by JD Nixon
“They’re not really known as church goers, I’m afraid.”
“Actually, and I hope I’m not being unjust when I say this, but I found them rather intimidating, particularly Mrs Bycraft and her daughter, Rosie. I didn’t quite feel I could refuse their request to officiate, even though I’d never met any of the family before.” They’d probably picked the poor guy out of the phone book, I thought.
“Senior Constable Fuller and I will be outside the gate for the entire ceremony, if that sets your mind at rest.”
The priest breathed such a loud and long sigh of relief that I felt instantly sorry for him. I wondered what he’d feared they would do to him.
“Oh yes, oh yes. That certainly does. It certainly does.”
“Um, Father, we should probably let you know that there will be four prisoners in attendance today,” I said.
He turned so pale, I hovered my arm around his back, afraid he was about to faint.
“There will be Corrective Services officers with them. Unfortunately, they’ll be armed,” said the Sarge.
One wrinkled, veined hand fluttered up to his chest. “Goodness me. I’ve never officiated at a funeral ceremony where anyone had weapons. It seems most inappropriate to me.”
“It really couldn’t be avoided, Father,” the Sarge explained. “The prisoners are the father and three brothers of the deceased. And prisoners released on leave to attend ceremonies such as this must be escorted.”
“I see. Of course. But, goodness, what a lot of people to have in jail from one family.”
“There are others, but they’re cousins and uncles, so weren’t given leave,” I told him conversationally. Perhaps that was a mistake.
“And-and you say you’ll stay right outside the gates the entire ceremony?” he asked with a tremor in his voice.
“Absolutely,” assured the Sarge. “And if we’re able to, we’ll even escort you out of town afterwards, if you like.”
“Thank you very much, Officer. That would be wonderful.”
We arrived at the Bycraft patch of the cemetery. The priest looked around at the overgrown grass surrounding the freshly dug grave with even more concern.
“Have there ever been reports of anyone being bitten by snakes around here?” he asked the Sarge in a worried voice.
The Sarge silently queried me over the top of the priest’s head. I held up three fingers to show him how many times, as far as I knew, throughout the town’s history.
“No, Father. None at all,” he assured the elderly man.
We exchanged another glance, and I raised my eyebrows in surprise at him. It was possibly the first time I’d ever witnessed him lie.
We heard the sound of an engine and watched in solemn respect as a hearse made its way up the path. Then we heard the rattling, coughing dissonance of a convoy of crappy Bycraft cars heading down Dead End Street.
“We better get out of here,” the Sarge said. “Nice to meet you, Father.”
We left that good gentleman with worry creasing his face watching as the Bycrafts approached en masse. At the gate, the Sarge stood in the middle of the path, holding up a hand in that universal police symbol of ‘stop’.
“Get out of the way, copper,” yelled Rick from out of the window of the first car. I could see it contained Lola, Rosie, and Larissa.
“You’re not driving in here. It’s not a parking lot. Park on the street,” he directed in his booming cop voice.
“I’m not walking all that way,” screeched Lola out of the passenger window. “Run him over, Ricky. We don’t want no fucking pigs here today.”
Unperturbed by that, the Sarge stood his ground, his arms crossed, arm muscles bulging with menace. I leaned on the gatepost, watching, but ready to jump to his assistance if required.
“We warned you not to be here today, piglet bitch,” Rosie shouted from the back seat.
“I’m not in the cemetery, am I?” I replied, giving her a sweet smile.
“You’re going to fucking regret this,” she seethed. “That’s our Denny there waiting to be buried and you’re holding us up. Get out of the way, copper.”
The Sarge ignored her rant and waved his hands forward, indicating all the vehicles should back up. With him refusing to move, they had no choice but to reverse, causing traffic chaos in the cortege.
After about ten minutes of swearing, minor prangs, and almost one bust up between cousins, the Bycrafts started filing through the cemetery gates. The Sarge and I stood at either side, enduring the looks of utter and complete loathing each Bycraft gave us.
“We’ll get you for this, bitch,” Rosie hissed at me as she staggered on the path in her six-inch heeled shoes, Lola clinging to her arm, customary cigarette in her mouth even now. Rosie wore a tight, short black dress with a low cut bodice from which her enormous boobs spilled.
“Nice outfit for a funeral. Very tasteful,” I commented, earning me a rebuking look from the Sarge.
He came over to my side. “I’ll send you to the car if you can’t behave yourself,” he warned in a low voice.
“Sorry, Dad,” I said, trying to hide my eyeroll from him.
“God!” he said in frustration, stalking back to his side.
My heart thudded uncontrollably when Jake walked through the gate, Dorrie hanging off his arm. He was so beautiful, dressed in a dark suit that complemented his honey-brown skin and golden hair. Like most of his family, he stared at me as he passed by.
“I asked you not to come today, Tessie,” he said in a low voice as he drew level.
“I’m sorry. I had no choice about it,” I replied, equally low.
“Come on, Jakey,” urged Dorrie, pulling on his arm. “Don’t waste your time talking to her.”
He shook her arm off his with impatience. He glanced back over his shoulder at me, before walking on, a sullen Dorrie scurrying in his wake.
