Mystery

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By Patricia Hall

It’s 1963. a brand new band known as the Rolling Stones is starting to make its mark and the mini-skirt is getting into style. For younger Liverpudlian photographer Kate O’Donnell, it’s an exhilarating time to be within the capital – in particular as she’s on secondment to an up-and-coming style photographer’s studio. yet there’s a darker part to 1960s’ London, Kate discovers, whilst the bare, battered physique of a teenage prostitute is located among the garbage boxes at the back of a Soho jazz membership – and it seems the sufferer used to be a former version on the studio the place Kate’s working.

When a moment younger version disappears, Kate enlists her pal DS Harry Barnard’s support to determine precisely what’s occurring. jointly, they discover the 1st of a number of darkish secrets and techniques surrounding Andrei Lubin’s model studio and the infamous Jazz Cellar.

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Extra resources for Dressed To Kill

Example text

On the seventh or eighth night after the death of Lady Madeline, I experienced the full power of these feelings. For hours I lay awake, struggling against a sense of fear. I blamed my surroundings — the dusty furniture, the torn curtains which moved about in the wind of a rising storm, the ancient bed on which I lay. But my efforts were useless. At last, thoroughly afraid, I got up and looked as hard as I could into the darkness of the room. I heard — or thought that I heard - certain low sounds that came, from time to time, through the pauses in the storm.

In spite of its wide swing (which was now thirty feet or more), and its great force, it would not, for several minutes, cut into my flesh. At this thought, I paused. I dared not think further. I watched the blade as it flew above me. Down — steadily down it came. To the right — to the left - far and wide — with the terrible whistle of death! Down - certainly down just above my chest! I struggled violently to free my left arm. I shook and turned my head at every swing. I opened and closed my eyes as the bright blade flashed above me.

I did not know what answer to make to my friend. He admitted that much of the unhappiness which he suffered had a simple, and quite natural, origin. It was the long and severe illness of a greatly loved sister — his close companion for many 27 years — his last and only relative on earth. ' While he spoke, Lady Madeline (for that was her name) passed slowly through the room at the far end, and, without having noticed my presence, disappeared. I watched her with a surprise and deep fear that I could not account for.

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