‘Can we help you, Officer?’ Ciara asks.
‘Perhaps if we can have a sit-down we could chat,’ a tall man, his face solemn, says. ‘I’m Detective Inspector David Bradley, and this is my colleague Detective Constable Eve King, from Strand Road police station.’
My heart thumps.
‘Has someone been hurt, Officer?’ Stella asks.
My stomach lurches.
‘This is in relation to Mr McKee,’ he says. ‘And really it might be better if we sit down.’
Ciara leads the way into the living room. The furniture has been pushed against the walls, some dining chairs lined against the window. Space has been cleared by the far wall for a coffin. For his coffin. So that mourners can file in and pay their respects, leave a Mass card, say a prayer, look at his body, embalmed and laid out looking like a waxwork of the man he was.
I perch on one of the dining chairs, leave the soft seats for DI Bradley and DC King. Alex hovers beside me before sitting down. Ciara and Stella hold hands and sit on the sofa.
‘If you could let us know what this is about,’ Ciara speaks, ‘because we’re expecting to hear from the undertakers and we want the house ready for the return of my father’s remains.’
DI Bradley takes a breath and looks at each of us. ‘I’m afraid there will be a further delay to the release of your father’s remains. Following discussions with Mr Steele, the undertaker tasked with making all funeral arrangements, and Dr Sweeney, your family physician, we have decided that in this case there is cause for a postmortem examination to be done.’
My heart races.
‘But why? He was ill. The doctor said it was one of those things. This is ridiculous,’ Ciara says, anger evident in her tone.
DI Bradley pauses for a moment, as if he is checking that Ciara’s rage is spent, then speaks. ‘While preparing your father’s remains, there were some marks to his body that warrant extra investigation. I should stress, at this time, this is a formality. It’s our duty, and the duty of the coroner, to investigate anything that may explain your father’s sudden death.’
‘He had terminal cancer. He was recovering from major surgery. That’s what caused his sudden death. Dr Sweeney said so.’ Ciara is on her feet, dragging her fingers through her hair. ‘This is ridiculous.’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ DI Bradley said gently. ‘However, it’s policy in cases such as these.’
‘What kind of marks?’ I ask. All eyes turn to me. ‘You say Mr Steele found marks, what were they? What does he think may have caused them?’
‘I don’t have that particular information at hand, and it would be remiss of me to say anything more until after the postmortem. Any findings will be for the coroner to determine. We appreciate this must be very distressing for you all,’ DI Bradley says.
Ciara snorts. ‘Well, that’s okay then,’ she snaps. ‘Take my father and carve him up all you want. It’s okay as long as you appreciate how difficult it is for us.’
‘Sweetheart,’ Stella says gently.
Trying to smooth the waters again, I imagine.
Ciara’s face crumples at the softness of her tone and Stella pulls her girlfriend into a hug while DI Bradley and his colleague watch. I’m sure they are used to this. To seeing grief – raw and angry – in front of them. I wonder how many times they’ve had conversations as distressing as this before.
I hear Alex speak next. He is standing in the doorway looking pale and tired and worn out. ‘Is there a suggestion of foul play?’ he asks.
All eyes are on him, Ciara even breaking from her embrace with Stella to watch, as he speaks.
DI Bradley shifts in his seat. ‘As I’ve said, it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to comment at this stage, but we are looking at all lines of inquiry.’
‘So that’s a yes,’ Ciara says. ‘Jesus Christ. This is ridiculous.’
The woman who had been introduced to us as DC Eve King clears her throat. ‘We’ll keep you informed every step of the way. Should a family member wish to come to Belfast with us while the postmortem is carried out, this can be facilitated.’
I’m aware I’m not openly reacting to any of this. That I am sitting here numb, listening. I’m trying to take it all in. Foul play? Really? What must they think of me?
‘For our records, would you mind if we asked a few questions?’ DC King asks.
Ciara throws her hands to the air as if she can’t believe what is happening.
I mutter a quick, ‘We’ll do what we can to help,’ knowing that it wouldn’t really matter if we minded.
She takes a pen and notepad from her pocket. It feels so serious, so formal.
‘Can I ask who was in the house last night with Mr McKee at the time of his death?’
‘We’ve been through this already,’ Ciara says, but there is less fight in her now. She is sagging and sits down on one of the armchairs, her head in her hands.
‘All of us,’ I say. ‘That’s me, Heidi Lewis. My husband, Alex Lewis. Ciara, and Stella Brown, Ciara’s partner.’
‘My aunt, Kathleen Douglas, was here, too,’ Ciara says. ‘My father’s sister.’
‘And where is she now?’ DC King asks.
‘Staying with a friend. She was very distressed. Dr Sweeney gave her some tablets to help her sleep.’
The policewoman nods. ‘And it was you, Mr Lewis, who discovered that Mr McKee had died?’
Alex nods. ‘I went to check on him just after eleven and I noticed he didn’t appear to be breathing. I checked his pulse, but he was gone.’
‘And who was the last person to talk to Mr McKee?’
I shrug. It’s hard to know. We’d all been making our way up and down the stairs over the course of the evening to take care of him. Or to take care of Lily. Or to use the bathroom. It was all muddled.
‘I’m not sure,’ I say and DC King looks to Ciara, who shrugs, too. ‘We were all in and out with him during the evening.’
‘Okay,’ Detective Constable King says before taking contact details for us all.
There seems to be an awful lot of red tape in this ‘just a formality’ business.
‘What happens now?’ Ciara asks.
‘Well, your father’s remains will be taken to Belfast, where the postmortem will be carried out. There are no facilities for this to take place closer to home, unfortunately. We should have preliminary results fairly quickly and we will keep you informed.’
‘Will his remains be released afterwards? Might it still be today?’ I ask.
‘That depends on the results of the postmortem,’ DI Bradley interjects. ‘But we will keep you …’
‘Informed,’ Ciara butts in.
‘If you could, Officer, that would be appreciated,’ Stella says, the lilt of her Glasgow accent softening the tension.
‘We are very sorry for your loss,’ DI Bradley says as he stands. ‘By all accounts Mr McKee was a well-liked man.’
Ciara nods. All fight seemingly gone. I don’t. I don’t react at all. I don’t stand up or follow the officers to the door to let them out. I think I’m afraid my legs will give out from under me if I even try to stand.