"So tell me," the young policeman said, pausing to lick his pencil point, "when was the last time you saw this god?" He had a smooth face, this policeman, with blond hair slicked back into a ponytail and a loop of gold chain through one earlobe. He looked up expectantly, an expression which smoothed his face out even more until he looked like a blond egg.
"You can’t be serious," Father Rameau said. "My God didn’t do this! He doesn’t commit murder."
"We’re not accusing-him, is it?" The policeman made a note and his Academy ring glittered. "But it did happen in his temple. He may have seen something."
"It’s not a temple," Father Rameau said. "It’s a church. There’s a difference." He hoped nobody asked him to explain the difference, because he couldn’t have come up with one on the spur-of-the-moment. The policeman looked interested, though, and was just opening his mouth when his partner knocked on the open door. Rameau liked the partner better because he was older and a bit fatter; also, he was respectably dressed in a suit and tie. No uniform and none of the Academy trappings.
"The necromancer says she doesn’t have a time of death," he said now.
"Who’s examining? I thought we had Magister Klimt."
"Yeah. He says this woman doesn’t have a time of death. Parts of her died up to ten years ago."
"Then you can’t blame my God," Rameau said, grasping at straws. "We’ve only been in Osyth for three years. And this church just opened last night."
"No one’s blaming any god so far as I know," the partner said. "In the scriptures, when gods kill people they want the credit. If a god had done it, there would have been a press release by now."
Rameau didn’t like him any more.