“What was that about?” asked the Sarge, stalking over to my side again.
“How would I know?” I replied, not wanting to talk about Jake.
Luckily, I was saved from any further third degree about it from him by the arrival of the prison van. The Sarge waved it in through the gates.
Quentin, sitting in the passenger seat and therefore on my side of the gate, gave me the evil eye the entire slow drive through, a compliment I returned.
Sarge once again joined me and we leaned against the fence, shoulder to shoulder, watching proceedings.
Another fifteen minutes passed as the prisoners were let out to greet their family members again. All four men were dressed fairly respectably in business shirts, trousers and a strange assortment of ties that made me wonder if they’d borrowed them. None of them were handcuffed. There was much hugging, exclaiming, swearing, and shooting dirty looks at Arepata, Quentin, and the Sarge and me. I noticed the funeral director checking his watch, looking increasingly irked at the continuing delays.
“Why are they letting them have physical contact?” I asked the Sarge, not happy to see Lola clinging to Red. I couldn’t forget how deft she was at passing him weapons.
“Tess, relax. Before they get back in the van, I’ll ask those officers to frisk them all. I’m sure that’s something they’d routinely do anyway.”
“Thanks, Sarge. That would make me feel better.”
He flicked the hair that stuck out of the bottom of my cap, his fingers grazing my neck in the process. “Worrywart.”
“Who me? Never.”
He patted my shoulder and let his hand rest there for a moment, his fingers again grazing my neck. “It’ll be over soon. Then you can breathe again.”
The ceremony finally began. Even from where we stood, we could see the priest’s hands shaking as he held his Bible. Because they had the attention span of low-intelligence amoebas, the Bycrafts soon became restless as the priest intoned. They started to talk to each other, check their – probably stolen – phones, heckle Arapeta and Quentin, and quaff from secreted hip flasks.
“God, look at th
em. They’re so revolting,” scorned the Sarge. “Can’t even behave like civilised humans during their own relative’s funeral ceremony.”
“I feel sorry for the priest.”
“He’s going to need a stiff drink after this experience.”
“Speaking of stiff drinks, some of them are imbibing already. You see those hip flasks?”
“Sure did,” he said. “But that’s the Bycrafts for you – always keeping it classy.”
“I’m pretty sure I saw some of the prisoners take a few swigs too.”
“That’s the prison officers’ job to worry about, not ours.”
“They’re probably distracted by Rosie’s boobs.”
“I have to admit they caught my eye for a horrifying moment.”
I whacked him on the arm. “Don’t be a pervert.”
“Hey, I’m a single man now. I can look at all the boobs I want to.”
“I better not catch you looking at mine.”
“I’m sneaky about looking at yours,” he laughed.
I whacked him again, harder this time. “Stop it. Have you noticed Red?”
“Hasn’t stopped looking at you the whole time.”
“God, I hate him so much.”
“He’ll be back in prison tomorrow.”
We watched in disgust as Mark stumbled and almost fell into the open grave, everybody laughing at his near-drunk antics. The priest paused for a moment, clearly upset by the sacrilege. Poor Denny, I thought sadly. They didn’t care about him in life, and they don’t care about him in death.
“At least Jake’s behaving himself. I’ll give him points for that.”
I hadn’t wanted to pay him any attention, but the Sarge was right. Jake stood silently, listening to what the priest said, sadness on his face.
“He keeps looking over here too, and I don’t think it’s me he’s looking at,” the Sarge said in a neutral tone.
“I don’t care who or what he’s looking at,” I replied, before changing the topic. “Hopefully they’ll drink so much tonight they’ll all pass out.” I glanced up at him. “Want to do some breath testing at the end of the road after the ceremony when they all start driving away?”
“Tess.”
“Spoilsport.”
The priest persisted for a while through the service, but when the noise became too loud for his voice to be heard, he gave up and had a private word with the funeral director.
The coffin was positioned in place by the funeral director and his assistant, with extra help from Jake and a couple of his relatives who he death-stared into service. And after a few more words from the priest, Denny was lowered into the ground for eternity, and the ceremony was over.
“Death is so final,” I mused, mostly to myself.
“That’s why you have to enjoy life while you can,” advised the Sarge.
“It’s not easy to sometimes.”
He put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulders. “I know. But I also know it will get better for you.”
I looked up at him and met his deep blue eyes. Once again, I couldn’t seem to tear mine away from the sincerity and warmth in his. But I forced myself to lower my eyes to study my boots, though there was nothing remotely interesting about them. “You keep saying that.”
He smiled and squeezed my shoulders again. “That’s because I believe it.”
We waited patiently, enduring more hostile glances and comments as the straggle of Bycrafts left the cemetery. Jake passed by without saying anything, but our eyes met all the way, so to me it seemed as though he walked in slow motion.
When the last clunker had driven away, and we’d turned a blind eye to the probable drink drivers in the bunch, we strode up the path to greet the priest.
