by Anita Waller
‘Nice lad,’ Carl said.
‘Mmm. He booked tonight off work, so he could stay with Daryl. He works nights at Asda, stacking shelves. Him and Vinnie have been best mates since they were about four years old. It’s hit him hard.’ Aileen felt her eyes prickle with tears. ‘You want a cup of tea?’
‘No, let’s have something stronger. Round the evening off properly. Whisky?’
‘Only a small one. That wine was lovely, but it was strong.’
‘Then stay the night, and you won’t have to worry about wobbling home.’
‘Ever the opportunist.’ She smiled. ‘Okay, I will. I’ll need to be up early, though, to get ready for Ella’s funeral. I bet that’s why Daryl took himself off to bed.’
Carl handed her the drink, slightly larger than the requested small one, and they settled on the sofa. They talked through the plan details once more, and both agreed it had to work; if it didn’t, Grausohn wouldn’t stop until they were all dead.
By ten o’clock, they were asleep. Daryl was still reading, wishing it was Thursday, and Wednesday would be out of the way.
‘Sir?’ PC Craig Smythe spoke into his phone, feeling uneasy. He’d never had a phone call at home from DI Roberts before.
‘You got a darkish suit, lad?’
‘Yes, sir, navy blue.’
‘Good. Wear it tomorrow. We’re going to a funeral. Sorry it’s short notice. I was supposed to be taking Dan Eden, but his wife’s gone into labour.’
Craig smiled. ‘I can promise that won’t happen here, sir. Is it the Ella Johnston funeral?’
‘It is. Eyes and ears open. Strange things can happen at funerals.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘Night, lad.’
‘Night, sir.’
Craig stared at the phone for a moment. The last time he’d worn a suit had been for his police interview. He hoped to God the trousers would still fasten. The jacket he could leave open…
Aileen was home by ten; she had seen to the three of them having a good breakfast, because she didn’t know when they would eat again. The church service was at midday, with the cremation at half past one. It would be mid-afternoon before they reached the Yellow Lion, where Cissie had arranged for the wake to be held.
She changed into a dark skirt and pink top, as requested by Cissie. She wanted her little girl’s send-off to be a sea of pink. She had arranged to pick up Carl and Daryl in her car around eleven-thirty, in the hope that she could get parked somewhere close by the church.
She looked at herself in the mirror, worried by the image that stared back at her. She had lost the… glow? The life force? Whatever she had had, it was no longer there. Over the next week or so, she had three funerals, one of whom was her own son. She remembered the afternoon of the day before Vinnie had died, when she had been laughing because she had showed him up in front of Liam. How she wished she could have that afternoon back again. This time, she would do the washing, make him a cup of tea. Tell him how much she loved him.
She watched the clock tick the time slowly away, and just before eleven-thirty, she locked up and drove to Carl and Daryl’s house. She noticed there was still a slight limp to Daryl’s walk, despite his protestations that he was much better, hardly in any pain at all.
She dropped the two of them outside the church, figuring it would be better for Daryl, then drove around the corner to park the car. By the time she’d walked back around, Daryl was standing with the Brownlow kids, and Sammy. Their parents were huddled together in a group, talking and looking downcast about the situation they now found themselves in.
The children moved over to the headstones reared up against the wall. Mark dropped the backpack down by the first headstone and unzipped it quickly. He pulled out two books, then the hefty package wrapped up in a dark green carrier bag. Sammy followed Mark’s actions and pulled down his shirt sleeve, so that it encased his hand, and took it from him while the others stood in a line, forming a barrier between them and the distant adults. It was the best they could do, and Sammy pushed it as fast as he could into the cavity formed behind the middle headstone. Mark stood and held out the two books towards Daryl, who tried not to look surprised.
‘Sorry, Daryl, but you have to take this bag now. I thought Mum might kick off about me taking a backpack to the funeral, so to stop her, I told her you’d asked me if you could borrow a couple of books, ’cos you’re bored with sitting around. That’s why I put two books in.’
