Chapter Eight
Nuritov found it first.
‘Curse you,’ scowled Tasha, slamming down her much-resented tome. ‘What was I even here for?’
The inspector simply put his book into her hands, amid soothing noises. She liked those no better than she’d liked his infuriating cry of jubilation. Victory for the dull, old policeman! She should’ve left him to get on with it, while she did… something more useful. And maybe entertaining.
‘Look,’ said Nuritov, pointing to the musty page before her.
‘This isn’t about Marja.’ Tasha flipped it upside down, glowering at the title inscribed upon the cover. Death Rites and Rituals.
‘No,’ said Nuritov. ‘I knew you had that covered, so I chose a different topic. Read it.’
His experience was showing. Well, just because she hadn’t set foot in a library in years