“Goodness me,” he breathed. “That was the most extraordinary funeral I’ve ever officiated over. And I don’t mean that in a good way. Goodness, that family. I’ve never seen so many people who looked the same. I have no idea how anyone can tell them apart. And the language! I’ve never heard such a thing at a funeral. And I believe that some of those people were drinking. I’m going to need a good strong cup of tea after this.”
“Would you like to come back to the station for one until you’ve recovered?” I offered.
“That would be very kind, Officer. Thank you.”
We directed him to wait in his car for us while we watched as Arapeta and Quentin searched the four prisoners before returning them to their compartments in the van.
“So what’s the plan with them now?” asked the Sarge.
“Back to the pub. Have dinner. Sleep. Head back to the city first thing in the morning,” said Arapeta.
“They’re not going to the wake?” I asked.
Quentin laughed, and it wasn’t a nice laugh. I decided I liked him less and less every second I spent in his company. “They’re not here for a party. They’ve attended the funeral, if you can call that sordid display a funeral. That’s their excursion over.”
“Enjoy your dinner,” I said, turning and stalking off to the patrol car, the Sarge following a minute later.
We watched the van negotiate the rutted cemetery path again and drove off down the road.
The priest followed us back to the station where I prepared him a cup of tea as strong as I dared. When he finished, and exhausted his disbelief and disgust at the funeral, we escorted him safely out of town.
In the station, I flopped into my chair, sighing heavily. “It’s done and nothing happened. I can hardly believe it.”
“Said you were worrying too much. The prisoners will be safely locked up at the pub all night, and we’ll let the rest of the Bycrafts happily drink themselves to death.” He eyed me, a strange expression on his face. “So, do you want to come to my place for dinner?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I smiled. “Though I hope your cooking skills have improved from your travels. Something French or Italian would be nice.”
“The girl’s subtle all right.”
“Sarge?”
“Mmm?”
“Did you really mean it when you said that life will get better for me?”
“Tessie, I told you. I’ve never been more sure about anything.”
But he’d never been more wrong about anything.
Chapter 34
“Let’s knock over our reports before dinner,” said the Sarge. “That way we can give ourselves some time off tomorrow. You’re not hungry, are you?”
My tummy grumbled in response.
“Oh, God. Look who I’m asking,” he said, going to the cupboard and throwing me a couple of Tim Tams.
I caught one in each hand, earning me a sarcastic slow clap from him.
“Hey, that’s a skill, you know,” I said through a mouthful of crumbs. “Kind of like a ninja skill.”
“No, Fuller. Writing your reports is a skill. Driving a car safely is a skill. Tidying your desk is a skill. Respecting your supervisor is a skill. Avoiding the Super is a skill.”
“I don’t like where this conversation is going.”
“But catching Tim Tams is most definitely not a skill.”
I poked out a chocolate-covered tongue at him. “We all know that those who can’t do, criticise instead.”
The phone rang. We looked at each other.
“It’s the Super,” I said, hurriedly standing up and racing to the back door.
“Hey, it’s your turn to talk to her,” he called out indignantly.
“Sorry, gotta pee. Guess this is why they give you all those supervisor perks.” I hastily exited to the sound of him grumbling loudly before answering the phone.
I took my time about using the bathroom, but when I returned he was still on the phone, the expression on his face making me assume he was seriously considering cutting the phone cord with his scissors.
“I disagree, ma’am . . . Well, that’s not quite the point . . . Yes, we didn’t need the extra uniforms today, but we might have needed them . . . What’s that, ma’am? . . .
Ma’am? I can’t hear you, ma’am . . . Speak up . . . There must be interference from the mountain . . . It’s no use. I can’t hear you . . . I’ll try to ring you tomorrow.”
He hung up, and breathed out in relief.
“Mountain interference? First the priest, and now the Super?” I asked, shaking my head with mock sorrow. “You’re becoming an habitual liar, Maguire. I won’t be able to trust anything you say from now.”
“She wanted you to go to Big Town tomorrow.”
“Oh boy, thanks, Sarge. What did you save me from? My overdue bollocking about the other day?”
“What else? You get so many bollockings that you’re lucky you don’t actually have bollocks, or they’d be black and blue by now.”
I laughed. “I’m glad I don’t have any.”
“So am I. I prefer you as a woman.”
I laughed at him. “You can tell you’re single, Maguire. First you’re looking at my boobs. Then you’re glad I don’t have bollocks. Next thing I know, you’ll be asking me out on a date.”
“Ready for dinner?” he asked with a smile.
“What about the reports?”
“Ah, stuff them.” He glanced out the window. “It’s getting dark anyway. Let’s go relax for a while.”
“Can I go home and get changed first?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll find something for you to change into.”
“Let me ring Dad first.”
He waited patiently while I spoke to Dad, who after I filled him in on the funeral – which naturally he’d already heard every last detail about – assured me several times that he was feeling better today. He also told me that Adele would be spending the night and making him dinner, and that he was looking forward to it.
“You sure?” I asked for the fourth time, guilty that I hadn’t been able to spend much time with him lately myself.
“Yes, love,” he said with more than a hint of impatience, which made me believe that he really was feeling better. “I’ll be fine. You go have dinner with Finn. It’s good for you two to spend some non-work time together like you used to before he went away.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
