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

Rose took another sip of water. It didn’t seem enough. ‘But Juliana, this is outlandish. He’s a judge. You don’t become a judge without some sort of …’

‘Some sort of what? I’ll tell you how he did it. He married a judge’s daughter. Not bad huh? He married his way into legal royalty. Another titbit via the bishop to Father O’Leary and onward to Mrs O’Brien. I have to admit he didn’t do badly for a kid from here. And true, all this is via Mrs O’Brien. So make of it what you will. But you’ve got to admit, it’s bloody interesting.’

Rose pushed her glass of water aside. ‘I think I need wine.’

‘Of course you do, darling, of course you do.’

She signalled to Jack.

* Alex waited until eight before letting Marion loose. The other teams had been on the street earlier, watching for the judge’s car as they talked to people. He’d arrived home about six-thirty, nosing his Jaguar into the garage. They’d given him time to

eat dinner.

Marion was primed. She had dressed with care, a simple cream woollen jumper, beige skirt and jacket, beige low-heeled shoes. Her hair was tied back in its usual tight ponytail, her face scrubbed and shiny. An identification tag hung around her neck.

‘Every inch an air hostess,’ Jerry had said, ‘except without the make-up.’

Alex had grinned. ‘It’s perfect, Mar. You’re perfect. Go knock him dead.’

* Marion fixed a smile on her face, squared her shoulders and pressed the doorbell. The woman who opened the door was blonde, slim, dressed in black slacks and a black woollen jumper. Patricia, the judge’s wife. Marion introduced herself, explained they were reinterviewing residents because of new evidence. Patricia invited them in. Marion led the way, the young constable following behind her. We’re in, one up for us, thought Marion, focussing on holding her bland friendly expression.

The man who stepped forward, as they entered a library off the hallway, was a surprise. Even though she had studied his photo. Thought she had a clear impression of him. The photo on the internet had shown an old man, stooped, large black rimmed glasses, slicked back dark hair. The man who stepped forward was tall, straight and slender with light brown hair greying at the temples, cut in a simple college style. He radiated energy. Gone were the ugly glasses, gone the look of old age. Beside him, a small white terrier followed close at his heels. A study of the perfect household.

‘Judge Nyss, I must apologise for the intrusion. I’m Detective Constable Long. We’re still working on the death of Edwina Biggs, believe it or not.’ She bent down to pat the dog, with its wagging tail and trusting eyes. ‘Um, we’ve had some new information about a car cruising in the area, being driven erratically, so we’re reinterviewing everyone.’

‘We told the other police officer we weren’t here. We were at our beach house,’ Patricia broke in. She frowned at Marion, her lips pursed.

‘Yes, I know, Mrs Nyss. We have your statement, but … well, we wondered if your husband had noticed anything?’ There it was, out in the open. Marion was watching him, concentrating on her most unassuming smile. Minimal teeth, but lots of crinkle in the eyes.

‘How could I, Detective Constable Long? I was at a Law Society dinner and then drove to our beach property on the Coromandel.’

His eyes, an intense bright blue, were riveting. Marion found herself transfixed. ‘Oh,’ she said making a show of checking her notebook, turning a page, throwing in an ‘um’ or two. ‘But when you came home after the dinner we wondered if you noticed anything. Before leaving for your beach house. According to the information we have, this car was noticeable.’

There was the tiniest pause, infinitesimal, before he answered. Yet long enough for Patricia to turn her head sharply and glance at her husband.

‘Whatever gave you the idea I came home after the dinner?’ His voice was glacial.

‘Oh.’ Marion rifled through her notebook again. ‘Have we got the wrong end of the stick? The young constable who interviewed you said you came back to get changed and pick up your luggage. Is that not right, sir?’

‘No, it is not. This is sloppy police work, Detective Constable Long.’

Marion looked down, waited a moment before answering. She tried to appear chastised. ‘So you went directly to your beach house from the dinner?’

‘That’s what I’ve just said, Detective.’ He leant forward, his eyes unblinking.

Marion swallowed. Stood her ground. ‘You’ll have to forgive us, Sir. We didn’t put a high priority on interviewing the householders on the hill. It seemed unlikely we’d learn anything because the houses face away from the park, so we used some of our new recruits for the job.’ She was looking into his eyes, but could see his left hand clenching and unclenching. She turned to Patricia.

‘The constable’s statement said your husband arrived at your beach house at around two in the morning. Don’t tell me he got the time wrong as well?’

‘Well I … it was months ago now and I never wear a watch to bed,’ she glanced at her husband, ‘but … that’s what you … what you … I thought.’

‘Well, I’m most terribly sorry to have disturbed you. Thank you for making time to see us.’

‘Wait a moment, Detective Constable Long,’ the judge called out, as they reached the door, ‘who’s heading this

investigation?’

* ‘You might be in for it, Alex. I’m sorry, I couldn’t pull it off.’ Marion was contrite.

Alex patted her on the shoulder. ‘We never thought it was going to be easy. What did you think of him?’

‘What did I think? That’s the question isn’t it? I think he has the cutest dog. A Westie.’ Alex stared at her, frowning. ‘Sorry Alex, I’m trying to get this right. I think we caught him on the hop. The tiniest little hesitation, the tiniest little bit of stress. But I’m afraid he’s on our case now. I think he returned home. How