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

legs and long stride, carved up the track with ease. He would have loved to have had a go professionally, but his mother would have none of it. Yes, he could run in his spare time, a good healthy pastime, but anything more was frivolous. He increased his pace, felt his body respond, pick up the rhythm, make subtle adjustments so his legs, shoulders, head and lungs were all working together. Felt the satisfaction of knowing he still had it, the natural rhythm of the long-distance runner.

How long he ran, he didn’t know. On a morning as stunning as this, with a clear sky, dawn breaking and no one else about, he could have run forever. But in the back of his mind, he knew he must conserve his energy. He was no longer Alex Cameron the teenage wonder. He was forty-six with a dicky shoulder after being belted by a couple of low-life druggies.

He ran down slower and slower until he brought his pace to a walk, and returned to the car, forced the dog out and took a drink from his water bottle. He leaned on the car as the dog ran over to a little terrier that had appeared in the park, an old man trailing behind doing his best to keep up.

It took a while for Alex to register there was something familiar about the man, that he had seen him somewhere before with the dog, the little terrier. Slowly it came into focus. A picture of the terrier in the arms of a constable, as he made his way up the steps to the top of the cliff.

Alex threw his water bottle back into the car and walked over to the man. ‘Hello, Doctor,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘You might not remember me, but I’m Detective Cameron. We met here in very unpleasant circumstances a few months back.’

The man looked him over for a few moments, his face blank, before recognition dawned. ‘Ah … yes. Yes I remember.’ He shook Alex’s outstretched hand. ‘You probably understand I try not to think about it, but it’s tough. I often find myself going over it in my head. The what-ifs.’ He grunted.

‘You know it’s only since I retired a couple of years ago that my daughter made me carry a mobile phone on my walks. I did it to keep her quiet.’ He patted his pocket. ‘Now I don’t go out without it. I’m afraid to say I got such a shock when I found the body, I pressed the button for the police she’d programmed into the phone. I forgot about calling triple one. God knows where the call went.’

‘It was fine. We got the message alright. You did well,’ he added, seeing the distress on the man’s face.

‘I suppose. It didn’t matter to the poor woman if there were minutes lost.’ He sighed. ‘How are you getting on with the case? Have you arrested anyone?’

Alex shook his head. ‘No.’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Not unexpected. You were up against it from the start. The weather was foul. I remember thinking nothing would be left after that deluge. So much for a crime scene.’

‘Quite right there. It’s been much the same the whole way through the investigation. The breaks haven’t been flowing our way.’

‘How unfortunate. I must say it did seem very calculated, professional, the way she was. Not a sloppy death, if you take my meaning.’ He glanced at the dog, gave himself a bit of a shake. ‘Well, I try not to dwell on it, so I’ll leave you to it. You should be putting something on to keep warm,’ he said, changing tone. The doctor in him asserting itself. ‘I’ll take my dog and keep on walking.’

Alex nodded. ‘You’re good and early, that’s for sure.’

The Doctor bent over and patted the little terrier on the head. ‘You might think so, but not as early as my neighbour, the judge. He’s always here before me. Long gone by now. There’s a man with real discipline.’

* Alex wondered how it had come to this. Sunday night and the three of them eating at his place so they could discuss the case without upsetting Mac. Marion was bringing dessert, but when she arrived she had Jerry on one arm and a cake in the other hand. A battered, limping Jerry. A gash on his face and a bandaged ankle.

‘Rugby?’ Alex asked.

‘Yeah. Kicked in the scrum.’ He seemed quite proud of it. ‘Scrum went down, wrenched the ankle in the same mess. It’s strapped. The doc says in a few days the swelling should go down. Not a problem. Need to keep it up, though. Good old Mar, saved the day.’

Marion was not happy. She pushed him into a chair and pulled over a footstool, put her hand on her hip. ‘Anything else, Sir?’

‘A beer, thanks, Mar.’ Jerry kept his face bland. ‘Good girl,’ he added to her retreating back. Shot a wink at Alex when he saw her stiffen.

Alex ignored them. Like children, teasing each other. He lit the barbeque to let it warm as the three of them sat inside. Far too cold a night to enjoy the balcony. Marion was drinking mineral water, Alex a glass of pinot.

‘This is a fine mess you’ve got us into, Alex.’ Jerry took a swig from the beer bottle. ‘Who’s going to start?’

‘Alex should start with the file. The doctor’s file.’ Marion was firm. ‘What was Mrs Harkness hinting at? Anything we can use?’

Alex forced himself to sit, keep talking, when all he wanted to do was pace. ‘What was in the files? Nightmares. Nightmares for Dr Harkness, reading his comments, and now nightmares for us.’

‘Don’t get fancy, Alex,’ said Jerry. ‘Not a time for oration. Just tell us.’

Marion and Alex exchanged a glance.

‘You can read it for yourself. About thirty years of doctor’s notes that chronicle the demise of a family. First the father. Mental illness after the war and some injuries too, mind you, which gave