CRIME IN THE CRYPT a fiercely addictive mystery by CATHERINE MOLONEY

Author:CATHERINE MOLONEY [MOLONEY, CATHERINE]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joffe Books crime thriller and mystery
Published: 2021-10-17T04:00:00+00:00

8. Angel of Death

Sunday 21 March dawned crisp and bright.

After a refreshing promenade around Kensington Gardens, Markham and Olivia made their way to the institute for the memorial service.

On their arrival, Miss Parkin, smart in a lightweight tweed suit and with freshly permed hair, beckoned them into the front hall with a confidential air.

‘Very pleased to meet you, my dear,’ she said kindly to Olivia before turning to Markham. ‘We heard from Bishop Buckley yesterday that Father Digby’s body is being released to his community on Tuesday . . . such a relief to know he’ll be back with his family.’ A telephone rang shrilly somewhere in the recesses of the building and she bustled off, gesturing apologetically. ‘Duty calls, but I’ll see you in the chapel, Inspector.’

Markham and Olivia wandered back outside and took a turn around the square arm in arm as they digested this piece of news.

‘Looks like the bish swung it after all,’ she said. ‘He must’ve whispered in someone’s ear.’

‘I thought Buckley meant to hold back in case of attracting unwanted attention,’ Markham mused. ‘But I suppose letting Father Digby’s order organise the funeral keeps everything low-key and under wraps.’

‘Whereabouts are they based?’

‘The main house is in Birmingham, but Digby’s monastery is just outside Oxford . . . Woodstock, not far from Blenheim Palace.’

‘I’m due back home on Tuesday,’ she said. ‘What if you and George take me and drop by the funeral en route.’

‘Sounds like a plan . . . I can have a stopover in Bromgrove and then come back to London with Noakes on Wednesday.’

Olivia smiled up at him. ‘You might even manage a workout at Doggie’s,’ she said slyly. ‘Pretend you’re pummelling Sidney.’

Markham groaned at mention of the DCI.

‘Sidney’s going to get antsy unless we narrow down the runners and riders for these murders,’ he said. ‘Unsurprisingly, he wants to keep well in with the clerical kingpins, and they want this fastened on some misfit — anyone’ll do, just so long as there isn’t any connection with the Theresians.’

‘God, he’s such a toady . . . royals, “slebs”, telly people, bishops . . . is there anyone that man won’t grease up to?’ She scowled. ‘What’s he hoping for from the Church then?’

‘Oh, there are plenty of juicy honorifics on offer . . . Order of St Gregory, Order of St Sylvester . . .’

She punched his arm. ‘You’re having me on . . . surely you have to be Catholic to get one of those?’

‘No, some are for folk from other denominations . . . and don’t forget, the likes of Buckley can always nudge the Church of England brigade — give Sidney a shot at the Birthday Honours.’

‘God forbid . . . And I mean that as a prayer!’

‘Oh, Sidney hasn’t sold his soul for glory, Liv. It’s just that he had quite a hard start in life — single parent family, dad bailed out early — and his wife’s a few rungs up the social scale. I think it made him terminally insecure, with a thickening of the professional arteries into the bargain .

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