Fallen Angel by Jenny O'Brien

Author:Jenny O'Brien [O’Brien, Jenny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2020-10-12T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

Marie

Tuesday 21 July, 4.30 p.m. Shrewsbury

‘What are you like on history, particularly Victorian?’

Malachy slid into the chair opposite, placing a tray piled with sandwiches and cakes between them, before passing over the latte she’d asked for.

‘As in Queen Victoria? Died 1901. Apart from that, not a lot. I didn’t cover that era in lessons.’

‘No, well, neither did I.’ Marie took a sip of her coffee, allowing the smooth taste to wrap around her tongue and start spreading warmth to her insides. She only continued to speak when the mug was half drained. ‘The Victorians were heavily into mourning, probably influenced by their Queen who carried on wearing widow weeds right up to her own death, forty years after Prince Albert’s. But they took it one step further, often wearing jewellery that incorporated a picture or even a lock of hair belonging to their beloved.’

‘That sounds all a bit barbaric.’

‘Each to their own, Mal. I’ll admit it’s not something I’d ever do but, in this case, knowing about this stuff has done us a huge favour.’

‘How so?’ He opened up his sandwich to check the filling and removed a slice of tomato before rearranging it and taking a bite.

Marie glanced over her shoulder, but with the time heading for five the café was all but deserted, the black-haired teenage server starting to stack chairs on tables.

‘Because our murderer chose to dress Angelica in a nightie that had one odd button.’ She leant across the table, picking up his discarded tomato and popping it into her mouth. ‘A white onyx button chosen simply because it was the same size, shape and colour as the rest but with one obvious difference. The front is made from braided hair, which means the chances are that—’

‘That it might contain the DNA of the killer’s granny.’ He sat back and slow clapped, a beam of a smile on his lips. ‘At least the boss gets to be mega pleased with one of us.’

‘Actually I think she might be mega pleased with both,’ she replied, pulling her phone out of her pocket and searching through the photos. ‘I took the opportunity to take a couple of shots of Mrs Hazeldine’s wall art.’ She enlarged a picture between her fingers and slid the phone across the table. ‘It’s amazing what people pin on their walls. It doesn’t take long for them to forget what they’ve got; photos and the like blur into the background, only remembered when it’s time to dust and, it’s a very long time since Mrs Hazeldine held a duster between her arthritic fingers.’

The phone contained a photo of Leo Hazeldine but, for once, it wasn’t the man that was of interest. It was the scene behind the selfie.

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