Shadow over edmund stree.., p.5
Shadow Over Edmund Street, page 5
‘Anything valuable?’
‘Mementos, nothing else. Edwina didn’t own anything valuable. Apart from the house.’
Alex studied the old man—a bald head, glasses perched at an angle on the bridge of his nose, a round dumpling face. It was hard to imagine him as someone who’d defrauded Edwina, yet someone had killed her when she least expected it. Most likely someone she’d known and trusted.
Alex thanked him and took a copy of the file. He knew he’d been rude, sounded ungrateful, but Jerry’s joke about the incestuous nature of this case was beginning to rankle. They’d learnt from past experience it didn’t pay to ignore Jerry’s instincts. He pulled out his phone and rang the forensic accountants. He wanted every financial transaction pulled apart. Laid bare. The St Joseph’s network, the lawyer, the real estate agent, even the bank. All of it stank.
*
‘Rose Jones?’
‘Yes?’
Alex did his best to control his surprise and hoped Marion did too. The woman who opened the front door of the smart white weatherboard wasn’t at all what he had expected. Short, slim, with not an ounce of fat. Her dark hair drawn back in a ponytail. She wore jeans and a white T-shirt, looked about twenty years old. It seemed impossible this was the person Mrs O’Brien had spoken of with such venom. He heard Marion stumble as she identified Alex and herself and asked if they could come in and talk.
‘My children?’ Rose stood there shaking. Her hand in front of her mouth. That brought Alex back to earth.
‘No. I’m sorry if we alarmed you.’ Marion’s voice was quiet, steady. ‘We wanted to talk to you about Edwina.’
‘Edwina? Edwina Biggs? Why? What’s happened?’
‘Ah,’ said Marion. ‘May we come in?’
‘Tell me.’ Rose’s voice was shrill.
Marion glanced at Alex. He nodded.
‘I’m sorry to have to tell you, but Edwina died yesterday,’ Marion said. Alex was watching Rose closely. Part of his double act with Marion. He saw the colour drain out of her face.
‘Died?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry.’
‘No. Not possible.’ Rose’s hand trembled as she pushed a strand of hair away from her face. ‘I saw her a few days ago. I’m having lunch with her tomorrow.’ She stumbled backwards.
Alex stepped past Marion and grabbed hold of Rose’s arm, led her back from the door into the lounge, guided her towards an armchair and let her fall into the overstuffed cushions.
She sat for a few minutes her breathing rough and ragged.
‘Was it the car? I knew she shouldn’t drive a car.’ Her voice was shaking.
‘Mind if we sit down?’ asked Marion.
Rose nodded. ‘She was a terrible driver. It’s too hard to learn when you’re older.’ She clasped and unclasped her hands. ‘It’s awful. Appalling. Just when things had started to go well
for her.’
Marion glanced at Alex again. He nodded. ‘Ms Jones,’ she said, ‘I’m afraid we have something distressing to tell you.’
Rose stiffened. Her face ashen, confused.
Marion hesitated, then plunged on. ‘It appears Edwina was murdered at about one o’clock on Sunday morning. She was found dead in Pierce’s Park. In her car.’
Rose stared at Marion, eyes huge. Shook her head. Faster and faster. ‘No way. It couldn’t possibly have been Edwina. She wouldn’t know how to drive to Pierce’s Park, and at night? After work? No. Impossible.’
*
Alex found himself behind Rose’s kitchen bench - a smart white stone affair. He made a pot of Lady Grey tea while Marion tried to convince Rose that Edwina was dead. It took a while. Even after the tea had been made and drunk, Rose continued to be sceptical. She laid out the reasons why it could not be so in a careful measured tone. One by one she ticked them off on her fingers, bullet points of denial.
Edwina would never be able to find her way to Pierce’s Park.
Edwina would never drive at night in an unknown part of the city.
Edwina never went anywhere on her own she had not been to before.
The thought of Edwina going off with a man was laughable.
‘Nevertheless,’ Marion pointed out gently, ‘Edwina was found dead in the park.’
