Fifth Son: An Inspector Green Mystery
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Accident or suicide? That’s the simple question put to Inspector Michael Green when a derelict stranger falls to his death from an abandoned church tower in a quiet river village at the edge of his jurisdiction. But when the victim turns out be a long lost son of a local farm family cursed in recent years by tragedy, madness and death, Green begins to suspect something far more sinister is at work. Probing the family’s past, he uncovers a toxic mix of rigid fundamentalism, teenage rebellion and a family secret so horrific that twenty years later, someone is still desperate to prevent the truth from coming to light.
man had been well cared for. Which Lawrence certainly would have been, courtesy of Ontario’s health care system. Had Lawrence left Brockville and made his way by bus, thumb or foot all the way back to his childhood home? If so, why? What in that strange tin can collection had he been desperate to retrieve after all these years? Why had he fled to his old church? And most importantly, had he in his despair been driven to jump, or had someone pushed him? Green pondered the contents of the tin
mostly filled with hay, and there was a beautiful antique horse carriage. The leather was all cracked, but with the right care... Anyway, we used to bring old blankets inside and have sleep-overs.” “We?” “Lawrence and me. Lawrence loved that shed, and when he got sicker, he hung out there more and more, although the other boys liked it too. To get away from their parents.” “When did it burn down?” Sandy scratched his nose with his massive glove. “So long ago I can’t remember.” “Before or
pain and hardship in the world as it is, don’t you think, Sergeant? Sullivan, is it? Catholic, I suppose. No matter, my son. We’re all God’s children, and the divisions we make are not the Lord’s. Suffer the children and all that... One of my flock, you say?” “Reverend, we don’t know if it was one of your flock,” Sullivan began. “That’s—” “No matter, they were all my flock. Everyone was welcome to hear the Lord’s word, that was always my belief, and—” The lilt of Newfoundland still clung to his
around the exterior of the house, checking for intruders and peeping in windows until he was able to see the entire scene. Daylight was already fading under the iron gray sky, but he could just make out the body of Isabelle face down on the floor with a dark pool spreading across the floor beneath her head. With a curse, he ran back to the door. “Chouchou, it’s okay,” he soothed, holding out his hand, but the dog launched itself at his fingers. Steeling himself, he burst through the door and
of sorts.” Tom didn’t seem to hear. He twirled the cigarette in his hand. “I was so mean to him when he was a kid. He was a nice little kid, kinda cute, you know? But he should’ve been protected, like Kyle. But you can’t go back, eh? Even the old cottage ain’t the same no more.” He shrugged as if disappointment was second nature to him. “Me and Robbie figured we’d bury him out in the village in that little graveyard by the church. Can’t think of much else I can do to make it up to him.” It was