‘Brilliant thinking, Mark,’ Daryl said, ‘especially as it’s true. I can’t put it on my back, though, I’ll carry it.’
They heard a cry of ‘kids,’ and they turned towards the adults. They were beckoning so they guessed Ella had arrived.
They navigated the various graves and headed towards their parents. And Daryl froze. The bag dropped from his hand, and Freya turned, sensing something was wrong.
‘Daryl? You hurting?’
He couldn’t speak at first.
Freya picked up the bag and tugged on his hand. ‘Come on, they’re waiting for us.’
He blinked and looked around seeking out his dad. He took the bag from Freya, thanked her and limped as fast as he could to where Carl and Aileen were waiting for him.
‘Dad…’ There were tears in Daryl’s eyes.
‘I know, son. She was your friend. You’re going to cry. Don’t worry.’
‘That’s not it.’ Now, the tears were really flowing. ‘That man over there, by that big white angel grave, he’s the one who was driving the car that killed my mum.’
Carl spun around, searching for the angel. It was easily seen, especially with Kenny Lancaster at the side of it.
‘Are you sure?’ But he knew Daryl was right. Now, it made sense. Kenny was here because he’d killed Ella, and Carl suspected he had been next on the list so that he couldn’t give out any more names. Megan had paid the price for him not being in that car.
‘Can you keep quiet about it?’ he whispered. ‘I promise I’ll deal with it, but not here. Today is for Ella.’
Daryl nodded, and Aileen looked on, a perplexed expression on her face. Something was wrong. She reached forward and handed Daryl a tissue.
‘Dry your eyes, sweetheart. And when we get inside, sit between us. We’re here to look after you.’
They moved as the small white coffin reached the church doors. Cissie was calm, upright and dressed in a pink dress. She showed no grief, and she carried a pink rose and Mr Grumps.
As they processed down the aisle, Carl was aware of Kenny some way behind them, and he thought it was best that way. He wouldn’t be tempted to say or do anything by being near him.
The service began, and Cissie fell apart. Her sobs filled the church, and she stood and took Mr Grumps and the rose towards the coffin. She placed them on top and laid her head on the lid.
Sally moved forward and stood with her, then led her gently back to her seat, remaining with her and leaving John to cope with the wide-eyed disbelief of their own three children.
So many children crying; almost every child from Ella and Freya’s class was there, and it seemed to be beyond their comprehension that they would never see their friend again; so much sound, so much distress.
It seemed to be a wave of pink that followed the white coffin out of the church and back to the hearse. Sally stayed with Cissie, limpet-like; she knew her friend was on the point of collapse, and it wasn’t going to happen, not on her shift. Several people tried to speak to Cissie, but with glazed eyes and no real comprehension of what was happening, they received nothing in return.
The five members of Ella’s Gang watched as the hearse began its journey to the crematorium; none of them spoke. Mark and Dom held on to Freya’s hands as if they never wanted to let her go. She was one month older than Ella had been. It could have been their little sister in that coffin.
Daryl looked around trying to spot the man he had recognised but could no longer see him. He must have been one of the first out of the church
, and now, he had disappeared. The sense of relief he had felt at finally getting rid of the package of drugs had been washed away by seeing the man. Still, his dad had said he would deal with it – he had to trust that it would happen.
They drifted away, some to their homes and some to the Yellow Lion. Daryl saw his father speaking with DI Roberts and wondered if his dad was telling him about his son’s recognition of the man. He thought his dad might deal with it himself. Sometimes, you didn’t need the police to sort things out.
Aileen brought the car around to the church, and Daryl limped across to get in, helped by his dad. ‘You okay, sweetheart?’ she asked. ‘I’ve got your medication in my bag, if you want some when we get to the pub.’
He nodded. ‘Thanks, Aileen, I will. I’m a bit achy all over.’
Nobody spoke for the rest of the short journey, and they went into the pub and quickly found a seat, together with the Brownlows and Janey Walker. The children all sat together and were provided with lemonades.
