Human Rites

Book 5: The Beatrice Stubbs Series

by JJ Marsh

Genres: International Crime & Mystery; Crime & Mystery; Crime Fiction; detective; female sleuth; contemporary fiction; european location; art

Synopsis

Judgement is in the eye of the beholder

Adrian Harvey, London wine merchant, has lost the Christmas spirit. Someone is stalking him, stealing his post and vandalising his shop. When the police question him after an anonymous tip-off, he's more than anxious. He's scared. And who is that nun?

Long time neighbour and friend DI Beatrice Stubbs is dispatched to Germany to investigate a series of apparently related art thefts, so Adrian seizes the chance to flee the city. He follows her to Hamburg to do some Christmas shopping and visit his ex. Yet the stalker is still on his heels.

While Beatrice is on the trail of a violent gang of mercenary thieves, Adrian runs from danger to the remote island of Sylt. But danger follows and Adrian has run too far.

From the icy streets of Hamburg, to the canals of Amsterdam, and the snowswept beaches of Sylt, Beatrice and Adrian discover how a virtue taken to extremes can lead to deadly sin.


Each book works as a stand-alone novel.

If you enjoy Kathy Reichs, LJ Ross and Henning Mankell, you'll love Human Rites.


"Enthralling! The menace of Du Maurier meets the darkness and intrigue of Nordic Noir. Keep the lights on and your wits about you." - Anne Stormont, author of Displacement
"Human Rites has got it all: organised crime, Beatrice Stubbs, nuns, Stollen, wine, Adrian and Expressionist art, with the added delights of a German Christmas, gay men's choirs and a farty Husky. She's back and she's brilliant!" - The Crime Addict




Discover Beatrice Stubbs - detective inspector, metaphor mixer and stubborn survivor:
1. Behind Closed Doors (Switzerland)
2. Raw Material (England/Wales)
3. Tread Softly (Basque County, Spain)
4. Cold Pressed (The Greek Islands)
5. Human Rites (Germany)
6. Bad Apples (Portugal)
7. Snow Angel (England)
8. Honey Trap (Italy)
9. Black Widow (France)
10. White Night (Finland)
11. The Woman in the Frame (Mallorca)
12. All Souls' Day (Belgium)
Plus the exclusive free prequel for newsletter subscribers: Black Dogs, Yellow Butterflies (London) Click for info

Release date: November 14, 2015

Publisher: Prewett Bielmann Ltd.

Print pages: 284

Sample

Chapter 1

 

 A controversial decision, placing a forty-five quid bottle of German Syrah at the top of the tree, but in Adrian’s opinion it was justified. He tied a glass golden star to the neck with red ribbon and angled the spotlight to hit it directly in the middle. Warm and luxurious was what he was aiming for, to create desire in passers-by. He clambered out of the window display with great care, put the spare decorations on the counter and went outside to assess his handiwork.

   “Oh yes,” he murmured. Tapering tiers of wine bottles sparkled dark green under the lights, the claret and emerald baubles spoke of sophistication and the gold star caught the eye as if to say here’s what you’ve been looking for. He waited till a black cab had rattled past and crossed the street to get another perspective. The bottle tree looked beautiful and enticing and seasonal without being tacky. Not an easy feat. Thankfully the garish street lights depicting cartoon reindeer were limited to Shoreditch High Street so nothing detracted from his display.

   He folded his arms against the chill and pretended he was a weary office worker, trudging home in the dark. It was ten to four but dusk had already fallen, and Harvey’s Wine Emporium stood out in the gloomy grey of Bethnal Green Road, a glittering temptation. Shivering but satisfied, Adrian crossed over and checked the alignment of the labels. One pinot noir could be shifted a millimetre to the left, but other than that, it was precision stacking. 

   As he came through the door, Judy Garland’s voice warbled from the speakers. One of the many things Adrian detested about the festive season was the bombardment of truly dreadful Christmas songs from every outlet, but on this occasion, Judy wishing him a merry little one seemed entirely appropriate. He sang along as he adjusted the pinot noir then nipped back outside to be certain of absolute perfection.

   Damp air penetrated his sweater, but the window looked exactly as he’d pictured it. He rubbed his upper arms as he smiled at the rows of hand-picked reds and congratulated himself. That was when he sensed he was being watched. He adjusted his focus. Reflected in the glass was a nun, standing on the opposite pavement, gazing at his shop window. Adrian turned to face her with every intention of fishing for compliments but she’d already begun walking away, her face averted. Embarrassed to be coveting forbidden fruit, no doubt. He returned to Judy, delighted his seasonal arrangement was already having an effect.

