Free Her Moons Denouement (Fallen Angels Book 2) by Max Hardy

around, for fucks sake, turn around so I can see who you are.
    Stop!  12:25 am.  That’s a foot isn’t it, stepping out of the door one down from our hotel room?
    ‘As for the lone gunman, the police have not released any information as to his identity.  Nor have they commented on the potential links with any Religious factions…’
    Religious factions?  Some extremist activity?  Generally extremists kill other people when they commit suicide.
    Shit.  That’s not just a foot, that’s a foot in what looks like a black boot.  A high-heeled boot.  A high-heeled boot like the one Madame Evangeline was wearing that evening.
    ‘While there are many references to ‘Fallen Angels’ in religious texts, there are no known fundamentalist factions with that name operating today and no known references at all to the phrase emblazoned on the cabinet: Even Fallen Angels Have Wings.  Back to you in the studio Hew.’
    What!  ‘Even Fallen Angels Have Wings’.  In Edinburgh?  Was that the ‘Unknown Caller’?  Has he killed himself?  What’s that got to do with Jess?  What’s that got to do with Madame Evangeline?
    Fuck.  My eyes have been darting between the screens, my brain the same, but it is now completely focused on the grainy image on the CCTV from Jacob’s room.  The woman turns around after she alters the blinds.  Her head is initially bowed, but as she walks towards the door, she lifts it, smiling directly into the camera.  The bottom drops out of my stomach:  It’s Jess.

 
    Chapter 9
    A brilliant white, almost full moon hung in a cloudless dusky evening sky, its reflection gently shimmering off the slowly lapping waves of the Forth Estuary.  The waves rebounded softly off the shoreline of a small peninsula, on top of which lived one of the large granite bases supporting the span of the Forth Railway Bridge.
    A rusty old Volvo, once grey, but now almost the same colour as the bridge above it, slowly crunched up a gravel road underneath the bridge, towards a solitary property sitting on the peninsula.  Brakes squealed louder than the chorus of gulls circling the nearby harbour as Bentley parked the car up.  He pulled up into an overgrown, dishevelled garden, a once white picket fence marking its boundary now falling to bits, the posts rotten and mildewed green.  A dirty and worn Georgian fronted house stood at the centre of the garden, looking out over the Firth of Forth, the reflection in the dirt encrusted windows making the stunning evening vista look dull and lifeless.
    Bentley moaned and groaned as he forced himself up out of the car and walked around the back to open the boot.
    ‘Come on Jackson, better have yourself a shite before you go in.  You know how crotchety Dessie can get.’  Bentley said affectionately to the old black Labrador who achingly stood up and jumped down from the boot, then padded dejectedly off into the overgrown grass.  Bentley closed the boot and leaned up against it, looking out over the bay, the evening moon shining through the metal trusses of the bridge, casting dancing shadows onto the rippling waves of the estuary.  Jackson trotted back towards him, tail now wagging, a gnarled bone protruding from his mouth.
    ‘It’s coming up to a full moon son, that doesn’t bode well.’  Bentley said as he crouched down, sighing, still looking out over the bay as he stroked Jackson’s head.  ‘You know you can’t take that in.’ he continued as he took the bone out of the dog’s mouth and threw it back into the overgrowth.  ‘Come on, let’s go and face the music.’
    Bentley groaned again as he pushed his large frame up and walked to the front door, opening it and ushering Jackson in as he arrived. 
    ‘Fenny, Fenny, Fenny!’ came the excited, almost ecstatic screech from a short, slightly rotund woman skipping down the hallway towards the front door.  She wore a blue smock, a tea towel dangling from a bulging pocket in its front, over a floor