They needed to talk, but in the noisy environment of the Yellow Lion, it was impossible.
Only a few people had accompanied Cissie to the crematorium, and she was back in their midst within the hour. She looked drained, and Sally made her sit with them; she felt she needed to be with her, to offer what comfort she could on such a horrific day.
Mourners started to leave around four o’clock, and by half past five, the staff were cleaning away the detritus left. Sally took Cissie back with them, asking Janey to drop off the twins on her way home.
By six o’clock, all of Ella’s Gang were in their own homes, trying desperately to come to terms with their first funeral, and the finality of losing Ella.
Daryl needed to speak to Carl, and when Aileen said she was going home, he felt relieved. Carl walked her to the door, kissed her and watched as she walked to her car.
‘Take care,’ he called, and she waved a hand in acknowledgement through the open car window.
He turned around, and Daryl was standing immediately behind him. ‘Nearly knocked you over there, pal,’ he said with a smile. ‘You want something?’
‘I want to know who that man is. The one who killed Mum. Why was he at Ella’s funeral?’
‘I have no idea, but I don’t want you worrying. It will be sorted. And don’t go saying anything to DI Roberts if he calls ‘round.’
Daryl stared at his father. ‘What you gonna do?’
‘I’ve told you, I’ll sort it. Now, you want to watch the telly, or are you going to bed?’
Daryl’s face showed his disgust. ‘I’ll go to bed. I’ve got some new books from Mark and Dom.’
He left the room, feeling overwhelmed by anger. His dad clearly hadn’t changed; it was all an act, this caring for him. He didn’t care at all.
Roberts was at his desk, going through every report, every scrap of paper that had filtered through with regard to the Vinnie Walmsley murder. Nothing new hit him; every tiny lead – and they were tiny – had been followed up, and still, they didn’t know who the woman was. Or where she was.
He heard the door open, and Craig Smythe stood framed by the jamb. He had loosened his tie off a little, now that he was going home.
‘Heading home now, boss, unless you need me for anything else.’
‘Come in a minute, will you. I’ll not keep you long.’
Craig closed the door and sat down opposite Roberts. ‘Sir?’
‘You okay after today?’
Craig shrugged. ‘If the truth is what you’re after, no, I’m not okay. It’s the first child’s funeral I’ve ever been to, and I don’t want to go to another one. The mother…’
‘I know,’ Roberts replied. ‘She was a mess. She’s a lovely woman, and it was just her and her daughter, so she’s lost everything. There’s no dad to the little girl, to Ella.’
‘And the size of that coffin, so tiny. And all those kids…’
‘They came from her class at school. God knows how the school will deal with it when they go back in a couple of weeks.’
‘I saw that her friends from that little gang they had were there. He’s still limping, the lad from the crash at Dinnington.’
‘Yeah, nice kids. And, of course, he’s got his mother’s funeral coming up. This shouldn’t be happening to any kid, it’s too much. Okay, Craig, wanted your thoughts. Try not to dwell on it, it might be your first, but it won’t be your last.’
Craig Smythe stood. ‘Thank you, sir. Back in uniform tomorrow. The trousers fit me better than these do.’
‘Best get you out patrolling on the push bikes, then,’ Roberts joked. ‘See you in the morning.’
‘Goodnight, sir. There’s one thing about that funeral that struck me as being a bit strange – that feller that we stopped in the woods, the one with the little white dog. He was there.’
Chapter 19
Kenny saw the police car pull up outside and stubbed out his cigarette. Eight o’clock seemed a bit early in the morning for a routine police visit, and he wondered what the hell they wanted.
‘Billy,’ he said quietly, ‘there’s a squad car outside. Do you want to disappear?’
‘I’ll go take a shower, a long one. Shout if you need me.’
Kenny went to the front door, opening it as Roberts knocked.
