‘I say no problem, Boss. No problem at all. Twenty bucks says we know who it is by then.’
Good old Jerry again. Always the optimist.
* Alex loved working with Marion. ‘Born old,’ Jerry reckoned. Had her thirtieth birthday a little while back, but she's everybody’s mother. With her long ash-blond ponytail, scrubbed rosy cheeks, plump homely body and kind green eyes, she had ‘the knack’ they called it in the force. Within minutes of meeting her, people were chatting away like old friends, pouring out their thoughts, giving it up. Alex thought she was equal to two men, although he would never say it.
‘It’s cute,’ Marion said as they pulled up in front of eleven Edmund Street, a tiny weatherboard cottage with fresh white paint and a few late red roses climbing up the verandah. They had opened the white picket gate when an old lady came shuffling along the road and headed straight for Marion.
Breathing hard and heavy, the woman was short and wide. Frizzy white hair caught up into a bun, and hips that had seen a good too many cakes and pies. She introduced herself as Mrs O’Brien, Edwina’s good friend. Her eyes behind large brown-rimmed glasses were sharp and watchful. Marion flicked out her identification, showed it to the woman. That’s when the dam broke. The worry tumbled out.
‘Are you here about Edwina? Has something happened? She and I always go to church now. The ten o’clock mass.’ She was talking to both of them, but her pleading eyes were fixed on Marion. Marion reached out her hand and touched the woman’s arm. The woman’s face crumbled. Understanding dawned.
‘Please, what’s happened?’ she whispered. ‘I have a key but I haven’t gone in. Should we go in?’
Alex stood back. Left it to Marion. He watched her nod, take the key Mrs O’Brien offered, lead her inside and sit her down on the couch. A few quiet words from Marion and he heard the old lady gasp, moan. It was always the same. A world broken in a second—it could never be any other way.
Nothing was out of place. Newly renovated, polished floorboards, soft lemon walls clean and unmarked. A person living alone. It didn’t give anything away. No photos hanging on the walls, no pegboards full of postcards, no obvious computer. Alex wandered outside through the French doors onto a tiled patio with planter boxes filled with red and pink geraniums.
Leave the two women alone. Give Mrs O’Brien time to adjust.
After a while he wandered back in, asked the old lady about a computer. She shook her head. ‘She learnt to use one for work, but she didn’t own one.’ She sat wringing her hands.
‘Was Edwina married?’
That brought Mrs O’Brien up short. ‘Married? A long time ago. Long gone.’ She shook her head. ‘Ran off he did. Useless man. No, he’s long out of the picture.’
‘Children?’ Marion asked.
‘Oh yes, two. They don’t live here. Not in Auckland. One in Wellington, one in Christchurch. Oh my God, I’ll have to let them know …’ She crossed herself and clutched the crucifix around her neck.
‘It’s all right, Mrs O’Brien.’ Marion’s voice was quiet. Soothing. ‘We’ll take care of it. If you give us a list of relations we’ll contact them.’
‘Oh, there isn’t anyone apart from her children. She was an only child and she’s been alone a long time now. There’s just me, really …’
‘Is your name Janet, by the way?’
‘Yes it is. How did you know?’
Marion let the question drop. ‘What about friends?’
‘Well … our friends from the church, but I’ll let them know and then of course Juliana and her family. Edwina worked in their fruit and vegetable shop up the road most of her life. This new job,’ Mrs O’Brien sniffed, ‘I told her not to take it. A woman on her own driving at night, I told her …’
‘Anyone else?’ Marion broke in, stemming the tide.
‘Well she did make a new friend.’
‘New friend?’
Mrs O’Brien snorted. ‘From the gym. Rose. Course I don’t know her.’
Alex glanced at Marion. The priest perhaps, to identify the body? He couldn’t ask the little old lady in front of him who was clutching her crucifix for dear life and looking as if she’d been run over by a truck. Still, there wasn’t any question. A solitary picture of Edwina with her arm around Mrs O’Brien stared back at him from the mantelpiece. The two women were smiling outside Edwina’s, in front of the ‘For Sale’ sign with a sold sticker plastered
across it.
He was pondering the next move when Marion said she was taking Mrs O’Brien home and making her a cup of tea. Alex nodded. Let Marion tease out the finer details of Edwina’s life while he had a wander around. There was something not quite right about this pristine house. No books, newspapers, computer or stereo. In the kitchen he had seen an old-fashioned wireless, a museum piece. And in the lounge, a tiny television. The furniture was old, mismatched. It didn’t feel right. Not in this renovated inner-city cottage that no doubt came with a hefty price tag.
He checked his watch. He needed to talk to the priest, then order some phone records before the three of them met up back at the station to pool everything they had found out about Edwina Biggs.
* Rose Jones walked along Wells Street wishing she’d thought to bring her sunglasses. It was ridiculous. Two hours ago the heavens had opened and dumped on the city. Lightning, thunder and a massive amount of rain had flooded drains and hurled rubbish and leaves all over the streets. As quickly as the squalls had arrived they had passed. Now droplets of water glistened on the pavements, lawns, cars and trees. The streets glowed bright in the weak, watery sun.
When the rain had stopped, Rose had
