Shadow Over Edmund Street by Suzanne Frankham (best e reader for android .txt) 📗

a damn. We were there at eight-thirty, talked to the whole gym class, even went out with the ones who have coffee afterwards. Tried to jog their memories.’

‘Wow. What a life.’ Alex said. ‘Gym, then coffee. That’s most of the morning gone.’

Marion ignored him.

‘What about this Rose?’

‘Not there, but I’ve got her details from the gym.’

‘So they didn’t know where she lives, those coffee ladies. Interesting. Not so friendly then?’

Marion scanned the restaurant. Beckoned over a waitress and ordered lunch. Mushroom risotto. The waitress looked at Alex.

He shrugged. ‘Same.’

‘Sorry, Alex. I’m starving. Rose Jones is her name. Most times she does the class and then goes straight off to work. They chat sometimes during the holidays. She works at a university apparently, has long breaks.’

‘At a university? Which one? Doing what?’

‘Not sure. One woman said a lecturer, another said something to do with the labs. They knew more about her children than her. It must be a favourite topic of conversation. Hers are eighteen-year-old twins. At university, by the way. Husband dead. Nothing more on the personal front. Edwina joined the gym soon after Rose. I’m reading the subtext here, but I think the gym ladies sort of adopted Edwina. These women are sophisticated, have stacks of money. Slim, washboard-flat stomachs, hair highlighted, ski-in-the-winter types. Then along rocks Edwina.

A square peg, round hole.’

‘That different was she?’

‘For sure. They said the same thing. Even though they used to have coffee with Edwina all the time, it was Rose she latched onto. They know Rose helped when Edwina sold her house and bought the new one. They think Edwina often asked her for advice, but I don’t think any of these women thought the two of them … you know … did stuff together.’

Alex was silent for a moment. ‘Number one priority is to talk to Rose. This evening, when she’s back home from work.’

‘Yeah, I think so. You want me along?’

‘Definitely. Nothing else from these women? Nothing juicy?’

Marion shook her head and stared out the window. She turned to Alex and laughed. ‘See the building over there. Houlihan’s? Solicitors? That’s the legal firm she used. God, I’m beginning to think Jerry might be right. There’s something funny about this whole case. In the middle of a big city and this woman didn’t seem to move more than a few hundred metres in her life. Everything in a tiny circle.’

Alex stared at the solicitor’s office. Another Victorian building. Well maintained. Gold lettering across the window. ‘Okay, let’s play it Jerry’s way. Let’s check into this old-boy network.

I’ll go to Houlihan’s. See if I can catch them before the news works its way along the street. Can you manage the house search without me?’

‘I’ve roped in two uniforms to help.’

‘Good. Focus on the money. Make time to talk to Mrs O’Brien again. This is the first time Edwina had any spare cash. It would have been a mountain of money to her. We need to trace every cent. Did she fly first class to Paris, take a world cruise?’

Marion sighed. ‘The gym women would have told me if she did. Sorry, Alex. I know it’s early days, but I was hoping for more this morning. You’d have thought one of those women would have something important for us.’

‘Cheer up. Who knows, this afternoon you might turn up a diary with a love affair neatly laid out for us.’

‘When was the last time we had that kind of luck?’ Marion pushed her hair back behind her ears, retied her ponytail. She perked up when she saw the waitress bringing their lunch. ‘Thank God.’ She smiled. ‘I was hanging out for this.’

* Alex talked to Jenny Houlihan, a newly qualified lawyer in her twenties, and to James Houlihan, her father, the main partner in the firm. It took over an hour and two cups of coffee before Edward Houlihan, summoned from his home, shuffled into the room. He handled Edwina’s business. An elderly man, he took care of a handful of the old clients.

Alex stood up to greet him. Glanced at the slim file he carried in his hand. ‘Is that it?’ His voice was clipped.

‘Yes. Actually, there are three generations of the family’s transactions in this file.’ He waved it in Alex’s direction. ‘Have a seat, Detective Cameron.’

He turned and eased himself into a high-backed leather chair. Let his bones settle. ‘The only real business in three generations was Edwina selling the house and buying the cottage. Good move. Her place was falling down around her ears. Nothing done to it for two generations, but a valuable property now our suburb has become fashionable again. By the time she settled in, bought herself a car, splurged on a few bits and pieces she still had close to a million left to invest. A fully renovated cottage too, no maintenance for the poor woman to deal with. Very sensible.’

‘Both houses were handled by the same real estate company, weren’t they? A bit unusual? What do you think about the prices of the properties?’

‘Ah …’ Mr Houlihan peered at Alex over the rim of his glasses. ‘That’s for you to determine. Ashwin’s handled the sale, and the purchase of her new home. Peter Ashwin is another old boy from St Joseph’s. I’d have to say it was fair and above board.’

Alex held the old man’s stare.

‘How did she invest the funds? Who advised her?’ He knew he sounded curt, but the mention of another old boy connection had sent up a red flag. It would definitely have to be investigated. He heard a shift of tone in the man’s voice.

‘We advised her in terms of options. We have a couple of investment firms we deal with on a regular basis. The one Edwina chose is affiliated with the Bank. Very safe, very secure, nothing risky in the investments they made for her.’

‘We need to see the documentation.’

The old man picked up a pen. Tapped the desk a few times. ‘Yes, no trouble at