The Murder Room (Adam Dalgliesh Mystery Series #12)
P. D. James
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Murders present meet murders past in P.D. James’s latest harrowing, thought-provoking thriller.
Commander Adam Dalgliesh is already acquainted with the Dupayne--a museum dedicated to the interwar years, with a room celebrating the most notorious murders of that time--when he is called to investigate the killing of one of the family trustees. He soon discovers that the victim was seeking to close the museum against the wishes of the fellow trustees and the Dupayne's devoted staff. Everyone, it seems, has something to gain from the crime. When it becomes clear that the murderer has been inspired by the real-life crimes from the murder room--and is preparing to kill again--Dalgliesh knows that to solve this case he has to get into the mind of a ruthless killer.
has to do with. Celia Mellock was a student at Swathling’s, you are the joint Principal, she’s been found dead in your museum.” “If you put it like that.” “I do put it like that. We need to inform the next of kin. There are other ways of finding their address but this is the quickest.” Caroline made no further objection. She lifted the telephone receiver. “Miss Cosgrove? I need the address and telephone number of Celia Mellock’s mother. The file is in the left-hand cabinet, the ex-student
have information about possible visitors.” They turned to Dr. Kynaston’s post-mortem report which had been received an hour previously. Taking his copy, Piers said, “Attending one of Doc Kynaston’s PMs may be instructive, but it’s hardly therapeutic. It isn’t so much the remarkable thoroughness and precision of his butchery, it’s his choice of music. I don’t expect a chorus from The Yeoman of the Guard, but Agnus Dei from Fauré’s Requiem is hard to take given the circumstances. I thought you
silent procession down from the darkness. She was aware that the two women had turned and were regarding her. Then the tableau broke up. Caroline Dupayne said briskly, “All right then, Muriel, I’ll leave you to lock up and set the alarm.” With a brief good-night directed at neither Muriel nor Tally, she strode to the door and was gone. Muriel opened the key cupboard and took out the front door and security keys. She said, “Miss Caroline and I have checked the rooms so you needn’t stay. I had
details, just that a man had been burnt to death in a car at the Dupayne Museum. I knew then that it was Neville.” She didn’t look at him but the hands lying in her lap clenched and unclenched. She said, “Please tell me, I have to know. Was he murdered?” “We can’t be absolutely sure at present. I think it likely that he was. In any case we have to treat his death as suspicious. If this proves to be murder, then we need to know as much as possible about the victim. That’s why I’m here. His
the clinic taking dictation, discussing his week’s appointments. When you love someone you long to meet your lover’s every need, but you can’t, can you? No one can. We can only give what the other person is willing to take. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” Dalgliesh thought, Hasn’t it always been like this? People tell me things. I don’t need to probe or question, they tell. It had begun when he was a young detective sergeant and then it had surprised and intrigued him,