‘You sure you’re up to this? You look fucked,’ said Max.
The day of the funeral had dawned bright and clear. Annie turned as she and Max stood momentarily alone beside the hearse outside the Catholic church. She stared at him. Last night he’d been ready to throttle the life out of her; her throat was bruised. Yet today he was asking if she was up to playing her part in this, carrying her oldest friend to her final resting place.
‘I’m surprised you care,’ she said.
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ he said coldly. ‘I just don’t want you dropping the fucking thing, that’s all, and making a cunting spectacle out of the lot of us.’
Annie glared at him. ‘She carried me plenty of times. And I’m going to carry her now. I won’t drop her.’
Tony joined them, ignoring Annie, nodding to Max.
‘If we’re ready . . . ?’ asked the undertaker, and his two co-workers slid Dolly’s coffin out of the hearse.
Max, Tony and Annie joined the other three black-suited men and lifted the coffin on to their shoulders. Pain clamped down on Annie’s rib, but she could do this: she had to do this one last thing for Dolly, who had helped her so much in life. Steadily, moving together, the six of them walked the coffin along the gravel path and into the church.
Inside, it was full of people, there wasn’t a spare pew to be found. There were white lilies all around the altar and when they brought in Dolly’s coffin everyone rose to their feet and watched as they carried it up to the front of the church and placed it carefully on the dais.
Drawing to one side between Max and Tony, Annie saw Ellie and Chris up near the front, and glancing back she saw Hunter, without his accompanying DS today, standing near the back; he was watching the crowds, just as she was. Their eyes met, and he nodded a faint greeting.
Then she turned her attention to the mourners right at the front of the church on the right; there was a woman there who, from the back, could almost pass for Dolly. She had the same rounded shoulders, the same puffball of blonde hair, the same firmly planted way of standing.
Doll?
No, it wasn’t Dolly. Dolly was in that box, about to be consigned to the earth. As the ceremony began and the first hymn was sung, Annie kept her eyes on that little group up the front of the church. The woman’s head kept bending as she dabbed at her eyes. Beside her, there was a man, not very tall, his build similar to the woman’s. He squeezed the woman’s arm a couple of times, tried to comfort her.
Dolly’s brother? Dolly’s sister?
The hymns went on, and the prayers, and then – at last – it was over. They carried the coffin outside, and as the organ music played on, everyone left the church to assemble at the edge of the newly dug plot, the earth decorously covered with Astroturf so that no one would see what lay beneath.
‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust . . .’ intoned the priest.
Annie didn’t pay attention to the words. She focused on the coffin. She’d known her friend for years, but she hadn’t been aware that Dolly was Catholic. Not that it mattered. Annie’s opinion was, so long as you didn’t scare the horses, you could worship however and whoever you liked. What difference did it make?
Her eyes scanned the crowds huddled around the grave. That woman again . . . pale, blue-eyed . . . she had to be a sister, a niece, something. And the man. Definitely a relative. And Dolly had never ever mentioned her relatives. Yet here they were, at least two of them, attending her funeral.
Annie’s heart seemed to freeze as she met Max’s cold, accusing gaze. He was standing away from her now, among his boys: Chris, Gary, Steve, Tony. The sight of them there in black coats, all of them big and very intimidating, gave her a deep, visceral shudder so hard that her bruised and strapped-up middle throbbed. And it wasn’t just them giving her evils: when she looked around at the crowds, she could see people staring, pointing, whispering.
Suddenly, she didn’t feel safe. She felt like these people might turn on her like an angry mob, because she’d crossed the line; they believed she’d done the dirty on Max Carter, and he had more clout in this town than she would ever have. These were his people, not hers.
She was relieved when the whole damned thing was over and the crowds began to disperse. She kept her head down and got back on to the gravel path and headed for the lychgate. She walked straight into DCI Hunter.
‘Hello, Mrs Carter,’ he said.
‘Hi, Hunter. Here looking for murderers?’
‘Something like that. You?’
‘Just getting my friend buried.’ Annie thought it was coming to something when you started bumping into a copper and felt pleased to see a friendly face. Once, she’d ruled these streets and everyone had respected her. Now, she knew she could fall down dead on the pavement and they’d just step over her body. Or piss on it.
Hunter gave a sigh. ‘It’s tough.’
‘It’s worse than that,’ said Annie sharply. ‘It’s bloody awful. Listen, did you check out the CCTV in the club?’
‘I did. The stairs aren’t covered by the cameras inside. Why would they be? If anyone misbehaves, it’ll be in the main body of the club, not up the stairs.’
‘The outside ones then?’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing at all.’
‘The club closed at one in the morning. Someone must have called after that, to kill Dolly.’
‘Really? What if they arrived earlier, while the club was open? Blended with the crowds going in, snuck up the stairs, kept her there until everyone else had left, then did the deed?’
‘Do the staff say she was upstairs? Not down in the bar?’
‘They confirm that she was upstairs from ten o’clock onward. The bar manager Peter Jones knocked on the flat door just after one to say he was cashing up, and Dolly said OK. Next morning he found her dead.’
Annie was frowning at the ground. Then she looked up at Hunter’s face. ‘Thanks for that. It helps, you know. Hearing the details. Thinking that maybe we can solve this.’
‘Mrs Carter,’ he said flatly, ‘I can solve this. Not you.’
‘You really think so?’
‘Yes, Mrs Carter. Never doubt it. Can we talk about your Edinburgh trips?’
‘What?’
‘The trips to Edinburgh from the heliport?’ Hunter pulled out a notebook and thumbed through. ‘Yes, here we are. The taxi service from Edinburgh airport confirmed that on a few of your trips you were going to a house not far outside the city, and the house is owned by a company that trades through a series of tax havens.’
‘I just stayed there sometimes, that’s all.’ Annie kept her face blank.
‘And sometimes you flew direct to the Highlands. To a place called the Mouth of Hades, I believe.’
‘It’s just a place I like to stay at.’
‘I see.’ Hunter snapped the notebook closed. Then he looked around. ‘Is it my imagination, or are you getting some disapproving looks?’
Annie knew she was. People were staring at her with angry faces. Again she felt that spasm of insecurity; that sensation of no longer being safe on these streets, the streets where she used to stride around like a queen.
She nodded to indicate the woman who looked like Dolly, the man who seemed to share the same genetic profile. They were lingering beside the grave. ‘You seen those two? You know who they are?’
‘I do. That’s Sarah Foster, nee Farrell. And that’s her brother, Nigel.’
‘Dolly’s brother and sister?’
‘Exactly.’
‘I never knew she had close relatives. She never mentioned them.’
‘Have you spoken to them?’
‘No. Have you?’
‘Yes, briefly.’
‘And?’
He shook his head with a smile. ‘Police business, Mrs Carter,’ he said, and turned and walked away. Then he paused. His eyes swept over the milling crowds and then resettled on her face. ‘You don’t seem to be flavour of the month around here right now. So be careful.’