That’s when Rose started to shake. She looked as if she was about to faint. ‘Sorry. I’ve had a knock on the door once before, you see. You’ve brought it back. I don’t feel so good.’
‘Would food help?’ Alex was desperate. More than anything he wanted her to continue talking. Spill it all.
‘Oh God. There’s a lasagne in the oven.’ Rose leapt up from the chair. Stumbled forward.
‘Sit, I’ll see to it.’ Alex caught Marion’s eye. ‘Perhaps you should light the fire. I think Ms Jones is in shock.’
It was a gas log fire. Marion flicked a switch and very soon, light and warmth flooded the room. Rose pulled her chair close and put her hands out, trying to gather in the heat.
Alex tapped Marion on the shoulder. Talk, he mouthed.
She turned back to Rose. ‘Tell us how you and Edwina got to know each other?’
‘In the gym. I knew as soon as she walked in. She was old Ponsonby. I grew up here, you see, knew lots of Edwinas. Recognised her for what she was straight away. An old-style battler. Not many of them left.’ She stopped talking and stared at the fire.
Marion watched, waiting for her to start talking again. ‘It’s changed now. The women in the gym, they’re new money, lots of it, smart husbands, smart hairstyles, private schools for precious children. Then in walks Edwina. God. You should have seen their faces. She was about twenty kilos heavier, and she was wearing a homemade tracksuit with a rabbit on the front. Her shoes—sandshoes—I haven’t seen anything like them since I was a kid. She was poor. I could recognise it, smell it, see it in every single thing about her. Someone who’d battled for every cent. She was old Ponsonby.’
She went back to staring at the fire.
‘The two of you became friends,’ Marion prodded.
Rose closed her eyes and her head fell forward. ‘Not exactly friends. I guess I felt, I don’t know, protective towards her. She was out of her depth with some of those women. Don’t get me wrong they were always pleasant, but she had no idea how they live. Sorry,’ she jerked up straight, ‘I know that sounds awful.’
‘No,’ Marion said smooth as silk. ‘We need to know about Edwina. It’s important we understand her. Tell us more about your relationship.’
Rose stared at Marion. Nodded. It was an age before she started talking again. Alex had to strain to hear. ‘It was the old Ponsonby thing. We’d both grown up here so she gravitated towards me. It meant a lot to her. She was overwhelmed by what Ponsonby’s become. The smart women with bags of money. She’s quite a bit older than me so when she was a kid Ponsonby was tough. When I grew up here it was already pretty slick. Not like now of course. And I didn’t have a husband. We were both alone.’ She trailed off, went back to staring at the fire. Marion waited, knew she would pick up the story when she was ready.
‘But it was the hair thing. The Hair Day, I call it. She latched on. A bit like a leech.’
Alex couldn’t help himself. He smiled. Almost laughed. Turned so they wouldn’t see.
‘Tell me about it,’ Marion said. ‘It must have been some day for you to remember it so clearly.’
Alex listened, admiring the quiet comfort Marion brought to the room. Never jerked people out of their story.
Rose pulled her chair closer to the fire. ‘It was a weird day.’ Alex could see her shoulders shaking through the thin fabric of her T-shirt, even as she pulled on a cardigan Marion had found on the back of the chair and handed to her. ‘It was the university holidays, so I wasn’t working. I’m the lowest of the low at the university. A casual. In the labs. No students, no work. I went to the gym, then stayed for a coffee afterwards. I was relaxing, you know, didn’t have anything much to do. There was hardly anyone at coffee. Most of the women have kids to look after during the holidays. In the end there was only Edwina and me. She was sad. Her birthday. Turned out her children hadn’t rung and she’d been expecting her son to put money into her account but it wasn’t there. She’d been going to spend some of it on her hair. She was so … pathetic. Thing is I’d been to my accountant the week before, sorting out my finances, so I knew I was okay for money. Good in fact. Insurances you see, they threw money at me after my husband …’ she rubbed her hands together, held them out towards the fire.
Alex watched her. A tiny thing with sad brown eyes, perched on the end of an overstuffed chair.
