Postmark Berlin

Anne Emery

Description

'The latest mystery from a two-time winner of the Arthur Ellis Award Father Brennan Burke is struggling, and he s been coping the only way he knows how: self-medicating with drink. He s barely managing, but his troubles intensify when the body of one of his parishioners washes up on the coast of Halifax. Meika Keller came to Canada after escaping past a checkpoint in the Berlin Wall. An army colonel is charged with her murder, and defence lawyer Monty argues that Meika s death was a suicide, which is the last thing Father Burke wants to hear. Guilty of neglecting his duties as a priest when Meika needed him most, Brennan feels compelled to uncover whatever instigated her cry for help and led to her death. The story takes us from the historic Navy town of Halifax, Nova Scotia, to the history-laden city of Berlin, as Brennan and his brother Terry head to Germany in search of answers. And while Brennan will stop at nothing to find what, or who, is respon

Informations

• Publié par: Ecw Press
• Date de parution: 19 mai 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781773054643
• Langue: English

Extrait

Postmark Berlin
A Mystery
Anne Emery



Contents Praise for Anne Emery The Collins-Burke Mystery Series Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI Chapter XVII Chapter XVIII Chapter XIX Chapter XX Chapter XXI Chapter XXII Chapter XXIII Chapter XXIV Chapter XXV Chapter XXVI Chapter XXVII Chapter XXVIII Chapter XXIX Chapter XXX Chapter XXXI Chapter XXXII Chapter XXXIII Chapter XXXIV Acknowledgements Copyright


Praise for Anne Emery
Praise for Lament for Bonnie
“You know you are in the thick of a good mystery novel when you start becoming suspicious of characters you consider shady in the parking lot of your very own town. Anne Emery’s latest, Lament for Bonnie , will leave readers spooked and wary of their surroundings.”
— Atlantic Books Today
“ Lament for Bonnie is a good mystery in this entertaining series set in eastern Canada.”
— Glenn Perrett, All Things Entertainment
“The author’s ability to say more with less invites readers along for the dark ride, and the island’s Celtic culture serves as a stage to both the story’s soaring narrative arc and a quirky cast of characters, providing a glimpse into the Atlantic Canadian communities settled by Scots over two hundred years ago.”
— Celtic Life
“The novel is ingeniously plotted.”
— Reviewing the Evidence
Praise for Ruined Abbey
“The eighth in the series, this winning mystery stands on its own . . . fans of Emery’s earlier works will enjoy seeing Father Brennan in the bosom of his feisty Irish family.”
— Booklist , starred review
“True to the Irish tradition of great storytelling, this is a mesmerizing tale full of twists that will keep readers riveted from the first page to the last.”
— Publishers Weekly , starred review
“This is a really tightly plotted historical with solid characters and the elegant style we expect from Emery.”
— Globe and Mail
“Suspenseful to the final page.”
— Winnipeg Free Press
Praise for Blood on a Saint
“As intelligent as it is entertaining . . . The writing bustles with energy, and with smart, wry dialogue and astute observations about crime and religion.”
— Ellery Queen
“Emery skilfully blends homicide with wit, music, theology, and quirky characters.”
— Kirkus Reviews
Praise for Death at Christy Burke’s
“Emery’s sixth mystery (after 2010’s Children in the Morning ) makes excellent use of its early 1990s Dublin setting and the period’s endemic violence between Protestants and Catholics.”
— Publishers Weekly , starred review
“Halifax lawyer Anne Emery’s terrific series featuring lawyer Monty Collins and priest Brennan Burke gets better with every book.”
— Globe and Mail
Praise for Children in the Morning
“This [fifth] Monty Collins book by Halifax lawyer Emery is the best of the series. It has a solid plot, good characters, and a very strange child who has visions.”
— Globe and Mail
“Not since Robert K. Tanenbaum’s Lucy Karp, a young woman who talks with saints, have we seen a more poignant rendering of a female child with unusual powers.”
— Library Journal
Praise for Cecilian Vespers
“Slick, smart, and populated with lively characters.”
— Globe and Mail
“This remarkable mystery is flawlessly composed, intricately plotted, and will have readers hooked to the very last page.”
— The Chronicle Herald
Praise for Barrington Street Blues
“Anne Emery has given readers so much to feast upon . . . The core of characters, common to all three of her novels, has become almost as important to the reader as the plots. She is becoming known for her complexity and subtlety in her story construction.”
— The Chronicle Herald
Praise for Obit
“Emery tops her vivid story of past political intrigue that could destroy the present with a surprising conclusion.”
— Publishers Weekly
“Strong characters and a vivid depiction of Irish American family life make Emery’s second mystery as outstanding as her first.”
— Library Journal , starred review
Praise for Sign of the Cross
“A complex, multilayered mystery that goes far beyond what you’d expect from a first-time novelist.”
— Quill & Quire
“Snappy dialogue, a terrific feel for Halifax, characters you really do care about, and a great plot make this one a keeper.”
— Waterloo Region Record
“Anne Emery has produced a stunning first novel that is at once a mystery, a thriller, and a love story. Sign of the Cros s is well written, exciting, and unforgettable.”
— The Chronicle Herald


