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

Alex, ‘and the women at the gym. Edwina might have hinted at something during those coffee mornings.’

* Alex, despite his best intentions, went with Marion. He couldn’t stop himself. Rose answered the door in jeans and a sweatshirt. A little more colour in her face today. Her eyes had lost their startled

look.

‘Sorry to barge in on you again,’ said Marion, ‘but we’re making some progress and wanted to check a few things.’

They had rehearsed their opening gambit. Marion was not yet convinced Ms Rose Jones could be wiped off the suspect list. Alex watched Rose. He loved the idea of having an excuse to watch her.

‘Come in, then.’ They could hear head-thumping music coming from downstairs. ‘My son is at home.’ Her face softened into a smile as she glanced towards the stairs. ‘You’ll have to put up with the noise.’

They sat at the glass-topped kitchen table that matched the smart white bench top and sleek appliances. The house might be an old Victorian lady but the interior was twenty-first century modern.

‘At the moment,’ Marion said, ‘we’re working on the theory Edwina had a prearranged meeting with someone after work. What we want to know was if anyone saw a change in her behaviour in the last few weeks. Did she tell you about anyone or

anything odd?’

‘No. Not at all. I find it hard to believe that she would meet someone after work. At one in the morning? Impossible. If you knew Edwina …’

‘Okay,’ Marion interjected, ‘when was the last time you saw her?’

‘Well, now she was working more, we didn’t run across each other as much. The last time I saw Edwina would have been Monday before last. Yes. We went to coffee after gym class.’

‘Six days before she died then. How did she seem to you? What did you talk about?’

Rose shook her head. ‘We don’t talk about anything special. Most days the conversation is pretty ordinary. Nothing significant I’m sure.’

‘Was Edwina sitting close to you? I mean, there must have been, what, eight or so people at coffee? Is it possible you couldn’t hear what she said?’

Rose stood up and walked to the window facing out to sea. She closed the shutters, locking out the stiff breeze whipping in off the water, rattling the frame. The techno beats from downstairs grew louder.

‘No, we were sitting next to each other, as it happens.’

‘And you can’t recall the conversation? Was she excited, for example?’

Rose came back to the table, sat down and put her head in her hands. ‘If I had to say anything about Edwina,’ she said at last, ‘she was very quiet. I remember asking her if she was okay. I thought perhaps she was getting sick. She said she wasn’t. You see, without sounding … Well the thing is, Edwina often prattled on, so when she sat there without saying anything, I noticed. You should ask the others, see what they think.’

Edwina quiet, thought Alex, could mean Edwina worried. Maybe it wasn’t a date, maybe it was something else?

‘We’ll check with the others,’ he said. ‘Get back to you if we need to. Thank you, Ms Jones. Shall we go, Marion?’ He was halfway towards the door.

‘What do you think?’ asked Marion, running to keep up with him.

‘What do I think? Maybe we have our first sniff of what was happening. Go back to the gym, Marion, talk to them all. Especially anyone who went to coffee with her the rest of the week. Find out if Edwina was subdued, maybe worried about something. Or someone,’ he added. ‘Bring me back a name.’

‘Sure, Alex. Sure. I’ll bring you a name. Bound to be the same name Jerry finds.’

* It should have been silent in Alex’s penthouse apartment, dark and still. Instead the lights were on, he could hear voices and the soft bark of the dog. Cautiously he opened the door.

‘Dad.’ It was his elder daughter, Gemma. She was behind the kitchen bench, her long hair tied back in a ponytail, apron on, unpacking food containers.

‘Dad,’ his younger daughter, Clare, smiled a nervous smile and Alex instantly knew there was a problem. He didn’t miss a beat.

‘Hey, you two,’ he said, hugging each girl in turn. ‘Dinner too, I see.’

‘Good old Mr Chan,’ said Gemma. ‘We went to get Dog, we thought he’d be there and Mr Chan gave us these meals. They’re from the Gatehouse restaurant. It's one of the best in town, isn’t it?’

Alex nodded. He’d long since given up trying to stop the flow of food from Mr Chan, it was like trying to stop a freight train. Eighteen restaurants the Chan Corporation owned at last count, many of them sending the old man a steady stream of frozen food, filling his freezer to overflowing and beyond. ‘Guilt,’ he’d said once. ‘They think if they send me food, they’ve fulfilled their obligations.’ He’d winked at Alex, but he was probably right. Mr Chan was seldom wrong.

‘What would we do without Mr Chan?’ Alex asked, trying to find some balance, trying to work out what had

happened.

‘So, tell me,’ he perched on a stool by the kitchen bench, ‘how are you both?’ He was looking at Clare, her face ghostly against her brown hair.

It didn’t take much. ‘Ah, Dad.’ She burst into tears and launched at him. He was caught off balance, almost fell off the stool. ‘Dad, it’s awful.’

He hugged her. She was tiny, thin, almost frail. He looked over her head at Gemma. Mouthed, ‘What’s wrong?’

Gemma rolled her eyes and Alex felt his stomach flip, turn, and settle into a cold, hard, heavy knot of worry. It took a few minutes for Clare’s crying to subside, for a level of calmness to return to the room, to get Clare seated on the sofa with Dog by her side. To wait until she was stroking the dog, smiling at him and ready

to talk.

‘I hate it there, Dad. The hostel. It’s shitty. I hate the noise and there are three