‘The weather that day,’ Rose continued, her gaze once more locked on the fire, ‘it was raining cats and dogs. I felt so sorry for her. I gave in to an impulse and took her to my hairdresser. My birthday present. The salon wasn’t busy—rainy morning, school holidays, no one about. The hairdresser was great, got into the mood. Had one of his girls do her make-up, told her what sort of new glasses to buy. Started to take the awful perm out of her hair. Took a few processes to fix the perm, then he gave her a simple style. I saw her about a week later and the result was a miracle.’
Rose turned to Marion. ‘Do you have any idea what taking a perm out does to a person’s face? Her hair used to stick out at the sides, made her head seem huge’—she held her hands beside her face—‘and with the big 1980s glasses, well, it wasn’t a good look. When the birthday money from her son hit her bank account, she bought new glasses and some clothes. The rabbit tracksuit was thrown out and like magic you could see how much weight she’d lost. Yes,’ her voice petered out, ‘everything changed. The new Edwina emerged. From then on there was no stopping her.’
Rose slumped back in the chair, her face a pasty white. Alex handed her a plate of lasagne. She took a few bites then put the plate on a side table with most of the food uneaten.
‘I probably sound as though I didn’t like her,’ Rose continued. ‘Not true. In many ways I admired her. She’d had a pretty hideous life, but she had a good soul. Wasn’t bitter. But struggled. Did things with the church, made clothes for babies, helped out. It was … I don’t know, she was intense. It was as if she was waking up after a long sleep, and for some reason she’d chosen me as a confidant. It was hard. I was barely coping myself. Had moved back with the kids. Tough times. Plus, we were so different. I’ve lived all over the world, she’s barely set foot out of Ponsonby.’
‘Everyone we’ve talked to says Edwina wouldn’t have been interested in a man. Why? She’d transformed herself, why couldn’t she have found a boyfriend?’ Alex asked.
Rose shrugged, closed her eyes. ‘She just wouldn’t.’
‘But she lost so much weight, had a makeover. Why?’
‘She wasn’t interested.’
Marion put her hand out, touched Alex on the arm, shook her head. He nodded. They were done for the night.
‘Can I see you tomorrow? Talk some more?’ Alex asked. So unexpected, he surprised himself. Marion jumped. ‘Thing is,’ he continued, ignoring Marion, ‘we need to know everything about Edwina. Especially about the things that happened recently. Everyone we’ve talked to has mentioned your name.’
Rose opened her eyes, looked from Alex to Marion and back again. ‘Are you in charge, then? You’re not just the tea boy?’
Alex smiled.
‘All right,’ Rose said, but the words were dragged out of her mouth. ‘I’m working in the morning. Too late to cancel now. We’ll talk after my class.’
‘Good,’ said Alex. ‘Yes, good.’
*
‘Can I see you tomorrow?’ Marion mimicked. ‘It sounded as if you were asking her out on a date. She’s a potential suspect,’ she spat out with razor sharpness. ‘Whatever were you thinking, Alex?’ They were in the car on the way back to the station. Marion wasn’t going to let it go.
‘There are questions to ask. Why does everyone say there isn’t a man somewhere? Jerry’s probably right on this one. Even if she wasn’t interested in finding a man, it doesn’t mean a bloke hasn’t been chasing after her. She’s a catch now. Got a nice house, a bank balance, a brand-new car.’
It was true too, Alex told himself. Edwina could easily have been preyed upon by some chancer. If he tried hard enough, he could almost convince himself that was his motivation in seeing Rose tomorrow, but he could never persuade Marion. She could pick up nuances, read people. That’s what made her such a good interrogator. With her old school country values, it didn’t matter she was young and he the boss. Marion always said what Marion thought.
‘I’ll check around at the university. Find out a bit more about her. It could be useful.’ Alex knew it sounded lame, wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
Marion folded her arms and looked out the window. The silence was fractured with a disbelieving snort.
