The idea that Edward's killer was still out there, and hurting other people had infected my mind. IT lay in wait to pounce whenever I had a free moment, waiting for my commonsence to drop it's gaurd, and whisper thoughts of revenge to me. For a time, after all, Edward had become almost as dear a freind as Henry. No one else belived that the attacks were related.
If they were, and only I knew it, didn't I have an obligation to try and see his killer brought to justice?
Wouldn't he want it that way?
How could he rest knowing not only had his killer not been caught, but an innocent man had been executed for the crime? Actualy, the man they caught was almost certainly still a murderer, even if he hadn't been Edward's killer, so saying that he was 'innocent' would be something of a streach.
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a little brown book
finding the life of Alexander Shaw, a kind of serial story.
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