It didn’t feel like a day for a funeral. In Tom’s memory, every funeral he’d ever attended had complemented the mood of the mourners – lashing rain, dark clouds, freezing cold.
But this morning, the sun was splitting the stones and the birds sang in the sycamore trees dotted around the graveyard.
Maybe this was better, for June. After all, she’d been a sunny person. They’d played her favourite piece of music in the church and it hadn’t been some maudlin number that made everybody weep even more. Louise had leaned close to Tom’s ear and whispered, ‘Isn’t that from the horse racing? I didn’t know June was into horses.’
‘It’s A Musical Joke,’ Tom responded, then, seeing the confusion on his wife’s face, added: ‘That’s the name of the piece. Sean’s into all the serious, heavy compositions and June used to set up the CD player in his car so it would play that every time he turned it on. She said it made her laugh to think of him cursing and looking for his “morbid requiems”.’
They’d both smiled, glad Sean was allowing his wife to have the last laugh.
Tom kept his arm gripped around Louise’s waist in the graveyard, ostensibly to support her but more to comfort himself with the reminder that she was there.
There were more funerals coming. Lane’s five victims would be laid to rest one by one. And soon, the coroner would release Fiona Holland’s body.
Once they’d charged Fergus, he’d quickly given up the location of Fiona’s body. His parents refused to see him and despite his tough guy act, it was clearly affecting him. Perhaps he figured that if he cooperated, they’d forgive him.
He explained how he’d picked his sister up on the road just a half a mile away from their home. She’d been beaten and he demanded to know who’d done it to her. Instead of seeing his possessiveness for what it was – him, in his own way, trying to be a good brother – she’d thrown it back at him, accusing him of fancying her himself and being a sick bastard. Fergus had yelled at her and, while the car was still moving, she’d leaned over him to release the door locks, opened her side and jumped out.
He’d been driving slowly on the narrow road, so Fiona hadn’t hurt herself. But something about her reckless action caused Fergus to crack. He chased her and dragged her back to the car. She bit him as he tried to force her in and that had made him snap. He dragged her back to the river they’d just crossed.
‘I told her she was a filthy-mouthed bitch and I was going to wash her tongue clean,’ he said. ‘And I just held her head under until she stopped struggling.’
They’d found her body there, weighed down in the water with rocks, under the bridge not far from her home. She hadn’t been found earlier because, due to the lack of resources, the search teams had only had one guard assigned to each to coordinate the efforts of the locals. Fergus had ensured he was allocated that patch. He’d given it the all clear and nobody had double-checked the bridge.
The last Tom had heard, Bart Healy had been up to see Fiona’s parents to confess that he’d fathered her child. The inspector didn’t know what had motivated him – probably a misplaced sense of guilt. But things didn’t augur well for the sergeant. The Hollands didn’t want him to have anything to do with Cían and were seeking to have him dismissed from the force because of his relationship with their daughter.
Tom wondered if any of that would have come out if Fiona’s body had been discovered earlier.
It was such a strange confluence of events, Lane living so close to the Hollands and working for them.
Would they have caught Lane at all if they hadn’t met him because of Fiona’s disappearance, something in which he’d had no hand, act or part?
The ‘ifs’ and the ‘maybes’ had kept Tom awake for the first few days after everything came to light.
But having spoken to Linda at length about it, the inspector had agreed with her assessment that most difficult cases were usually solved by just such a series of strange coincidences coming to light. That, and diligent, painstaking police work.
Tom sighed and Louise gave him a sympathetic glance. Today was the traumatic footnote to a very long few weeks.
He looked across to Sean, flanked on either side by his children. One of his many grandsons stood in front of him. Tom recognised him as the little football star, the one whose Sunday matches Sean had never missed, until he was too busy caring for June and couldn’t attend any more.
Sean had his hands on the young lad’s shoulders, his face resolute and controlled. He’d held it together for the whole service, even delivering the most beautiful oratory, filled with funny anecdotes from the couple’s shared life.
He’d only spoken of her illness at the very end and even then just to say how well she’d handled it.
The priest finished speaking and indicated to the family that they should approach the grave.
Sean held a single yellow rose, June’s favourite flower because it symbolised friendship. As he dropped it into the grave the big man crumpled, convulsed by great heaving sobs as his sons and daughters watched on in panic. They’d never seen their father be anything but strong – his abrupt, acerbic personality was the stuff of legend, even within their family.
Tom moved around the grave and took Sean’s arm, turning his friend towards him and gripping him in a tight hug. He had to make true on his promise to June, the last thing she’d asked him to do. He had to take care of her husband.
‘She’s gone,’ Sean choked. ‘My darling is gone.’ The raw vulnerability of his grief was the most devastating sound Tom had ever heard.
‘I know,’ he said, a lump in his throat. ‘I know. Listen to me. She’s looking down at you now and she’s thinking, “That’s right, you old codger. I knew you worshipped the ground I walked on.” And she did, Sean. She knew. Even at the end.’
‘Even at the end,’ Sean repeated. ‘Tom.’ He leaned into the other man’s ear and whispered urgently. ‘She did it on purpose. There was no aneurism. She drove the car into the tree. She didn’t want to lose herself. She didn’t want to forget us and she didn’t want us to see her dying inside.’
Tom pulled back in shock.
And in that moment he knew Sean was right.
Maybe it’s better this way. That’s what June had said. The other way would have been so drawn out.
She knew she was losing herself, so she took matters into her own hands.
Sean nodded, his face composed. It’s okay, his expression said. I can cope. She wanted me to cope.
The inspector stood back as Sean’s family took over, embracing him before they cast their own flowers into the grave.
Tom would stay at the ready, in case he was needed.
He’d be there.