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

had fussed with her food, pretended to drop her serviette and spent precious moments retrieving it before answering. In the end, she lied. No, she’d never heard anything about him except one reference by Juliana. The whole day in the courtroom had been such a fiasco, an embarrassment and she’d promised Juliana she’d keep quiet about it. She was ashamed to admit to Alex that she’d been persuaded to do such an idiotic thing.

Besides, what had she and Juliana seen but an old man in a gown and glasses? It wasn’t as if either of them had met him and Juliana had decided Mrs O’Brien’s story was rubbish.

It was later she wondered about her decision. She and Juliana might well have decided they had made a big mistake, but the judge did live close to where Edwina was found. She thought about the coincidence while she lay awake counting the hours till dawn. But to ring Alex and admit to lying? Too embarrassing. She decided if it was important, he would work it out. He was a detective, after all, with a team at his disposal.

* Alex was a mess. The feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach refused to go away. He was restless, distracted. It made him think long and hard about Rose, made him be honest with himself. She was forever in his thoughts. Thoughts that had a life of their own, that ran on and on into a distant, bright future. He couldn’t pretend anymore. Rose mattered.

That neither of them had made the first move was ridiculous. Two wounded animals circling each other, each too scared to reach out. All Alex could hope was there’d be time enough later. For now, his girls were his first priority. After so long without them, the last thing he needed was to give his ex-wife a lever to use against him. And he knew Rose wasn’t ready for a new commitment. Still adrift. Still uncertain. But he couldn’t pretend anymore. The thought of the judge being so close to her was agonising.

* ‘Eat up, Alex.’ It was Saturday night and Alex and Mr Chan were sharing a meal. This time eggplant parmigiana on the balcony of Alex’s rooftop apartment. His girls were in exam mode. Clare’s paper on the Chan family was complete and had been handed in. A High Distinction the result. There’d been a special meal and champagne to celebrate.

Meanwhile, Gemma’s endless stream of parties had dried up. No more young men picking her up on a Saturday night as students all over the city hunkered down for their finals.

The girls had eaten early and were back in their room, studying. The men were left to themselves and the warm evening. They should have been enjoying the food, enjoying a beer, enjoying the view.

Alex cut a slice of the parmigiana. ‘Sorry, I’m preoccupied. This case will be the death of me.’ It was a relief to be able to talk to Mr Chan. ‘We know the judge has submitted plans to the council, so we know he’s renovating, but come on! Why is he there all the time? After work, at the weekends. Does this sound like the judge to you? Overseeing a renovation project himself? This is out of character. The judge I know would have an architect running the project, someone else deciding if the tiles were being laid straight or crooked. I don’t buy it.’

‘So you know what he is doing, but the why is more difficult. Perhaps to live in, perhaps to sell, or perhaps something else entirely?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Alex, waving his fork at Mr Chan, ‘to put him back in the neighbourhood. To give him the perfect excuse to be there.’

‘You are worried about your friend, Rose?’ asked Mr Chan, his voice mild.

Alex stared at Mr Chan. Had he mentioned Rose? He couldn’t remember, but it was a relief to say it out loud.

‘Terrified.’

‘Ah. Love. It always makes one fearful.’

Alex moved the eggplant around the plate, didn’t trust himself to speak.

‘I will help you find out more about the house.’

‘What? What do you mean? What can you do?’

‘Next weekend my granddaughter Jessica is going house hunting, as it happens. She tells me living here when she is in the country, in this building, is too embarrassing. She is over thirty although she pretends she is much younger, and to be in the family nest is not the done thing she believes.’ Mr Chan sniffed. ‘Jessica is a very charming girl, as you know,’ he smiled. ‘And her boyfriend is a merchant banker out of London. He will accompany her.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Come on, keep eating. I don’t often admit it, but I do enjoy Italian food.’

Alex stared at him. ‘What on earth can Jessica do? It isn’t for sale.’

‘Ah. If your man is there and renovations are underway, I’m sure Jessica can strike up a conversation. Let us see what she is able to unearth. You might be surprised.’

‘No, Mr Chan. Don’t forget this man is a killer. Jessica shouldn’t go within a million miles of him. And we need to keep this quiet, between us.’

Mr Chan took a deep breath. ‘Alex. Don’t worry about Jessica. I will brief her. Discretion is assured. You have my guarantee. She’ll look around. Pretend to be interested in the house. Don’t underestimate the persuasiveness of a beautiful face. Now, come, we must eat before this delicious food gets cold.’ He cut himself some parmigiana and balanced it on his fork. ‘Trust me, my old friend,’ he added softly, smiling at the dog curled up on Alex’s feet, asleep, contentment written all over his face.

* Jessica Chan was something; from the top of her shiny dark hair to her delicate feet with their painted rose-pink toenails, she oozed Chan money and privilege. That the fortune was borne on the back of generations of hard labour did not show. Not on the exquisite features of Jessica Chan. A heart-shaped face with flawless porcelain