The Shadows of Justice by Simon Hall

best. And given what she’s gone through, maybe not even that.”
    “What she’s gone through?” Dan queried.
    “I’ll tell you more about that later. Anyway, there was something different about this case. It looked like the Edwards were chasing serious sums of money.”
    Now came a lull, the first in the chronology of crimes the siblings were thought to have carried out. For four months, nothing was heard.
    Until the night of 13 September and the break-in at the headquarters of the South West Peninsula (Subdivision) Regional Health Strategic Oversight Authority; a masterpiece of bureaucratic nomenclature if ever there was one.
    As Adam went through the story, Dan understood the reason for his friend’s anger. He turned, held the detective’s look, and received a nod of forgiveness.
    ***
    The convoy slowed for the town of Kingsbridge, all inlets and creeks. It was market day, and a busy one with the sunshine, colourful stalls filling a car park and lining the main street.
    They followed the road through the throng, then back out into the countryside and on to the village of Frogmore. It was another in the well-fed register of Devon names that raised more questions than could ever perhaps be answered.
    They turned off the main road and onto a single tarmac track, fattened only by the occasional passing place. The earth banks of Devon hedges closed in, their green bulk speckled with the blues, purples and whites of springtime.
    One by one, the accompanying sirens fell silent. They were moving slowly now, furtively, unwilling to risk alerting that which they had come to hunt.
    “I can just finish the story,” Adam said. “It’s time to show you what the Edwards really are.”
    ***
    He was a security guard in name, but it was a Hall of Mirrors description of the job. A caretaker in uniform would have been more honest.
    Albert Fisher was, by unanimous account, a gentle man. He was 63 years old, greying in the hair, expanding in the waist and earning a little extra money to ease the transition into retirement. He and his wife Janet both had reasonable pensions and planned to downsize, selling the house in Plymouth and moving to the kinder climes of the Lizard peninsula in Cornwall. A twee white cottage had been identified. The garden was fruitful without being overly taxing and the conveyancing was underway.
    The couple had always been the fabled outdoor types and planned to do their best to defy the ageing process by staying that way. The Lizard was a wonderful place to walk, with its unique heathland and spectacular coast. Even that great headland could be just a base for exploring the rest of Cornwall. A good life’s final adventure beckoned happily.
    The motive for the break-in was unclear. A theory that the Edwards might have been looking for confidential documents was aired, or maybe trying to steal official stationery for some purpose unknown. Perhaps they wanted to access the computer systems.
    Such were the thoughts, but none were ever proven as facts. All that could be concluded was money wasn’t the objective. There was only petty cash stored in the offices.
    Albert had found a storeroom open and walked in to investigate. His reward was a cosh on the back of the head. The medical evidence was clear that he had been hit at least twice more as he lay unconscious.
    That the Edwards were responsible was conjecture, a supposition based on evidence so flimsy there would never be a point in putting it before a court. They had no alibis for the night and an informant had whispered that they’d been talking of some kind of attack at an important building. Martha’s knowledge of forensics, the theory went, would have equipped her with the ability to break in without leaving the giveaway fingerprints, hairs or fibres.
    Albert had survived, but he hadn’t lived. There was extensive brain damage. It left a man who had been proud, independent and eloquent unable to walk, communicate or care for himself.
    In a reflex of