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

a launch pulled alongside and two men dragged Percy out of the water. Edward waved them away when they tried to pull him in too, giving them extra precious seconds to save Percy.

He floated on his back, resting. He heard the boat roar off, prayed his father-in-law was dead. By the time he made it back to the shore and was helped out of the water by the small crowd gathered on the sand, he could tell there had been no miraculous revival. He could hear Mavis crying, Patricia’s words of comfort. He collapsed onto the beach, spent, his eyes firmly shut. Half dead he might have been, but the joy of a successful hunt, he knew, would have his eyes glowing with an ethereal light.

Percy’s death was a release for them all. Edward watched with pride as the women’s lives were transformed. They were free. Patricia smiled and giggled, Mavis was at peace. She didn’t take long to rid herself of the sprawling mansion in town and the lake house down-country. Set sail on her new life of fun and travel, but never another husband. Mavis was over men. Except Edward. Edward, she

liked.

They’d had a good laugh when the will was read. It came with stern admonishments from Percy to his wife and daughter, but he hadn’t disinherited Patricia as he had intimated he would do.

‘God, he was a self-righteous bastard,’ Mavis said, the first time Edward heard her swear. ‘He was a stupid, horrible man!’ Then she added something Edward held dear. ‘I knew what mood he was in when he took the boat out. He’d had too much to drink. It makes me shudder when I think about it. He could have killed you, too.’ She had put her hand on Edward’s arm and given it a gentle squeeze. Affection. He had never forgotten.

Edward heard the shower stop and knew time was short. Soon he must join his wife and take what was so keenly offered. He smiled. The delicious irony of receiving a medal for trying to rescue

Percy—an attempt that almost killed him according to the newspapers—was something that lit up his life for years. Something he savoured whenever he could.

If he had one regret it was that he hadn’t looked Percy in the eye and told him why he was going to die. That Edward was doing it as an act of love. For Patricia. Pure and simple.

* ‘Well? Tell us, Alex. Did you do it? Did you?’ Marion, normally so quiet and measured, was almost bounding up and down, her eyes shining.

‘I did. Foolish, I know. The girls and I went on Saturday night—for my birthday. I saw them. Eight in all, as Meg said.’

Marion punched Jerry on the arm. Grinned. ‘See I told you, Jerry. I told you the girls’ network would come through.’

‘Yeah,’ said Jerry. ‘You call it networking, I call it gossiping, but there you are. Go on, Alex.’

Alex heard Marion snort. Ignored it. ‘He really is something. Both of them, in fact. Quite a statement they made when they walked into the restaurant. The rich and famous. Part of the beautiful crowd.’

‘And?’ Marion asked. ‘Did he spot you?’

Alex hesitated. ‘No, I’m quite sure he didn’t. He was very focused on the group. We were over the other side of the room. They ate a lot, drank a lot, but not the judge, I noticed. The others got stuck in, but not him. It was a good idea of yours, Mar. I’m glad I got the measure of the man. It’s not going to be easy, but we’re going to nail him.’

‘So now we find out,’ said Jerry, ‘if the wife going away means anything. He’s fancy free for a few weeks, eh Mar?’

For once she wasn’t listening, wasn’t thinking about police matters. ‘Tell me what she was wearing. Patricia, I mean. According to Meg’s friend’s mother, her shoes are legendary.’

‘Jesus,’ was all Jerry said.

* The days ground on. One day, the sun shone, the next, the wind blew in—southerlies and south-westerly blows bringing rain when people wanted clear fine days. Spring, they muttered. Always changeable. Soon the weather will settle.

Alex tried to show a brave face, but he was worried. The picture they were building was terrifying. They had the judge under surveillance in the mornings. Meg’s husband, forced to don shorts and runners after years of inactivity, jogged around Pierce’s Park at six every day, hating every second of it. They clocked the judge into work thanks to several people in the court system. A clerk, a secretary, some lawyer friends of Jerry’s—his rugby-playing mates. All sworn to secrecy. However, it was one of Mr Chan’s grandnieces working at the courthouse who stumbled onto the cars when she’d had to allocate an extra parking space for the judge. Two cars. The Honda hire car had not been returned. The judge kept it in the carpark, alongside his Jaguar. The Jaguar he drove to his home on the Point. When he hopped into the Honda, the judge headed the other way. Back into his old neighbourhood.

Jerry had followed the Honda to a house the judge owned—four streets from Rose’s place. When Jerry told him, Alex had taken a few deep breaths, thinking of Rose. Was this a coincidence? How could it be? It had to be more sinister.

Jerry, the records man, had seen it another way. ‘Get a grip, Alex. The judge was brought up in the neighbourhood. The house is owned by his company, Nyss Investments, set up after he married. They bought it over thirty years ago. Rose bought a house near the judge’s place, not the other way around. In any case, how would he know about her? There’s no link. If it makes you feel better, tell her to stay away from old men. Period,’ he added, giving Alex a leer.

Nothing Jerry said made Alex feel better. He decided to send Marion to see Mrs O’Brien. Something he’d resisted doing. Showing his hand. What