by Sarah Flint
Monday morning had dawned warm and bright; far too warm and bright for a funeral. Charlie had been up early to prepare but had still ended up borrowing white gloves and a clean hat from Sabira’s ample supply. Nick had arrived at work dead on time, smartly dressed in a pristine uniform, saying little about his absence over the weekend. He had spent fifteen minutes alone with Hunter, exiting the office tight-lipped, leaving the whole team curious as to what had been said. Charlie in particular had been keen to know the content of the conversation but soon put it to the back of her mind, concentrating instead on the forthcoming funeral.
This was the first church service of the four she would be attending as part of the investigation team, but this was also the one in which she was, by far, the most emotionally invested. She had been there for Tina Ashton, helping her through the first days of her bereavement and the birth of baby Bryony and updating her the previous morning on the outcome of her case. As the wife of a serving police officer, Tina would remain supported by the service, but on a personal level Charlie had made several promises to her, one of which was to stay in touch as long as her new friend needed.
A car door slammed by the entrance gate and she looked up to see Tina, Bobby, Emily and Brian’s wider family members emerge from several funeral limousines and take up their position behind the hearse carrying Brian’s body. His mother, two sisters and four nephews were there, along with his ex-wife, Lorna, and Max, his son from their marriage. There had been no rancour or recriminations, nor would there be. All were present to pay their respects, regardless of what had happened in the previous years.
Charlie looked to her side and shuffled slightly into position. Along each edge of the driveway leading to the old stone cemetery chapel stood a line of policemen and women shoulder to shoulder, some in plain clothes but most dressed in freshly pressed uniforms with shoes gleaming, badges polished and white gloves. Some were older, well used to attending police funerals; others were young, the shock of a colleague and friend’s murder still raw. Most knew Brian Ashton and had worked with him, Sabira included, but some were there to show solidarity, the death of a fellow officer almost as distressing as the death of a family member.
As she waited, Brian’s coffin was lifted on to the shoulders of six of his closest colleagues, to be carried slowly and reverently into the chapel. Charlie straightened at the spectacle. This wasn’t her first job funeral but the sight of the coffin, decorated with a dark blue cloth embroidered with the Metropolitan Police emblem and the dead officer’s helmet lying pride of place atop, always brought a lump to her throat.
The procession started to move towards them and the guard of honour stood to attention. A lone man hovered by the gates to the cemetery and she recognised the figure of Carl Hookham. He wouldn’t be coming in, but Tina had explained that a mediation session, arranged as a condition of dropping the burglary case had given him the opportunity to explain in a calm, unbiased setting exactly what steps he had taken to better care for his children. Tina in turn now understood how important it was to him for his children to keep his surname. That sorted, their relationship had improved significantly and, as a result, he would be nearby during the service in case it all got too much for Bobby and Emily.
She watched as the funeral procession wound its way closer, a large bouquet of pale blue blooms and white lilies in the shape of ‘Dad’ lying adjacent to the helmet, a poignant reminder of the short amount of time Brian Ashton had played the role. Tina had their baby strapped tightly to her bosom in a sling, and held the hands of Bobby and Emily as they made their way slowly behind. Whether the allegation against him was true or false was now of no consequence. His death had put an end to that. Whatever the truth, he hadn’t deserved to die, and as she watched his coffin slowly transported towards the chapel, the fragility of life was forcefully brought home to every person there. While she still hoped Brian Ashton hadn’t fallen prey to temptation, Charlie understood that anything he had done was for the family that now followed on behind. Some police officers went astray, some weakened, some used their position for their own gain but, like her, the majority stood firm, their desire to do what was right and serve their communities the force that drove them onwards.
Tina was dressed in black, tears running silently down her cheeks but she walked tall, her pride in her husband unflinching. Bryony, the baby Brian had never seen, slept soundly in the sling, while Emily cried quietly, constantly looking towards her mother for reassurance. Tina unclasped her hand and pulled her daughter towards her body, her fingers gently stroking the little girl’s shoulder. Only Bobby remained dry-eyed, his eyes alight as he looked from one officer to another.
