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

than a sip of alcohol when he was out in company. Getting drunk and losing control was not something the judge had ever considered doing. Nevertheless, they had his undivided attention—the judge with his impeccable manners.

Patricia was in fine form as he drove home. She had downed several glasses of champagne and with the thrill of the impending holiday she was elated. Her eyes shone with love and desire. Sure enough, when they reached home she left him to take a shower. She would call him when she was ready. The judge picked up the dog that was running around in circles at his feet and went into the lounge overlooking the ocean. He made himself comfortable with a glass of Aberlour, another single malt he was evaluating, put the dog on his lap and contemplated his good fortune.

Seeing Patricia so happy reminded him how fortunate he’d been in choosing a wife. She’d been an unexpected bonus. He had never thought about a wife, except in terms of money and upward mobility. But Patricia had given him much more. She had provided love and a home. Things he hadn’t known before. Things he hadn’t expected. Over time he’d come to appreciate how comfortable she’d made his life. He smiled. He had done something for her once. Something out of love. Not that she’d ever known. The judge held that singular act of kindness close. The day he rid the world of Patricia’s father, the odious Judge Percival Horricks.

Edward took a sip of scotch and remembered the first time he had met Percival Horricks. A family party for Patricia’s birthday. He grimaced at the thought. It had been overwhelming. A boy from the back streets of Ponsonby, in the days when Ponsonby was not an address to be proud of. A boy who’d lived on handouts from the government and the church. A boy who had started life with a father who was crazy and a mother with the life sucked out of her. Yet there he was, courting the daughter of a judge. But he was nothing if not a quick learner, and courting Patricia was part of a bigger plan.

He’d reminded himself of his strengths over and over again that day. He was tall, he was handsome and he had the physique of an athlete. His father had lost his mind, but by God he had looked the part in his army photographs. A fine looking man, people said about him. To Edward they had said, You’re the spitting image of your father. That might have been true, but there the resemblance ended. His father’s mind had collapsed under stress while his was disciplined, trained. He had honed it, exercised it with the dedication of a long-distance runner. He was intelligent and he could pull off a bluff.

It had taken him a few months to realise Patricia’s father was a bully. A complete and utter arsehole. A man of strong opinions who ruled the household like a tsar. His wife had been reduced to a timid mouse and Patricia, the daughter who’d got herself pregnant and had an abortion, nothing more than a constant irritant. He treated her as though she was barely worth thinking about, dirt under his feet.

Patricia’s 28th birthday dinner sealed the judge’s fate. It had started well enough over the pre-dinner drinks, but by the time the roast chicken had been served, along with lashings of snide remarks, intimidation, and sanctimonious piety from the judge, Edward had made his decision. Patricia should be freed from this man forever. When the opportunity arose, he would settle the debt. For Patricia. For love.

It had taken two years. Two glorious years of watching and waiting. He had enjoyed every minute of playing a game with the man, before his chance arose. A weekend away with the in-laws, at their house by the lake. Neither Patricia nor he had wanted to go, but their excuses were feeble in the face of

Percy’s insistence.

On the Saturday morning Percy began drinking early. There was mid-morning beer followed by wine at lunch, and instead of an afternoon doze in the sun, he insisted on a jaunt in his new toy with Edward. A sleek speedboat fitted out in chrome and teak, the wheel custom-made from six different native timbers. Percy was showing off, driving too fast with one hand, and it wasn’t long before the comments started flying. Childish jibes and taunts needling Edward, making reference to his humble

background.

When Percy turned the boat in a sharp circle, Edward knew, with the surety of the ordained, the time had come, the scene set. Everything was perfect. It was such a small movement, to stumble onto the throttle, to appear to lose his balance. He knew it was a gamble—he could have killed himself too. He gripped the throttle and delighted in watching Percy’s reaction as he struggled with the wheel. Fighting for his life with one hand, gripping a beer bottle in the other. Edward would never forget his eyes—the dawning realisation Edward was doing this on purpose. The disbelief and horror plastered all over his face seconds before the boat flipped—such a joyous moment.

Edward was young, agile. He surfaced, trod water and waited, focused on his breathing, on remaining calm. He hoped Percy wouldn’t come up, but he did. Struggling, but alive. It was easy. Almost too easy. He rolled Percy onto his back and put his arm across his chest, his forearm against his neck in the traditional lifesaving hold he’d learnt at school, but with a fatal difference. Percy’s head was under the water not above. At one point Percy broke free, but he was weakened and it was over soon enough. His struggling stopped. Edward dragged his head back above the surface and continued to the shore.

It was a long and difficult swim. He hadn’t realised the difference between towing a live person and the dragging weight of a dead body. He was about to give up when