A Diamond Ring

Situated just beyond Hazlehead Park on the western outskirts of Aberdeen, Aberdeen Crematorium occupies a wooded location and is approached by a sweeping drive.

Wilma sat in her car. She clocked the straggle of mourners. They filed in and out of the East and West Chapels at frequent intervals. Although forty-five minutes was the official time allotted by the Council between services, in practice it frequently took only fifteen minutes to dispatch the dead.

It’s your funeral! Her lips twitched as she recalled her parting shot to Maggie. Changed days. Time was, it was her business partner who wagged the finger, reined Wilma in. Now the boot was on the other foot.

Wilma’s fingers itched as she watched a sober-suited man nip the end of his cigarette and attach himself to the end of a line filing into the squat concrete building. Funny how the stress of occasions like these heightened your dependence. Wilma busied her fingers with fishing out her phone. She’d given up smoking at the tail end of the year, but still succumbed from time to time.

She checked the mugshot on her phone one more time. The image was fuzzy, snatched on the hoof. The case was another Harlaw Insurance job: a claim flagged up as potentially fraudulent. The claimant had lost her engagement ring on holiday in Majorca, she asserted, somewhere between the swimming pool and the restaurant. Couldn’t be more specific than that.

Her claims history had raised concerns.

Wilma had already checked out the subject’s Facebook account. She’d pinned down her place of work and followed her around her local supermarket, but the ring in question wasn’t in evidence. She’d come to the conclusion the subject only wore it on social occasions, had wasted the precious weekend waiting for one such. Was about to call it quits when she spotted the funeral announcement in the P&J. It was required reading these days for the two private investigators, for who knows what gems of information lurked in its classified columns. Wilma smacked her lips. Maggie wouldn’t approve, she knew. But it’s not like it was the husband had copped it. The deceased was a cousin, it transpired, and by all accounts they weren’t close.

Her attention sharpened as the door of the East Chapel opened and the first of the mourners reappeared. Smartly, she exited the car and crossed the car park to join them.

Making a show of reading the cards on the wreaths that were being removed from the chapel foyer and set out on the forecourt, she sneaked a covert peek.

A knot of men in dark overcoats exited the chapel, closely followed by what she took to be their wives. Deep in conversation, their heads were bowed, their attention elsewhere. Right behind them she spotted the subject. There was no mistaking that hooked nose. Wilma edged closer, saw her opening, stuck out a hand.

‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ She clasped the mourner’s right hand in a firm grip, her eyes all the while fixed on the left. And bingo! There it was, glinting on the ring finger of the other hand – the two and a half carat diamond solitaire that was the subject of the insurance claim.

The woman gave Wilma a quizzical look. ‘I’m not sure I know…’ she started, but Wilma had moved swiftly on, glad-handing mourners as she went.

As she reached the comparative safety of the smokers’ corner, she dug in her handbag for her phone. All she needed now was photographic evidence.

She turned. The subject had moved away and was now in murmured conversation with an elderly couple. Dammit! Wilma palmed her phone while she waited for an opportunity. If all else failed, she could always follow the cars to the purvey. A bit dodgy, that, but it was near dinner time. Save her grabbing a sandwich later.

Edging closer, she dashed off a few shots of the wreaths, just out of respect. Then she crept up behind the subject, knees bent so as to remain as insignificant as possible.

The old geezer looked to be in the middle of a rambling story. The two women made a show of listening, but their eyes roamed the assembled company.

The subject’s left hand dangled loose by her side. Wilma had just managed to fire off a couple of shots of the ring when the woman turned and caught her in the act.

The mourner’s mouth yawned wide.

Anticipating an outraged yell, Wilma legged it across the car park. Thanking her lucky stars she’d left the Fiesta unlocked, she fired up the engine and shot at speed down the long winding drive.