Charlie watched as police officers in the line started to weep, remaining to attention but allowing the tears to flow, unashamed and unwilling to break ranks to wipe them away. As the solid oak door was pulled shut behind the last mourner, the commitment of each and every officer to Brian Ashton’s memory was already taking effect. Tina, Lorna, Bobby, Emily, Max and Bryony had been accepted into the police family; the thin blue line might have lost one member, but it had gained another six.
*
‘So, what did Brenda Leach say when she had you trapped in the car?’ Charlie held a glass of wine in one hand and a plate containing an assortment of cocktail sausages, vol-au-vents and sandwiches in her other. The service and burial over, friends, family and colleagues had reassembled in the back room of The Bedford public house in Balham to toast Brian’s memory. With alcohol flowing, the team had found themselves bunched together in a quiet corner of the room, taking the opportunity to talk through the dramatic events of Hunter’s escape in hushed tones. Overhead, the trains rumbled along the same railway line as had shielded Samson Powell while he killed Brian Ashton at the start of the spree, a fact not lost on any of them.
Every member of the team was there, Nick having been brought up to speed briefly with the events of the weekend. If he’d been disappointed at not having played his part, he wasn’t showing it.
‘She said that she was looking forward to watching me die and that I was an arrogant bastard who reminded her of her father.’ Hunter shrugged nonchalantly. ‘She hated her father. She would have liked to have killed him too, but he drank himself to death a good few years ago.’
‘Any particular reason why she wanted to kill him?’ Naz shook her head.
‘Because he was a policeman who used to beat her and her mother up regularly. She claimed he used to delight in making their lives hell. He would lock them in the house so they couldn’t escape and taunt her mother with stories of his affairs with other women. If her mother argued, he would knock her to the floor and kick her until she was black and blue; and if Leach tried to help, he would do the same to her. In the end, she found her mother dead at the bottom of the stairs and her father looking down from the top, laughing. He claimed the death was accidental and got his mates in the force to cover for him but Leach never believed his story. She believes he literally got away with murder.’
‘So, what’s the significance of the rose at each scene? It certainly wasn’t to symbolise romance.’ Charlie had been mulling this question over all of the previous day.
‘I don’t know and I don’t think we ever will. She never mentioned it once in the car, but seeing as she clung on to it even when she fell, it’s obviously hugely important to her. She’ll talk about the violence, but the significance of the rose is a secret that is buried too deep even for her to share.’
‘Why didn’t she and her mother get help?’ Naz was still incensed by the talk of domestic violence.
‘Probably because in those days police didn’t take domestic abuse seriously,’ Bet answered. ‘I should know. I had similar problems when I was young. What happened behind closed doors stayed behind closed doors!’
‘Even more so when the guilty party was a police officer.’ Hunter shook his head. ‘By the sound of it he got away with the lot; had carte blanche to do exactly as he wanted because no other
police officer wanted to nick one of their own. She grew to hate all police. She said that she has spent all her life planning her revenge. It was chilling listening to her talk. She was so calm; speaking about how she’d deliberately worked in churches, hospitals and prisons in order to select her followers.’
‘And so the young girl who was born with a predisposition to antisocial traits became a full-blown psychopath because of her violent and controlling father.’ The others were staring at Charlie. ‘I wondered why such an outwardly well-educated and successful woman could do the things she has, but you’re right, she was calm and seemed almost friendly when she interviewed me. Anna Christophe, Ben’s shrink, told me a bit about what makes serial killers tick. Leach must be a high-functioning psychopath, able to recognise weaknesses and vulnerabilities in others and use them. She chose Samson Powell because he was strong, like her, but had the one fatal flaw she could use to exert control: his weakness towards his mother, Delilah, or anyone that looked like her. And she chose Ross Naylor because he was the opposite; so weak and petrified that he could be easily manipulated and deserted.’
