Блейк Крауч - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 133, No. 5. Whole No. 813, May 2009

“What did the girl do?”

“She went to put on her clothes in the corner. I think I remember her shouting at him again, ‘What the HELL is going on?’ Or something like that. I wanted her out of the apartment, for her own safety, of course. As I said, I know how Jimmy can be when his blood is up.”

“And you weren’t concerned for your own safety?” asked Perrone.

Her head swiveled back and forth. “No. Though he shouts and berates, he’s never raised a hand to me. At least, not until tonight.”

“Tell us,” urged Perrone.

“I reiterated that I wanted the girl out of here. He shouted something like, ‘You never want me to have anyone! You don’t want me to be happy!’ As if I would deny him his life. As I said, the boy is delusional. Anyway, we kept arguing back and forth, the poor girl having to listen to the whole thing, until finally Jimmy grabbed the screwdriver. His face was... I’ve never seen him like that, the pure anger, the rage. He stepped toward me, shouting — and I’ll never forget this — He said, ‘I’ll take you apart piece by piece!’ Can you imagine such a grisly notion?”

“Hard to believe,” straight-faced Stockel.

The old woman ignored him and pressed on. “He stood over me, raising that screwdriver, red in the face, spittle flying from his mouth. I have to admit I was frightened to death, but I stood my ground. As calmly as I could I said, ‘Jimmy, you don’t want to do this. Please send the girl away and we’ll get you the help you need.’ He stared at me with his eyes so huge, still intending to use the screwdriver. Then I heard the girl in the corner shout, ‘You’re messed up!’, though she peppered it with some very unladylike language. Something seemed to snap in Jimmy. He turned and rushed toward her, stabbing her over and over. I shouted for him to stop, but he didn’t. Not until he’d tuckered himself out. That poor, poor girl.”

Perrone glanced across the room. Serena Mayes was dead on the floor, slick with blood, eyes gouged out. Crime-scene investigators continued their examination of the room.

“One of the neighbors must have called nine-one-one. All the noise and everything.” She coughed, a deep throaty rumble, too big to be coming from such a tiny thing.

Stockel decided to play good cop. “Would you like a glass of water for that cough, ma’am?”

“Is that some sort of joke about our act, Detective?”

“No joke, ma’am. I told you before, I’ve got no sense of humor. If I did, I wouldn’t be so irritated standing here talking to you.”

Stockel turned to his older, more patient partner. “Really, man, how long are we going to play this game? He’s the one we’ve got to talk to.”

He jabbed a stubby finger at Jimmy, the young man with the blood-spattered shirt and the stone-frozen grin on his face, sitting before them.

“We ARE talking to him,” said Perrone. “And he’s been quite helpful.”

“Thank you, Detective. Thank you for understanding,” said the old woman sitting on Jimmy’s lap.

“We’ll make sure your son gets the help he needs,” comforted Perrone.

“Thank you.”

Stockel rolled his eyes.

Perrone got the attention of a uniformed officer near the door.

The cop came over, placed an arm on Jimmy’s shoulder.

“Take him downtown and park him in interrogation room three,” said Perrone. “I’ll be there when I can. Have Doc Wozer take a crack. Be sure he knows the kid won’t respond to questions, but his mother’s plenty talkative.”

The officer scrunched his eyebrows, baffled.

Stockel translated, “Tell Doc to talk to the dummy.”

At that, the old wooden woman stared at him with eyelids at half-mast, affecting a glare. Jimmy did the same, a scowl affixed to his visage in mimicry of his mother-puppet.

“You’re an unpleasant man, Detective,” said the ventriloquist’s dummy.

“You said that already,” replied Stockel. Then he stared Jimmy in the eye. “You’re not half bad at that, kid. Too bad you’re nuts.”

Jimmy carried the wooden Mrs. Santoni in the crook of his arm as he was led away by the officer and out the door.

“There goes one disturbed individual,” sadly intoned Perrone.

Stockel crossed to an old wooden steamer trunk on the table, one end of it decorated with peeling decals from various ports of call, its leather carrying strap cracked with age. He lifted the lid, looked inside at the red velvet lining. “He should’ve kept her locked up.” Then he pondered, “You think they’ll let him take her to the joint with him?”

“That’d be something,” said Perrone.

Stockel once again surveyed the crime scene and shook his head. “Man... the paperwork.”

©2009 by Brian Muir

Of the increasing number of mysteries with a religious background, some feature sleuths in the tradition of Father Brown, Rabbi Small, Sister Ursula, and Brother Cadfael. Others exploit sacred institutions as a backdrop for bizarre crimes. While some are celebratory and inspirational, others are skeptical and debunking; some ad-dress real moral and theological conflicts, and others expose charlatans and hypocrites. Beginning the round-up below are two polemical novels that come from very different places on the social/political/culture wars spectrum. Both explore contemporary religious issues with unusual depth and (allowing for their disparate vantage points) balance.

*** Jane Haddam: Living Witness , Minotaur, $25.95. The controversy over Intelligent Design in the public school curriculum of a small Pennsylvania town culminates in a life-threatening attack on a nonagenarian gadfly and two subsequent murders. Former FBI agent and latter-day super sleuth Gregor Demarkian investigates, leaving to his blue blood Philadelphia fiancee the contentious planning of their coming wedding, which involves its own religious controversy. Haddam specializes in intricate puzzle plotting, well-realized characters, and clear-headed exploration of ideas and issues.

*** Larry Beinhart: Salvation Boulevard , Nation Books, $24.95. When an atheist college professor at a fictitious Southwestern university is murdered and an Islamic student is accused, his Jewish defense attorney employs a born-again Christian P.I., who belongs to the congregation of a charismatic televangelist. Though some of the melodramatic developments and character reversals strain belief, this expertly written and consistently absorbing thriller has a surprisingly thoughtful and nuanced consideration of contemporary religious views. A closing note indicates that the outrageous scam at the center of the plot has a precedent in recent history.

*** Ben Rehder: Holy Moly , St. Martin’s Minotaur, $24.95. The skull of a prehistoric Alamosaurus is found by a backhoe operator on the property of yet another fundamentalist televangelist, this one of the prosperity gospel type. Competing values — the bone’s monetary and embarrassment potential — send a variety of well-drawn characters after this archaeological MacGuffin, while game warden John Marlin investigates the bow-and-arrow murder of the backhoe driver. This fast-moving, cross-cutting farcical mystery bears comparisonto Donald E. Westlake’s comic thrillers. If you guess the murderer,you’re good.

*** Kate Charles: Deep Waters , Poisoned Pen, $24.95. In her third outing, young Anglican curate Callie Anson, a likeable and fully realized character, confronts problems romantic (her relationship with a Roman Catholic cop), domestic (her necessary co-existence with the vicar’s wife), and professional (dealing with the family of an infant who may have been murdered). The baby is the daughter of dimwitted short-term celebrities Jodee and Chazz, known for their graphic coupling on a British TV reality show. The solutions to the baby’s death and another suspected murder may not satisfy fans of formal detection, but I can highly recommend this novel for its smooth style, expert management of a large cast of interesting people, and insights into 21st-century attitudes to fame and celebrity.