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

near the kitchen door, a ball of terror, her eyes enormous. He’d walked right past her when he first came into the yard, had been so fixated on Trudi he hadn’t noticed Edwina in the corner.

For a few seconds blood pounded through his brain, obscuring his vision, almost felling him. He was found out. It was over. Finished. Then he settled himself. It was just Edwina. A small, snivelling nothing. All it took was a couple of long strides and he stood towering above her. He stared deep into her eyes and let the hate channel through his body. Wave after wave of pure hatred flowing through him, through his fingers, all of it directed at Edwina. With one hand he made a slashing motion across his neck, saw comprehension flash across her face and knew he had nothing to worry about. He let his lips curl into a sneer, then turned, adjusted his features and went in search of his mother. Tried a little cry of panic. Decided it sounded authentic and cried out again. So began the charade.

He’d forgotten about Edwina. In the beginning he’d been worried, until he heard she’d been struck dumb, didn’t speak for months. It had been so amusing, people assuming Edwina must have caused the accident. Must have done something silly. Why else would she be so badly affected? The delicious irony; he’d been hard-pressed to hold it together when he’d heard that version of events. Spent many evenings in his room letting the joy out. Then he’d put her out of his mind.

One night a few months ago he’d answered the phone from an unknown number and the voice on the other end of the line had identified herself as Edwina. She had been garbled, confused, said she had seen his name and phone number in a file, wanted to talk about Trudi. He could have rung her employer, had her sacked then and there for accessing private data, but he had waited, calming the shock and panic threatening to explode within him. He bided his time. Her second phone call was equally jumbled. A stream of emotional words about Trudi, the house at Edmund Street coming up for sale, her friend Rose helping her out. He’d listened, waiting for the blackmail threat he was sure would come.

By the time the third phone call came, he was ready. He knew what had to be done. The hunted turned hunter. The thrill of the chase. Week after week when the phone calls came, he set about gaining her trust until it was time for the end play. The finale to something begun over forty years ago. An act that had provided him with unexpected exhilaration.

Today he’d found Rose, the last loose thread. Jack had dropped the name without being asked. He’d heard in detail about Rose, Juliana’s new best friend. How the two of them spent time together, eating and drinking. Trying to solve Edwina’s murder, that’s what he’d said. Jack showing off. Jack who always liked to know things, be the centre of his little universe.

Now, he didn’t even need to have the number plate checked. Yet another sign he was on a preordained course. The minor ripple Edwina had created in his perfect life would soon be dealt with for good.

He heard the shower turn off and pulled himself back to the present. The window with the black sea beyond and the dog lying at his feet. He let his hand drop and saw the rush of pure affection that bubbled from the dog. He picked her up, settled her on his lap. He hadn’t thought he would ever be able to love, but this little dog never hid her feelings evoked in him something strong, something spontaneous. With the dog he didn’t have to pretend. He could be himself and she still loved him.

* Alex woke early, at 6.00 am. It had been a bad night. His own fault, thinking the Nyss file would make good bedtime reading. Now he wouldn’t sleep again. Sunday, his one morning of rest and he was wide awake. The girls were away for the weekend, a demand from their mother to attend a family function. They’d been reluctant. It was early in the new semester, there were things to be done. Clare, in particular, unwilling to be torn away from her project about the Chan family. Alex could see storm clouds brewing, imagined the anger that would be unleashed the first time the girls decided not to go back to the farm when it was required of them. Shuddered.

The apartment was silent. Only he and the dog. When he had first brought the dog home, it had slept in a box in the laundry. Two months later it had its own bed in Alex’s room. It had bothered him at first, being watched over. Now he was used to it, liked it, waking up to friendly eyes and love.

‘Well, Dog,’ he said. ‘A coffee, and then I think we’ll go for a run. What do you say?’ The dog grunted, turned away. It had never been a runner. ‘All right, how about I find a park to run in. You can watch. Hey, what about we try Pierce’s Park for a change? Then breakfast on the waterfront. Okay with you?’

The dog thumped his tail, yawned.

Alex sat up in bed and stretched. ‘Excellent. Let’s get a move on then.’

By the time they arrived at the park, the dawn sky was streaked with bands of pink and blue. The air was brisk. The dog refused to leave the car and Alex left him curled up asleep.

He bent down and ran his hand through the dew, something he always did as a child. He started off slow, taking time to warm up, let his muscles stretch out in the biting morning air. Then he started to jog, feeling the worries of the night fade. Once again he was Alex Cameron, the teenager who, with his long