‘Which was why she kept repeating how clever and loyal he was and how perfectly they worked together.’ Hunter took a swig of ale. ‘She had no intention of letting him know she was about to fly to the other side of the world, to a country with no extradition treaties, where she would disappear forever.’
‘Until Hayley Boyle put two and two together.’ Charlie put her wine down and took a bite of a sandwich. ‘That was perfect timing. What’s going to happen to her?’
‘She’ll be moved to a different department and probably disciplined for a few minor offences under the Data Protection Act. She’s been stupid and naive rather than malicious. Leach, as a member of the IPCC already had access to the complaints, so Boyle, in her efforts to be helpful, only really assisted with the most recent updates and the officers’ day-to-day activities. I’m sure Leach could have found out their movements herself, given the way officers leave themselves open on social media these days and never change their regular routines, but there’s no doubt Boyle made it easier.’
‘But she ended up taking a bullet and saving our lives.’
‘And she’ll be recognised for that. Oh, and by the way, her husband found the spreadsheet that she thought she’d lost; it turned up in a different file, so she needn’t have worried about Shirley Sangster having access to the details… but it’ll teach her to be more careful in future.’
‘And her arm will be OK?’ Bet asked.
‘Yes. She’s been discharged already.’ Hunter smiled. ‘She will make a full recovery, unlike Leach. The medical update on her is that her injuries are not going to be life-threatening, but thanks to Charlie’s ability to appeal to down-and-outs, she’ll hopefully spend what’s left of her life locked up. Ross Naylor has already started talking.’ He stopped and raised his pint of ale. ‘And he’s taught me a valuable lesson too. Don’t bottle things up. It’s good to talk.’ He raised his glass. ‘Enough said. Cheers! Here’s to talking more.’
They all raised their glasses, taking a gulp of their favourite tipple before Paul lunged forward, grabbed a sausage from Charlie’s plate and popped it straight into his mouth. He grinned mischievously.
‘Talking about gossip, Sabira. What’s going on with you and that acid attack victim? Naz says you’ve got a bit of a soft spot for her.’
They all swung around towards Sabira, Charlie slapping Paul on the hand. Sabira sunk down in her seat mortified at the spotlight, but brightened within seconds as Naz elbowed her.
‘Preet and I just get on well,’ she smiled. ‘Nothing’s happened, or is going to happen, until her case is concluded, but it was the reason she didn’t want to get married. She always liked girls, but as we all know, our culture doesn’t allow relationships between two women.’
Charlie raised her glass again. ‘Here’s to a time when it does then.’
They all took another sip before Nick piped up. ‘And she’s not too badly scarred by the acid, I presume?’ They all knew exactly what he was getting at.
Sabira shook her head. ‘You’re sad, Nick Arrowsmith. Most of the acid hit her neck and shoulder, so her face is not too badly affected, but even if it was, she’d still be a beautiful person.’
‘Looks aren’t everything,’ Charlie agreed.
‘They are in my book,’ Nick grinned. ‘Which is why today I’ve handed in my papers and am taking up the offer of working as a car salesman in a Porsche showroom, near to where I live.’
‘Nothing to do with not being able to handle the banter of an ageing crack addict then?’ Paul chuckled.
‘Or not coming in on time?’ Naz joined in.
‘Or not coming in at all?’ Bet huffed. They had all been sickened by his refusal to answer his phone and join the team when the crunch came.
‘Or using up your last life,’ Sabira looked towards Hunter for confirmation but got none. What had been said in the privacy of Hunter’s office before the funeral was clearly going to remain confidential and discreet, although they could all imagine the gist of the conversation. Hunter had bided his time, but Nick’s had run out. It was obvious to them all, Nick had either chosen to jump before he was pushed, or to claim that he had, but Hunter was remaining professionally tight-lipped.
