The Priory of Finchelsea IV.

"Let me get this straight," Dr. Barton felt like she was having some sort of weird dream. "You're saying that Dr. Llewellyn Pryce-Rees-Evans-Jones did this to himself?"
"Exactly."
"He smashed a sword down onto his own head?"
DC Jones blushed and shook her head.
"Ah... no. That bit someone else did to him. We found your name in his diary, so... Our DCI wants to talk to you."
"At two AM, when I've got no make-up on and my hair's a fright? Tell me he's kidding. You Bulls..."
"How did you know I'm a Taurus?" DC Jones reacted with surprise.
"I didn't. I'm an American, from New York. 'bull' is slang for a cop."
"Well then, you're coming with me."
Disconcertingly DC Jones didn't remove her shades at all in the car, and drove the (thankfully) short distance to Godon Square with them on, narrowly missing a cat and a gang of youths in consequence. Dr. Barton was glad to get out of the car and walk into the East porch of the church. A North Porch had been planned, but as the nave was never finished the North porch and the church had never actually met.
"Dr. Lilian Barton," the speaker had to be the head cop. He was six foot tall, nearly as wide, and losing his hair.
"That's me," Lil answered as breezily as is possible at two AM. "Where's the stiff?"
That was a mistake. Never call dead guys stiffs, not when you were the last person they were going to see."
"Through here, Dr. Barton. Steel yourself."
"I saw your friend's picture. Does she ever take off those shades?"
"No. I warn you, he looks awful."
Dr. Barton stepped into the English Chapel.