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

not least, you want a group of, for want of a better word, informers, including some inside the courthouse. The courthouse, for God’s sake.

‘Yes,’ said Alex, talking to Mac’s back.

‘Go over it again for me please, Alex.’ Mac’s voice was weary, his words dragging.

‘The pathology lab is happy to have one of our people there. If we’re going to find a link between Edwina and the judge—and we are sure there is one—there’s a good chance Jennifer Wright will discover it. She’s bright and as keen as hell.’

Mac nodded. ‘Yes. Straightforward enough. Now what about Meg Johnson? What is she meant to do?’

Alex cleared his throat. ‘It so happens she goes to the same gym as the judge’s wife, moves in the same circles. Family money.’

Mac’s head sank. ‘The judge’s wife. What’s this about, Alex? Explain, please.’

Alex considered for a moment. ‘Gossip,’ he muttered.

‘Gossip.’ The Super shook his head. ‘Gossip?’

‘Comings and goings, all sorts of personal details.’

‘And how, may I ask, is she going to find out personal details?’

‘These women,’ said Alex, glad Marion wasn’t in the room, ‘seem to have a lot of coffee mornings. Lots of things are discussed.’ He joined Mac at the window, watching the birds.

‘Well, I never thought I’d hear a statement like that. And the rest, Alex?’

‘The rest. Ah, well. As Jerry put it, we want to know where the bastard is every moment of the day.’

* ‘How did it go?’ Marion asked, standing close to Jerry, the pair of them waiting in the corridor outside Mac’s office.

Alex hesitated. ‘How old is Mac, again?’

Marion answered. ‘Early sixties. Why?’

‘I think I almost gave the poor bugger a stroke. Have to watch it in the future.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Well, come on, let’s get going. We’ve got work to do.’ A huge grin spread across his face.

Jerry gave Marion a hug. Clapped Alex on the back. ‘Way to go, Boss.’

* It had been lurking in the back of his mind, unshaped, what needed to be done, but it was Clare who had shown him the way forward. One evening, deep into her project, she had unravelled, parchment like, several pieces of A4 paper taped together. The Chan family tree.

‘Of the original family group arriving on the goldfields, two of the brothers returned to China, two other brothers and one sister remained. Over one hundred and fifty years ago. Isn’t it amazing? Mr Chan said it’s part of their culture to document the family history and it’s all on the computer now, so he doesn’t need this anymore. How come we haven’t done this dad? We need to know our family history don’t you think?’

Alex had pored over the family tree, astonished, but not for the reason Clare assumed. What he saw drawn in ordered lines, were hundreds of names, that together formed the close-knit Chan empire.

It was a big step, but as he sat with Dog on Mr Chan’s sofa that night, he knew if he was going to nail the judge, he’d have to break some rules. He didn’t care. Mr Chan was putting the finishing touches to a feast—the works tonight. Brought over steaming by a young chef from one of the restaurants. Mr Chan had shooed him away after a few minutes, and the dishes were laid out on the table.

‘The problem now,’ said Mr Chan as they sat down, ‘is Chinese food has become ordinary. The public has grown accustomed to the spices of Asia. They talk about cinnamon and cardamom, fresh turmeric and star anise. And the herbs. Holy basil and Vietnamese mint. All these things! They dismiss Chinese food. Out of fashion. Who would have thought?’

‘What are you going to do? Fight back?’

‘Yes. But it’s hard. We need a whole new marketing campaign.’

Alex considered the old man across the table. He was most likely about eighty, but with the brain of a thirty-year-old. He had a finger in every pie as far as Alex could tell, even though he had handed over the reins to his children. His simple life was

a disguise.

‘So, what are we having tonight?’

‘Duck. One of the culinary experiences that has become fashionable again is a banquet duck extravaganza. But you know, sometimes the presentation is a bit rough around the edges. This is a new, refined version the chef has created. Come, let’s eat. See what you think.’

The two of them ate. Starting with the pancakes wrapped around the duck meat, cucumber and spring onion and dabbed with hoisin sauce, followed by the crispy skinned duck meat, and ending with the broth.

‘Well,’ said Mr Chan, dabbing his mouth with a linen serviette. ‘Your verdict?’

‘Amazing,’ said Alex.

‘Like it then?’

‘Oh, yes. Love it.’

‘But would your girls eat it?’

‘Ah. I don’t know. Could be too fatty for them. And the duck thing. You know? Animals …’

‘Yes,’ sighed Mr Chan, leaning back in his chair. ‘That is a problem. It’s my problem. You, I think, have a problem of your own, do you not?’

Alex had to stop himself smiling. Mr Chan had a radar that would put the American army to shame.

‘Indeed, I do. A big problem.’ He picked up his wine and walked over to the window. It amused him that Mr Chan, multi-millionaire, looked out over the rubbish bins stacked at the back of the building, while he, on the eighth floor, had a panoramic view over the city. ‘I don’t know how to say this.’

‘What you say to me stays in this room, Alex. You must know I’d never speak out of turn.’

‘Yes, of course. No. It’s something else.’ They’d never discussed the tentacles of the Chan empire before, but he’d seen the closeness of the extended family and the solidness of the networks they had created. He took a deep breath, turned back. ‘I hope you don’t take this the wrong way.’ He saw the old man raise one eyebrow. ‘The thing is, I need information.’

Mr Chan put his hands together, narrowed his eyes. ‘Do you know what today is, Alex? Do you know