‘Mr Lancaster? DI Roberts, and, as you probably remember, this is PC Smythe.’ Roberts showed his warrant card. ‘Can we come in for a minute, please, sir?’
Kenny opened the door wide. ‘Of course. What can I do for you, Detective Inspector?’
He led them into the lounge and indicated that they should sit down.
Roberts spoke first. ‘It’s about a funeral you attended, yesterday, Mr Lancaster.’
‘Yes, what of it?’ Kenny’s mind was racing.
‘Did you know the deceased?’
‘Sort of. I found out last week that she was my daughter. Prior to that, I had assumed, wrongly it seems, that her mother had had an abortion. When Cecily Johnston told me she was pregnant, I said I wasn’t ready for children, and she said she wasn’t either. We weren’t even that close at the time, and we simply split up. I never heard from her again. Then, last week, she contacted my sister, the woman whose dog I take for walks, to get her to pass a message onto me. When we were together, Cissie and I, I had lived with Katie, my sister. She remembered her and found her through Facebook.’
He paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. ‘Katie gave Cissie my email address. Would you like to see those communications, DI Roberts?’ He stood and walked over to pick up his phone. He logged on to his emails.
Roberts joined him, watching as he clicked on one that said Cecily Ann. Kenny walked away, his stomach churning. He could have done without this.
Roberts read through them. It was clear Lancaster was telling the truth.
‘Then, indeed, I am deeply sorry for your loss, Mr Lancaster. Can I ask you to forward those to my email address, please? Just for our files, and we won’t bother you any further.’ He handed his card to Kenny, and Craig Smythe stood.
A minute later, they were back in the squad car and heading back to the south east of the city.
‘Must have been a bit of a shock for him,’ Roberts said, staring out of the passenger window. ‘First time he hears he has a daughter, and he finds out it’s because she’s dead.’
‘You don’t think it’s a bit suspicious, then, sir?’
‘He didn’t invent those emails, Craig. He’d no advance warning we were about to turn up on his doorstep.’
‘It’s not that. It’s the fact that he’s there. Why was he in that tiny strip of woodland? He doesn’t live anywhere near here. He said he was on his way to Rother Valley, when his date rang to cancel, so he took the dog there. But that bit of woodland isn’t on the way to Rother Valley. It’s not really on the way to anywhere. Everything that’s happening seems sort of interconnected. Gives me goosebumps.’
‘Promise me you won’t put goosebumps in any report, PC Smy
the,’ Roberts said drily. ‘It’s not really official police language.’
Roberts hesitated. ‘But you’re right. Vinnie Walmsley dies, and this Lancaster feller turns up in the woods. Ella Johnston dies, and he turns up at the funeral. Wonder if he’ll turn up at Megan Clarkson’s funeral? Or Vinnie Walmsley’s? Let’s go back and see what we can find out about him. I’ll stake my pension on him being on some database or other that’s in our system. Don’t put the suit away. We’ve two more funerals to go to.’
Cissie Johnston wanted to close her eyes and never open them again. She had insisted on going home after an hour at the Brownlow’s; it was too hard seeing Freya running around fully recovered, knowing that Ella had died because she wanted to make sure her friend wasn’t too ill.
Cissie didn’t explain her reasons for wanting to go home, not the real reasons, anyway. She simply said it was time to open the curtains.
John walked up with her and checked everything was okay, then waited outside until he heard the lock click on the front door. Satisfied that she was as safe as possible, he headed back home to his own three children. He was dreading their imminent return to school life; they would be away from their protection.
Thursday morning in the Clarkson household was a quiet one. The funeral of the previous day had left its mark. Carl had reassured Daryl that he would sort out what he called “the situation with the man.” He preferred not to use his name, preferred not to reveal he knew him; he didn’t want Daryl saying anything to Roberts.
He didn’t want Kenny to know that Daryl had identified him; it was important that Kenny thought they were allies.
Carl’s mind wandered a little when he saw the strappy top Aileen was wearing, but he dragged his thoughts back to his current problems.
