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

‘No. Is it a special occasion?’

‘To me it is. Today is the anniversary of my second life. The one you gifted me.’

Alex took a gulp of wine. Massaged his shoulder. ‘That day is done. Over. Best for us to forget.’

‘I understand. But how can I ever forget? It’s a debt I will always owe you. So stop pacing, Dog is becoming upset. Sit down and tell me what you want.’

Alex nodded. ‘Okay. For a start, you wouldn’t have anyone who works in the courthouse by any chance? Would you?’

—

PART 4 Spring Fever

— It had been two months since Alex reopened the Edwina Biggs case. Two months since Mac had panicked and two months since a group of people started watching every move the judge made. Two tedious months of closing the net. In that time, the city had shed its winter coat. The trees had sprouted fresh green leaves, the harbour had started to sparkle in the spring sunshine, the outdoor cafes had thrown open their doors, placed chairs and tables on the pavements. Auckland was putting on its party clothes, ready for the summer. Holidays by the beach, picnics and barbeques on long warm evenings, yachts playing on the water, Sunday lunches along the waterfront.

None of it made Alex happy. Time was passing, progress was slow. It had started well. Given everyone hope. Jennifer Wright working the Saturday night shift in the pathology lab had struck gold early.

‘She’s found him,’ Marion said, one Monday morning, her smile wide.

‘Who, what?’

‘The judge! Jennifer found him in the records of the pathology lab.’

Alex felt a surge of triumph. ‘Tell me.’

‘He had pathology done after being a passenger in a car accident one evening.’

Alex smiled. It was as good as winning a medal in the Olympics. ‘Would Edwina have seen his name in the course of her work?’

‘Yes. She’d been working there about three months. It was a Thursday night and she was on duty. The judge was a passenger in a car that was hit from behind. Jennifer found the police report. Not much damage done to the car, or to them. It was pretty much a nose-to-tail, but our judge was vomiting at the scene. The police recognised him, didn’t want to take any chances, so they drove him to the hospital for tests. Everything was okay, so they sent him home. Edwina would have seen his name. Maybe even logged it in.’

‘Bingo,’ said Alex. ‘We’re getting there.’ He saw Marion’s face flush. ‘Is there something wrong, Mar?’

‘Thing is Alex, would you mind—would you have any objection if Jennifer kept doing the Saturday night shift in the lab? Second job and all.’

‘What on earth for?’

‘Ah. The job might be lousy, but—and I’m quoting Jennifer now—the pathologist there,’ she lowered her voice to a whisper, ‘he’s really cute. They’re going out, but he works Saturday night, so …’

It was all Alex could do to contain a laugh. This was the second romance the case had started. The young constables who had played the courting couple in Pierce’s Park were still at it. Engaged, he’d heard. He wasn’t even counting himself and Rose, wasn’t going there. All because of Edwina, who had never known anything resembling true love. She was bringing people together like there was no tomorrow.

It was such a positive start, he had hope then. But as the colours of spring exploded around the city, his faith drowned in the slow tedium of collecting data, collating bits and pieces of information that could be glued together to make a coherent picture. Alex hated it when a case came down to this. The combined weight of thousands of pieces of inconsequential evidence.

* Judge Nyss strode into the restaurant with Patricia on his arm. They were five minutes late, deliberately so. The maître d ’ jumped when he saw the judge and his wife and came close to bowing before he led them to their table by the windows. The windows with the million-dollar harbour views now clothed in darkness except for the lights of the yachts, ships and ferries peeking through. The other diners swivelled to watch the couple make their way across the room. Everything about them shouted people of consequence. From the judge’s bespoke suit of the finest light-weight charcoal wool, to Patricia’s black silk trouser suit offset with gleaming pale-pink pearls at her throat and in her ears. Her French shoes—black, but edged in a fine pink leather, with tiny pink heels and pink laces—were a work of art.

Their friends were waiting for them. Three couples. Tomorrow the four women would be leaving for Europe, the men left behind to fend for themselves. Everyone was in high spirits, the champagne corks already popped.

‘Are you a good cook, Edward? You’ve got a busy job. How do you manage without Patricia?’ asked Jonathon who saw himself as a new-age man, someone who loved nothing better than whipping up a storm in the kitchen. He leant close to the judge as if somehow the answer would signal a conspiracy between the two

of them.

The judge forced himself to reply, to mask his contempt for the man. ‘Yes, well,’ he stumbled, ‘this is the longest time Patricia has been away. Gallivanting around,’ he added, thinking that sounded endearing.

‘But it was your idea, Edward,’ one of the others laughed.

‘I know.’ He managed a rueful smile. ‘Lots of dinners in the club for me, I expect.’

‘A toast.’ Patricia raised her glass of Veuve Clicquot. The others picked up their glasses, held them high. ‘To a most wonderful holiday and my dear husband who suggested it.’

There was murmured assent as the group nodded towards the judge.

‘But what about us?’ wailed one of the men.

Everyone laughed.

‘Oh, you’ll do fine,’ Patricia said. ‘I’m sure you’ll all revel in being able to do as you please with nobody to pull you back into line.’

The other women nodded as everyone drank, but not the judge. He smiled with the rest, joked with them, but never took more