Nick shrugged. ‘You’ll never know,’ he grinned again before heading for the bar. Any criticism would go straight over his head. Keeping up appearances was all that mattered to him.
Charlie watched him as he leant towards the young barmaid, his shoulders square, his shirtsleeves tight against his biceps. His behaviour had subconsciously helped to confirm a decision that, until now, she’d been putting off.
‘In my book, giving a shit about the job you do and the people around you is what counts.’ She glanced round at each of her friends in turn before stopping at Hunter. ‘Tell me you’ve made it up with Mrs H?’
Hunter chewed on his lip and looked down, before tilting his head to one side and winking mischievously. ‘She’s only gone and booked two weeks in Spain for us, flying into Barcelona from Heathrow, Terminal 3.’ He feigned a frightened face. ‘We won’t be using that car park though when we go. I don’t ever want to be reminded of Ms Brenda Leach or the IPCC again.’
‘And you won’t have to be,’ DCI Declan O’Connor clapped a hand on Hunter’s shoulder, before raising a half-empty pint glass in a toast. ‘It was confirmed to me this morning that the investigation into your complaint is officially closed. Ms Leach was only keeping it going for her own malicious reasons. You have been exonerated of any misconduct and your decision-making has been praised. You did nothing wrong and everything right.’
Charlie raised her glass as the team celebrated with muted good cheer. They were all still painfully aware of the reason they were there.
‘Told you so,’ she touched glasses with her boss, noticing immediately the Hunter of old had returned.
‘I’ll let you have that one for free,’ he smiled back. ‘But don’t expect to be telling me what to do when I get back from holiday.’
She put her glass down and stepped away, smiling. Nick was watching the group from where he stood, oblivious to the barmaid’s chatter. She thought she read a hint of sadness, envy even, before he turned away on catching her eye. Checking her watch, she looked up and saw Tina Ashton standing on her own by the window. There had been one thing missing from the funeral that had to be put right.
‘Guys, please excuse me,’ she said, backing away. ‘I have one last thing I need to do.’
*
It wasn’t long before she recognised the tall, lean figure of Ben. She watched him fondly as he loped towards where she sat on a fallen tree trunk on the common. He looked fresher than he had been more recently, but that still couldn’t disguise the lack of life in his eyes.
She got up and went towards him, pulling gently on the lead in her hand.
‘Come on, old boy,’ she bent down, stroking Casper softly o
n the head. ‘Meet your new master.’
Ben stared at Charlie for an instant before dropping to his knees and running his hands over the black Labrador’s body, nuzzling his head carefully, before looking up questioningly at the large patch of short fur on his belly that still hadn’t quite grown back.
‘I’ll explain everything on our way. Come on. This is Casper, but there’s somewhere we need to take him first.’
She passed the lead to Ben and they started to walk, slowly and steadily, immersed in conversation, Ben stopping to encourage Casper onwards every now and again, his joy at the dog’s progress palpable. When eventually they passed through the stone arch of the cemetery and got to their destination, they lapsed into silence. The hole had been filled and the family’s flowers arranged thoughtfully around the edge. A small wooden cross with a name engraved on a gold plaque was the only thing that denoted whose body lay beneath the mound of freshly dug earth.
Charlie bent down and unclipped the lead and they watched as the old dog moved closer to the grave, his muzzle nudging at the soil, sniffing and whimpering quietly. It was as if he instantly knew the significance of the mound and recognised the familiar scent of his beloved master. After a few minutes, he pawed a small hole in the soil and laid down, his head resting against the fresh earth.
Charlie and Ben watched as he closed his eyes, his breath slowing as his body relaxed. They sat down on a nearby bench, neither needing or wanting to break the silence, and gave their own thoughts free rein. Understanding came at a price. For Charlie it had meant choosing a career that helped others achieve their own justice. For Brenda Leach it had meant a lifetime of hatred, plotting her own revenge. She didn’t yet know whether Ben would make the positive choice, or the negative.
