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

tray, set it down on the table, poured the tea. ‘My son and I talked about Edwina last night after you called. It’s hard to imagine Edwina was murdered. Hard to comprehend. Murder happens to other people, not to people we know and certainly not to someone like Edwina.’

Alex thanked her, took his tea and thought about how to phrase the next question. He decided this woman was practical. Best to be straight with her. ‘Mrs Harkness, what we want to ask you is delicate. Very delicate. The things we talk about must stay here. Between us. Is that something you’re comfortable with?’

She shrugged. ‘I was a doctor’s wife. I’m used to it.’

He nodded his head. ‘What we want to know about is an accident. An accident that involved Trudi Nyss over forty years ago. Do you remember it? The day at Trudi’s house? We believe Edwina was playing with Trudi and her brother. There was an accident and Trudi was killed.’

Mrs Harkness put her tea on the table, bent down and picked up the cat. Settled it on her knee, stroked it. ‘What exactly do you want to know, Detective?’ Her voice was quiet. Strained.

‘Do you remember it?’

‘As if it were yesterday.’

‘Everything,’ he said. ‘Please tell us everything.’

Mrs Harkness ran her hand through the cat’s fur, smiled when the cat meowed. ‘It was a horrible day. The neighbour came running. She’d called the ambulance and then ran to the surgery. But there was nothing to be done. Trudi was already dead.’

‘Can you reconstruct what happened for us?’ asked Alex.

Mrs Harkness looked at him, straight in the eye and pursed her lips. She sat back and sighed. ‘My son talked to me yesterday after he talked to the police. I had all night to think about it and I decided, if you asked, I would tell you. But now it’s hard.’

Even now, after all these years, Alex could feel the excitement. He avoided glancing at Marion, tried to keep things calm, tried not to put Mrs Harkness off her story.

‘We’d appreciate it, Mrs Harkness. Perhaps it’s a story that’s been waiting to be told.’

She smiled. ‘I believe you’re right, Detective. Very well. Forgive me if it comes out muddled, but I’ll try.’

Alex sat up straighter in the chair, felt himself clutching the arm rests.

‘Trudi had been playing on the swing. It was just an old piece of rope with a tyre at the end. Nothing fancy in those days. When the rope broke, she fell and hit her head on a piece of wood that had a couple of rusty old nails sticking out. One of them pierced her just above her eye. My husband thought she died instantly.’

The room fell silent. The atmosphere heavy, oppressive. Alex was conscious of not wanting to breathe. Not wanting to break the spell. ‘But there was more, wasn’t there?’

She nodded. ‘Edwina was in the garden and so was Edward, Trudi’s brother, when the accident happened.’ She trailed off, stood up without warning. Put the cat on the chair, went into a small room off the side of the kitchen, came back with an old, yellowing manila file.

‘See this file, Detective? See the name on it? Nyss. When my husband got cancer he handed the surgery over to Robert. The files were transferred onto the computer and then shredded, but not this one. This file my husband kept. To bring out now and again and ponder. He was never satisfied, you see. Never. Then one day, he read something in the newspaper. About an old woman who’d died in an accident.’ She shuddered. ‘I’m not even going to speak about it. There’s plenty of information in here. He made copious notes. I’ll just talk about what I know.’

‘About Trudi’s accident?’ Alex said.

Mrs Harkness ran her hand over the file as if it was a precious object. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this out in the open, after all these years. My husband John, thought about it often, and when he stopped working he began to obsess about it. Couldn’t let it go. It gave him a lot of sleepless nights. That’s why I thought, well, if you ask, I’ll tell you. I knew my husband. He wasn’t a fanciful man. He was a very practical person. Not given to wild

imaginings.’

‘He thought there was something wrong about Trudi’s death?’

‘Trudi’s death? Oh yes. He considered it was a malicious accident caused by Edward, but what worried him most was the death of Trudi’s mother. He was sure that was deliberate. Murder.’

Alex felt as though he had been punched in the ribs, and heard Marion’s sharp intake of breath. The shadow of evil crept over the room and he shivered, despite the sunshine. He looked at Mrs Harkness, saw in her face the relief that comes with confession. It was out in the open. It was said. From now on it was his burden to bear.

‘I think, Mrs Harkness, I might ask Marion to make us another pot of tea if you wouldn’t mind. Then perhaps you could take us through it. Right from the very beginning.’

‘Yes. Right from the very beginning. Yes. Thank you.’

* ‘I started working for my husband in 1960. I was twenty. It seems so young now. Today, twenty-year olds are still at university. I had a lot of responsibility in those days. Even then, the Nyss family was one to watch; one of John’s problem families. Just the three of them then, Trudi hadn’t been born. The father had been in the war, came back with severe psychological issues, married

late—he must have been almost forty—and shortly after, Edward

was born.

In those days, no one treated or even acknowledged the problem. The poor man. He limped from job to job. Mentally ill. Such a struggle. Then Trudi came along. John always thought it was a shame Trudi was born but well, these things happen. She was the most beautiful child. People would stop in the street to admire her. But it