Liturgical Mysteries 02 The Baritone Wore Chiffon Read Online Free Page A
Author: Mark Schweizer
the center of town and dodging the early morning delivery vans, I found one of the many well-worn rock stairwells leading to the top and started off.
An hour later, I had walked off my lethargy and was back at Minster Yard, ready for another cup of coffee and a piece of toast for breakfast. Hugh was up and making the coffee in a French Press – absolutely the most unhealthy and best tasting coffee that there is.
"Have a nice walk?"
"I did, yes."
"Well," Hugh said, "I have some work to do over at the office, but I'll meet you at nine at the treasury."
"OK. I'll be there."
•••
The Minster Treasury is located in the undercroft and can be viewed by anyone with a couple of pounds for admission. After being introduced to Detective Ronald Blake of the North Yorkshire Police Authority and Frank Worthington of the Minster Police, I followed Hugh and the two officers down the steps, and past the Roman ruins unearthed during repairs to the Minster in the late 60's. I walked through the ancient remains, pausing briefly to look at the columns and the Roman well that still survived from the original fortress. Despite the signs advising against it, there were more than a few coins resting on the rocky bottom, courtesy of "well-wishing" tourists. I hadn't ever seen an actual chalk outline first hand, but there, on the well-worn stones, was a classic rendering. I viewed the scene.
"He was found Monday night after Evensong," Detective Blake said. "Sorry we couldn't leave him here until you could come across. You might have been able to solve the case right away." His sarcasm was evident.
"Hmmm," I said, scratching the back of my neck and trying to look thoughtful. "Maybe I could have. It's hard to say. It's a shame about that revolution, though."
Hugh blanched.
"Huh?" grunted Officer Worthington.
"Well, I'm here now," I said, "and although I'm sure you have the investigation well in hand, for the sake of hands-across-the-sea and all that, maybe you could fill me in."
"Actually, we have no earthly idea why this happened or who did it," said Worthington, trying to avoid the daggers sent his way by the detective's dark look. "This is the most bizarre crime I've ever seen."
"I'll fill you in," said Blake, feigning resignation, "with the facts as we know them. Then you can explain to the family when you get back to the States."
He opened his folder and pulled out a couple of eight by ten photos. The first was an enlargement of a snapshot of a man – slightly built – standing in front of the choir stalls. He had longish brown hair, wire-rim glasses, and a fairly long, well-trimmed beard. The second was of the same man, lying sprawled on the floor in the exact position of the chalk outline.
Detective Blake watched me look over the photos, then opened a notebook and began his recitation.
"The victim's name was Kris Toth. He came to York on a Gillette Fellowship and received a position in the Minster Choir. The choir master and the Dean were glad to have him especially considering the state of the budget and the fact that his fees were paid by the fellowship."
"How did he sing?" I asked.
"Philip says that he was a fairly good baritone," said Hugh. "Not a big voice, but a solid reader."
Blake sniffed impatiently, then continued.
"According to the choir, the victim left the service right after the psalm. That would have been about 5:20. They assumed he was feeling ill. He didn't return and no one saw him again until he was found in the treasury."
"He was found in his choir robe, strangled with a pair of black pantyhose still wrapped around his neck. In his right hand was a cross." Worthington handed me another photo, a close-up of Kris' hand clutching a cross on a chain.
"His prayerbook was there beside him." The detective pointed to the right of the outline.
"Did you check for prints?" I asked.
"We did. The only prints on the cross and the book belonged to the deceased. Another interesting anomaly was the fact that
An hour later, I had walked off my lethargy and was back at Minster Yard, ready for another cup of coffee and a piece of toast for breakfast. Hugh was up and making the coffee in a French Press – absolutely the most unhealthy and best tasting coffee that there is.
"Have a nice walk?"
"I did, yes."
"Well," Hugh said, "I have some work to do over at the office, but I'll meet you at nine at the treasury."
"OK. I'll be there."
•••
The Minster Treasury is located in the undercroft and can be viewed by anyone with a couple of pounds for admission. After being introduced to Detective Ronald Blake of the North Yorkshire Police Authority and Frank Worthington of the Minster Police, I followed Hugh and the two officers down the steps, and past the Roman ruins unearthed during repairs to the Minster in the late 60's. I walked through the ancient remains, pausing briefly to look at the columns and the Roman well that still survived from the original fortress. Despite the signs advising against it, there were more than a few coins resting on the rocky bottom, courtesy of "well-wishing" tourists. I hadn't ever seen an actual chalk outline first hand, but there, on the well-worn stones, was a classic rendering. I viewed the scene.
"He was found Monday night after Evensong," Detective Blake said. "Sorry we couldn't leave him here until you could come across. You might have been able to solve the case right away." His sarcasm was evident.
"Hmmm," I said, scratching the back of my neck and trying to look thoughtful. "Maybe I could have. It's hard to say. It's a shame about that revolution, though."
Hugh blanched.
"Huh?" grunted Officer Worthington.
"Well, I'm here now," I said, "and although I'm sure you have the investigation well in hand, for the sake of hands-across-the-sea and all that, maybe you could fill me in."
"Actually, we have no earthly idea why this happened or who did it," said Worthington, trying to avoid the daggers sent his way by the detective's dark look. "This is the most bizarre crime I've ever seen."
"I'll fill you in," said Blake, feigning resignation, "with the facts as we know them. Then you can explain to the family when you get back to the States."
He opened his folder and pulled out a couple of eight by ten photos. The first was an enlargement of a snapshot of a man – slightly built – standing in front of the choir stalls. He had longish brown hair, wire-rim glasses, and a fairly long, well-trimmed beard. The second was of the same man, lying sprawled on the floor in the exact position of the chalk outline.
Detective Blake watched me look over the photos, then opened a notebook and began his recitation.
"The victim's name was Kris Toth. He came to York on a Gillette Fellowship and received a position in the Minster Choir. The choir master and the Dean were glad to have him especially considering the state of the budget and the fact that his fees were paid by the fellowship."
"How did he sing?" I asked.
"Philip says that he was a fairly good baritone," said Hugh. "Not a big voice, but a solid reader."
Blake sniffed impatiently, then continued.
"According to the choir, the victim left the service right after the psalm. That would have been about 5:20. They assumed he was feeling ill. He didn't return and no one saw him again until he was found in the treasury."
"He was found in his choir robe, strangled with a pair of black pantyhose still wrapped around his neck. In his right hand was a cross." Worthington handed me another photo, a close-up of Kris' hand clutching a cross on a chain.
"His prayerbook was there beside him." The detective pointed to the right of the outline.
"Did you check for prints?" I asked.
"We did. The only prints on the cross and the book belonged to the deceased. Another interesting anomaly was the fact that
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