 At five o’clock, Catinca arrived for her shift and they worked together for an hour to cover the evening rush. Adrian advised an older couple on dessert wines and directed a stressed suit towards the Date Night selection, while Catinca chirped and cackled at the till. No matter what age or gender, she got a smile or a laugh from every single customer. Adrian suspected some regulars delayed their purchases until after five, so they could enjoy the added bonus of her irrepressible good humour and personal transformations. This evening, the electric blue hair and indigo jumpsuit were no more than a memory. Now she resembled Marlene Dietrich with her dinner jacket, white shirt and a blue-black Mary Quant bob. The only constants were her Converse trainers and Bow Bells-meets-Bucharest accent.

   “Get out of it! You worry about calories? Rubbish! Look at you. And wine is grapes so part of five a day. Cheers mate, here is change.”

   “You like it? Ta very much. No more purple. Is colour of bishops and suicide. Kettle chips go well with cava, want to try new flavour?”

   “Adrian! This lady wants port wine. Tony, not Ruby. Go over and see him, darling, one in stripey jumper.”

   When the activity died down, Adrian fetched his coat from the office and prepared to leave.

   “Catinca, I’m off. Any problems, give me a call. I’m at home tonight. And book a cab to take you home, OK? Just remember to get a receipt.”

   “Yeah, yeah. I never forget. Your window looks cool.” 

   “Do you think so? It took me most of the afternoon but it’s certainly turning heads. Hey, do you know whether nuns are allowed to drink?”

   Catinca thought about it. “Yeah, must be. Is a wine called Blue Nun, innit?”

   “True. Right, have a good evening and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

   “Cheers, mate. Laters. Don’t forget Christmas card.”

   “Thanks. First one I’ve had this year.”

 The Christmas card situation occupied his thoughts on the bus journey home. It wasn’t the first one he’d had, but most of the cards on his mantelpiece were from suppliers, colleagues and the occasional client of the Wine Emporium, all delivered to the shop. In previous years he’d had to clear the windowsills and use the top of the TV to house his collection of robins, snowmen and glittery greetings. But it was mid-December and he’d not even received one from his mum. In fact, he wasn’t sure when he’d last had any post at all.

   When he got home to Boot Street, he immediately checked his mailbox in the communal hall. Empty. Not even any junk. He pushed open the slot bearing the name B. Stubbs. Stuffed to overflowing. He tried S. Fasman. Empty. What was it with the ground floor? He rang Saul’s bell.

   The door opened to a smell of frying onions and Saul wiping his hands on his customary grey jogging suit. Adrian reflected for a second on the irony of the name. Saul was no more likely to jog than Adrian was to take up cage-fighting. 

   “Hello Adrian. All right?”

   “Hi Saul. Sorry to disturb you. Just wondered if you’ve had any problems with the post? Has your mail been getting through?”

   “Yeah. I’ve had all the usual crap, mostly bills and pizza flyers. You waiting for something important?”

   “Not really, it’s just weird there’s been nothing at all for days.”

   “Days? Nah, you had a delivery yesterday. Or was it this morning? I had to buzz the postie in. Package for you. I knew you weren’t home so I said to leave it in the hallway.”

   “When was this?”

   Saul lifted his chin and scratched his rust-coloured beard. “Must have been today, ’cos I was busting a gut to meet my Friday lunchtime deadline. Someone buzzing at the door was the last thing I needed.”

   “But there’s no package out here. No post for me at all. I’ve just checked.”

   “That is weird. Maybe Beatrice picked it up for you?”

   Adrian shook his head. “She’s not home yet. She hasn’t picked up her own mail. He didn’t ask you to sign for it, did he?”

   “Who?”

   “The postie.”

   “No, no, I just pressed the buzzer and let her in.”

   Adrian thanked him and went back to his own flat, planning to call his mother to ask if she’d already sent her cards. He switched on the light and as he closed the door, he noticed a piece of paper on the mat. 

   At first he thought it was blank, but when he flipped it over, there was something typed in the middle of the page.

 

 Romans 6:23

 

 He frowned. Was that a TV schedule, a football score or a bible reference? None would make any sense to him. Without even taking off his coat, he took the paper into his study, opened his laptop and typed the word and numbers into a search engine. 

   He clicked on the first search result for The King James Bible and there in big red letters was the verse.

 

 For the wages of sin is death 
but the gift of God is eternal life 
through Jesus Christ our Lord.**** For more information, visit jjmarshauthor.com

 

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