*
Alex dropped Marion at the station. She had remained silent and scowling, and drove home thinking about the little pools of misery he’d created during the course of the day. Wondered how many times in his life he’d sat in front of people who had cried because of the sadness he’d brought into their lives. Rose worried him. Everything about her screamed she was just hanging on. He hoped there was a special person somewhere to hold her hand when the tears flowed. Unlike himself. He had dropped into the land of the unloved when his wife left him and took their daughters. He’d mentioned it once to Jerry—about bringing despair into people’s lives. Jerry was no philosopher. He’d picked up a full glass of cab sav, tossed it back like water and said, ‘What do you want to do? Get a job as fucking Santa Claus?’ They’d both roared, but that was after too much red wine on a Friday night at the end of a bad week.
Alex was almost home before he realised it, the busy road empty at night. The homeless shelter without its usual cluster of men hanging about outside. He caught sight of the front of his building. The small ground-floor window was an apology of a shop, filled with a haphazard assortment of Chinese porcelain. Teapots, tea sets and bowls in blues, reds and greens shining through the layers of dust. Alex loved the window, how it changed as things were sold, orders sent out to customers. He’d told Mr Chan he couldn’t stand the chaos anymore. He was going in there to clean it up, give the delicate porcelain a decent place to live. But there was never the time. It was on his to-do list. One day.
His colleagues had not believed him when Alex bought the apartment. Five doors up from a homeless shelter and on one of the busiest roads in town. That was before they took the old Otis lift, all panelled oak and wrought iron filigree, to his eighth-floor sanctuary where the traffic noise was dulled and the view from the back balcony over the city was a thing of wonder.
He’d had a house on a hill once, a large Victorian villa with views over a green belt and beyond to the city. It had disappeared along with his marriage and his children. Now he had a little piece of the city in this run-down art deco building. He’d worked hard doing it up. Every evening building, painting, tiling, plumbing, anything to avoid the dull ache of an empty home. A home without children, a home without his wife. For two years he’d worked every night until his anger was under control. He was left with a redecorated apartment and an empty life.
The first time his ex-wife brought the children to stay after it was finished, she had lingered, admired the workmanship. ‘You’ve done a good job, Alex,’ she said, ‘but then you were always clever with your hands.’ She’d looked at him, her grey eyes large, and when the girls had gone to their bedroom—the wonderland he had created for them—she had stayed and stayed until the children were asleep. She’d taken his hand then, and led him to the bedroom, where they’d christened the apartment in a way he hadn’t expected. Fast and furious. A desperate need that still remained.
Afterwards she had whispered, ‘I’m sorry, Alex, I never meant to hurt you so badly.’
And he had asked, ‘Why did you, Bridget?’
She had turned away, picked up her things. ‘I was so young when we married, Alex. It turned out I needed more. I’m sorry, but I needed more.’
*
Alex drove his car down the narrow lane at the side of the building and parked near the small apartment behind the shop, where Mr Chan lived. Mr Chan owned the block, but that hadn’t affected the way he lived; simply and alone.
The light was on inside. He knocked on the door, asked if he could borrow the dog, take him for a run. Dog, comfortable on the sofa, gave a sleepy wag of his tail, but when Alex came back dressed in his running gear he could see the reproach in the animal’s eyes.
‘It’s okay Dog, we’ll go slow,’ he said, but he wasn’t in the mood for slow. He wanted to run, hard. Feel his blood pumping and his muscles scream. He knew he wasn’t dealing with the job anymore. The tears and the pain. It used to wash off him when he had a wife to hold in bed and children to laugh with. Now it all stuck. Caught him in a web of depression. Tonight, he needed to get rid of it. Run it out. Otherwise he’d risk drowning in wine.
He jogged to the park, let the dog lie down and watch as he pounded around the track. He pushed himself until there was no more to give, until he had got the anxiety out of his system. Then he turned for home with Dog trotting behind him.
Mr Chan let them in. He refilled Dog’s bowl and put a pot of tea in front of Alex.
‘Made with leaves that are meant to restore health and peace of mind. Well, if you believe my granddaughter, Jessica. Sit and drink. I can see your mind is in need of restoration.’
‘For sure.’
‘Bad one?’
‘Incomprehensible.’ Alex took a sip of his tea. Fragrant, musky. Calming. ‘Jessica’s right. It’s good.’ He sipped more of the tea while Mr Chan pulled dumplings out of the steamer.