The Collins-Burke Mystery Series Sign of the Cross Obit Barrington Street Blues Cecilian Vespers Children in the Morning Death at Christy Burke’s Blood on a Saint Ruined Abbey Lament for Bonnie Though the Heavens Fall


Chapter I
Father Brennan Burke
A loud rapping on the door jolted Father Burke from the fog of sleep. What time was it? Where was he? His cell in the Crumlin jail! The screws were murdering his sleep again. No. Merciful God, no. His room at the parish house? He looked around, bleary-eyed. Hadn’t he already woken up? Somewhere else? He sank back into sleep. The rapping again, even louder this time. Christ. His head was pounding, his stomach was queasy, and that racket at the door wasn’t helping matters. “Fuck off!”
“Open this door. Now!”
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, was that . . . Oh, God, not the . . . Sure, it was indeed the bishop. Archbishop, to be precise. And Father Burke was in for a belt of the crozier. He bolted from the bed, pulled on a pair of trousers and a shirt, and rocketed into his bathroom. He didn’t care if it was the Pope himself; the man would have to wait. Brennan Burke would not greet anyone, human or divine, without first brushing his teeth.
He made a quick job of it and then lunged for the door. He yanked it open, and there was His Grace, the Most Reverend Dennis Cronin, looming in the doorway like the wrath of God. His handsome face was suffused with anger, his blue eyes as cold as the dusting of snow on his coat. Brennan stepped back to let him in. Just before he closed the door, he saw that one lurking in the corridor, taking it all in. Mrs. Kelly, the housekeeper, had never approved of Father Brennan Burke. Every time he saw her, she had a puss on her. Now she could hardly keep the triumphant smirk from her normally prissy lips. Brennan gave the door a good hard slam and turned to face his superior officer.
“Where in the hell were you all night, Father Burke?”
“All night? What time did I get here?” Brennan asked stupidly.
“How do you think it looks to the people of this parish, this diocese, to see one of their priests out in public helping himself to lashings of drink and carrying on and singing at the top of his lungs . . .”
Whatever Brennan had done, he knew he hadn’t done any bad singing; his music was always top notch. This was not, however, the time to debate musical quality with his bishop.
“. . . and then passing out drunk, staying the night somewhere other than the rectory of Saint Bernadette’s church?”
“I, em . . .” Brennan began, though he had no idea what he was about to say.
Didn’t matter; the bishop overrode him. Advanced on him and raised his voice. “You!” he said, stabbing a finger into Brennan’s chest. “You are acting like the very worst stereotype of an Irishman!”
That got to him. “What exactly do you mean by that, Bishop?” he demanded.
“I mean the stereotype by which many people define us to this day. Next month when you’re out and about, take a look at the Saint Patrick’s Day cards displayed on the shelves. What is the constant theme? Besides the leaping leprechauns and the pots of gold, what do you see? Jokes about the drink and the drunks. That’s us, the way much of society still views us. And little wonder, with the likes of you out there acting the maggot.”
“Dennis, for Christ’s sake . . .”
“What did the London Times say about us during the famine? What were our habits? ‘Sitting idle at home, telling stories, going to fairs, plotting, and rebelling.’ Disraeli called us ‘this wild, reckless, indolent, uncertain, and superstitious race!’ That’s what they thought of us. And, it hardly needs saying, they all assumed we were drinkers . Do we want people to think we’re still good for nothing but fighting, fucking, and getting drunk?”
It was rare old times indeed when the bishop let fly with the F word; that said it all about how wound up he was. If Mrs. Kelly still had her twitchy ear up against the door, imagine the state of her, hearing His Grace say fuck.
“I don’t have to spell it out any further for you, Brennan, what was and still is said about our people. And here’s you, acting it out for all to see. You’ve only been back in the city for a few days, and how have you been spending those days? Hungover from boozing it up night after night. You’re a disgrace.”
To my race , Brennan finished silently. Brennan wasn’t the type to let somebody walk all over him, wasn’t the type to remain silent in the face of aggravation. He came from a family whose ancestors, and whose members still living, had taken up arms to fight and die for Ireland. They were Fenians, Irish Volunteers, IRA men. The Burkes had no need to be lectured on what an Irishman should be. He never thought he would live to see the day when somebody would accuse him of letting down the side for Ireland. But he spoke not a word. It was, at long last, time for him to