Bridge of Sighs

by Priscilla Masters

  FIFTY-ONE

  She would have given anything not to see the hurt, the shock in Alex’s face as he looked from one to the other. She felt frozen. Hopeless. Victor Stanley leaned in to her, eyes steady. He smiled into her eyes as though romanticizing her. All a deliberate act. As though they were already lovers and she knew that in this way he was laying a little trail of breadcrumbs that would mislead. She knew that in this restaurant, if she turned around, she would see someone with a tablet or a camera phone. All this would be recorded. She had walked into the trap fully aware and still been caught. What a fool. She looked at Stanley and knew it. He’d set the whole bloody thing up. He’d probably suggested that DS Talith and his recently bereaved senior officer have a nice cosy drink right here.

  He almost brushed her lips as he spat out his next few sentences. ‘Poor little Erica,’ he said. ‘Funny old thing, wasn’t she?’

  ‘I never met her.’

  ‘Oh, no. Of course you wouldn’t have, would you? Too busy making up to him. We have the photos of you two having your jolly at the quarry.’

  ‘I handed them straight to the police.’ It was up to her to turn this around. She stood up, faced Stanley, who looked surprised at this turn of events.

  Alex Randall and Talith had crossed the floor in a couple of steps.

  ‘Victor Stanley.’ She had never heard Alex’s voice so stern. ‘We are arresting you on suspicion of people trafficking and also the rape of Patrick Elson. You do not have to say anything …’

  She watched as though in a nightmare. She wanted to explain what she was doing here.

  Alex gave her a swift look. ‘DNA,’ he said. ‘And there are the photographs.’

  Stanley’s response was predictable. ‘Prove it.’

  ‘Certainly. We are not short of evidence which will convict you.’

  Then Alex Randall smiled at her and the warmth and shared friendship held in that smile was as comforting as cocoa on a cold day, ice cream on a hot one, an umbrella in the rain and a glass of wine after a hard day’s work.

  Alex spoke very softly, for her ears only. ‘So what,’ he asked gently, ‘are you up to now, Martha?’

  She met those hazel eyes, part grey, part a warm treacly colour. ‘That,’ she said, her mouth close to his, speaking in a soft and quiet voice, ‘was purely business.’

  ‘Purely business? Didn’t look like that to me.’

  ‘I can assure you that is what it was,’ she said quietly.

  His eyebrows rose.

  Later she would learn that in Patrick Elson’s schoolbag left on the bridge over the A5 they had found a tissue. And on that tissue was semen which would be enough to convict Victor Stanley.

  Not quite so clever then. Sometimes condoms leak.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Victor Stanley was charged, put on remand and the case against him assembled.

  But when Martha had the chance, she asked Alex, ‘And the boys? The Silver brothers?’

  ‘Some day,’ he said, ‘they’ll overstep the mark.’

  So it proved. Martha was called three months later. A boy’s body was dragged from the River Severn. Witnesses testified that they had seen two tow-headed boys with buzz haircuts push him in. There was photographic evidence. And CCTV.

  And so the wheel of life and death, evil and good turns continued.

  There was one last service she could perform.

  Wednesday, 10 May, 11 a.m.

  They were all there at the Coroner’s Court in Shrewsbury, waiting to hear the verdict on Gina Marconi’s death. Bridget and Julius were sitting so close together they appeared welded as one. Terence would be at school.

  They’d listened to the pathologist’s evidence, the evidence of Graham Skander, of the police and the emergency services. Julius had spoken about their planned wedding and Bridget had described her daughter’s intelligence, beauty and anticipation for September’s wedding.

  Martha was summing up. And she still had a card up her sleeve. She would win this one.

  ‘I think it probable that Gina was excited that night about the wedding and couldn’t sleep. Tell me,’ she addressed Bridget Shannon, ‘was your daughter fond of animals?’

  Bridget nodded without a clue where this was leading.

  All faces were turned towards Martha.

  ‘So she got out of bed and drove.’ Martha smiled and to give her version authenticity she added, ‘I’ve done the same myself – on occasions. I think it possible that approaching Mr Skander’s wall she saw an animal in the road – a squirrel maybe or a fox. There is road kill on the verges. She swerved to avoid the animal, and the rest we know.’

  Mouths were open as she announced her verdict. ‘Accidental death.’

  Nobody asked the questions they could have about the seat belt. No one asked any questions at all.

  Images could have been out there, never erased, but public interest soon wanes and moves on to the next scandal. The press look for new headlines. There is always something to replace a dead lawyer, a schoolboy.

  Except for their family.