were you aware of the size or nature of the coverage? Was it, for example, something that he or she ever discussed with you?”

His face went a little pale. He stared at Dehan and then turned back to me. “Am I to understand, Detectives, that I am a suspect in your investigation?”

I smiled and took a moment to answer. “These are routine questions, Reverend. We are trying to arrive at the truth, and sometimes that means asking innocent people questions that might sound offensive.” I sat forward and leaned my elbows on the table next to Dehan’s. “So, were you aware of the insurance coverage he had taken out for her?”

He shook his head, frowning. “No, we never discussed anything of the sort. I became aware of it after he had died. Speaking about finances makes me uncomfortable and he knew that.”

I pressed him. “I assume you helped her to sort out all the details…”

“Naturally, Detective, we all did. We are a Christian community…”

Dehan grunted. “Did Sylvie know about the insurance?”

His frown deepened. “How could I possibly know that, Detective?”

I scratched my chin. “At what time did you leave for the Cavendishes’ that afternoon?”

“I don’t recall.” He laughed. “It was almost twenty years ago! But if we were due to dine at seven or seven thirty, then I imagine I would have left at five or five thirty.”

“Sure. You drove?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Reverend, what is the nature of the relationship between yourself and Sylvie?”

“I beg your pardon?” His eyes were bright with anger.

I frowned at him, like he didn’t make sense to me. I said, “It is a very simple question, Reverend. I don’t know why it should cause offense. I am asking if you and Sylvie are intimate. What is the precise nature of your relationship?”

“We most certainly are not intimate! I am her pastor and her friend, no more!”

Dehan was watching him intently. She interrupted him. “What is it about that question that causes you offense, Reverend? As far as I am aware, Methodist pastors can marry…”

“Naturally, we can…”

“So a relationship with an attractive, available woman like Sylvie is perfectly feasible…”

“Well, yes, but I mean to say! That is not the nature of our relationship! What you are implying is appalling!”

I raised an eyebrow. “That you colluded? That you were accomplices?”

“How can you even imagine such a thing! I have devoted my entire life to helping people in the service of God. And she… well, she is as close to being as angelic as any woman can be!”

Dehan raised her eyebrows high on her forehead. “Wow! That is high praise indeed.”

He took a deep breath. His cheeks were flushed. “I have perhaps expressed myself too forcefully. I must say I do not take it kindly that I came here in good faith to offer information and you have ambushed me into giving you an entirely erroneous impression. I have great admiration for Sylvie, but nothing more. If there had been any more, you may be sure we would have acted on it by now.”

I made a face like I understood him and regretted our questions. “A murder investigation is not a pretty thing, Reverend. At the moment, nobody is a suspect, and everybody is. That’s just the way it goes. We are grateful for your cooperation, but listen, just before you go. I wanted to ask you about Humberto…”

I watched his face really carefully. It did a lot of things. He blinked a few times. He frowned and his eyes narrowed. His lips contracted a few times like he was about to say something, but thought better of it. Finally, he said, “What about him? You surely can’t suspect him!”

I grinned. “I refer you to my previous answer. What’s his story? Where is he from? What is that language he speaks? Rumor has it you adopted him. Is that true?”

“No, it is not true. I did not adopt him. Rumor is just another word for gossip, Detective, and it is best to be ignored.”

Dehan snorted. “Unless you’re a cop. Then you find the subject of the gossip and you ask them to clarify the rumor. We call it following up on a lead.”

He studied her face a minute, then looked back at me. “The way he speaks is called Idioglossia. It is a form of language which he has created himself, out of Latin, especially liturgical Latin, Spanish, Portuguese, and a wide smattering of neologies, created by himself on a broad Latin base.”

“What has caused him to create a language based entirely on Latin languages, with no English at all?”

He shook his head. “I have no way of answering your questions, Detective. Have they any relevance at all to your investigation, or are they merely the product of unseemly curiosity?”

“I won’t know that,” I said, “until I get the answers.”

He looked me straight in the eye. “I can assure you that Humberto is the gentlest, kindest person you are ever to likely encounter, and he is incapable of causing harm even to an insect at that.”

I nodded. “No doubt you are right, Reverend. Thank you for coming in and giving us your information. We really appreciate it.”

He stood, gave me a look that said he’d think twice before volunteering to help the cops in future, nodded at Dehan, and left without shaking my hand.

“I think he’s upset,” she said to her fingers as she drummed them on the Formica tabletop. “I think he wanted a smiley sticker for having been a good boy.”

“You