Shadow Over Edmund Street by Suzanne Frankham (read a book .TXT) 📕

muffle her sobs, quieten her breathing. Got up, splashed water on her face.

‘Mum?’ It was Katie. ‘Sorry we’re late. The band was sooo good. You okay?’

‘Sure, I’m fine. Go to bed. Get some sleep.’ Then she added. ‘Glad you had fun.’ That would confuse them. In at two in the morning on a weekday. Should know better. But it didn’t matter. At least they were alive, safe and happy.

Rose drank a glass of water, washed her face again and felt her anger at Edwina subside. It was so ridiculous. Impossible even. How on earth did Edwina manage to get herself murdered?

DAY 3

Everything happened at once. Edwina’s children, Rowena and Michael, arrived. Marion dealt with them with her sympathetic face and endless patience. The three of them left the station together and went to Edwina’s place. Alex had always said if there were secrets to spill, or forgotten thoughts to emerge, then a formal setting was the last place to find them. He’d told Marion to take them out to lunch. She stared at him long and hard.

Hadn’t forgiven him.

The autopsy results were there when Alex opened his computer first thing in the morning. Dr Carruthers at his finest. Formal, convoluted, but conclusive. Edwina Biggs had been strangled with a piece of thick wire. Death by asphyxiation, although the wire had cut deeply into her neck. There was nothing on her hands or her body to suggest she had put up a fight. Not a mark. The one thing of interest was a number of tiny threads imbedded in the wound. They were testing for drugs.

Alex sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Shut out his shabby office and tried to imagine what had happened. At 1.00 am after a nervous drive across the city, Edwina was sitting in the car with the window wound right down. On a cold night in autumn. She must have been talking to someone outside the car. Someone who had then leant in, put a wire around her neck and strangled her. It didn’t seem possible. He picked up the phone, braved a call to Dr Carruthers. Was surprised when he was put

straight through.

‘Sorry to disturb you, Doctor. Detective Cameron speaking.’ He had long ago learnt manners were paramount when it came to getting information out of the old bastard. ‘Do you know anything more about the threads?’

‘Well …’ said the Doctor, managing to make it clear in one word what he thought of the question, ‘if I was part of a CSI team as portrayed on television, then no doubt I could tell you exactly what type of fabric, where in the world it was made and probably by whom.’ His voice was clipped. ‘As it is, no, I can’t tell you much. If you like,’ he added, his words dragging, reluctant, ‘I can hand it over to someone I know. She deals with textiles.’

‘Thank you, Doctor. It would be helpful to know what we are dealing with. If they're from a sack or something wearable.’

‘Humph. I’ll get back to you in a few days.’

‘Thank you,’ said Alex, to a dead line.

It was hard to imagine someone leaning in—holding something hiding a piece of wire perhaps? And before Edwina knew what was happening, the person had put it around her neck. Whatever they’d done, their behaviour hadn’t scared her. Not until it was too late. Why? It made no sense. This wasn’t an out of control argument, someone hitting another person, regretting it for the rest of their life. This wasn’t a push and a shove and a dead person at the bottom of the stairs. This was cold-blooded and calculated, professional.

* Similar news came in from the forensic team.

‘I wish I had something to tell you, Alex,’ said Quentin, or ‘Q’, as everyone called him—a gift his workmates couldn’t ignore. ‘The car is unusual in one sense. In all my time here, I don’t think I’ve seen a car with so little forensics. It’s as clean as a whistle. Wait. I’ll correct that. Cleaner than a whistle. A whistle would have saliva, DNA. No, this car is clean, clean, clean.’

‘What about the driver’s door? On the outside.’

‘Come and see for yourself. Smudge marks. Not a print inside the whole car except Edwina’s and then not much. Did she clean it every time she used it, or what?’

‘Maybe. This was the first car she’d ever owned.’

‘Ah. Shame for us. We’ll keep searching, try and find something for you but to date we’ve come up with zilch.’

‘Not even a hair?’

‘Hair? Three, I think. Edwina’s.’

‘We need to know, Q. Was there anyone else in the car with her? It’s important.’

‘Alex, Alex … What can I say I haven’t already said? This car is clean.’

‘Thanks. Keep at it, will you? So far all we’ve got are blanks.’

‘Yeah, heard on the grapevine. I’ll keep at it.’

Shit, thought Alex. It was always bad when a case got a smell about it like this one was getting. The smell of defeat.

* Alex was at the university an hour early. He made his way to the Zoology Department and was ushered in to see the Head, Tim Barrett. He tried to make light of the situation, explain Rose was a Good Samaritan who’d been caught up in a terrible tragedy. Turned on the charm and was rewarded with a potted version of Rose’s life. He heard about her husband who’d died in an accident. About her journey home from Aberdeen with the children in tow. About every exam Rose topped. Even after all these years Tim hadn’t forgotten. A second-year chemistry paper Rose had breezed through while the rest of the class had floundered and sunk, a maths exam she’d creamed. She was smart, Tim said. He’d had no qualms about giving her the job even after so many years.

So she’s smart, thought Alex. It was a clever crime, but he couldn’t see a link.

Rose was in an old storeroom when he found her. The lab finished, the students’