Sam and his father learnt of Jack’s death from the newspaper. The report on the police’s capture of the Kitchen Killer was full of exaggeration and overblown hyperbole, but one thing was clear. Jack was dead. According to the report he had taken his own life after confessing to the crimes and repenting the atrocities he had committed. Sam found this hard to believe.
Mr Toop had been quick to consider the practicalities, announcing that he would go and speak to Inspector Savage about the body.
Sam couldn’t remember the last time his father had gone to London. He offered to accompany him but Mr Toop said it would be better if he went alone, and requested that Sam remain and help out Mr Constable with the shop.
In fact it was a quiet day at Constable and Toop. Mr Constable busied himself by updating the accounts ledger, while Sam spent most of the day in the workshop, finding odd jobs to do. Around midday, Mr Constable suggested they sit down to eat together.
Over lunch, Sam said, ‘How long do you think it will take?’
‘Dealing with the police can be a lengthy process,’ Mr Constable replied.
‘Father has barely spoken since he heard the news. I can’t tell whether he’s upset or relieved.’
‘I would expect it to be both these emotions and many more. Jack was always trouble, but one cannot account for the bond of blood.’
Sam felt no connection with his uncle, even though he had more than most, yet he couldn’t rid from his mind the thought of how he could have prevented all those deaths. ‘Do you really think Jack killed himself?’ he asked.
‘I can easily believe it,’ said Mr Constable. ‘Jack preferred to take matters into his own hands. And the distinction between the living and the dead was especially blurred for him.’
‘You mean as it is for me?’
Mr Constable shook his head solemnly. ‘I mean that Jack was dead inside long before he turned his knife on himself.’
The winter sun was low in the sky when Mr Toop returned with the body, wrapped in a cloth bag tied up with string. Mr Constable helped him carry it to the back room. Mr Toop took a knife and cut open the bag, revealing Jack’s body. It was covered in congealed blood and dirt. His face was bruised and lifeless.
‘I will clean him up tonight,’ said Mr Toop.
‘Is there any need?’ asked Sam, concerned that such a job would take hours. ‘After all, we are the only ones who will see him.’
‘I can’t bury him like this,’ said his father.
Mr Toop toiled long into the night and Sam fell asleep waiting to hear his footsteps on the stairs.
The following morning, Sam looked inside the coffin before they nailed down the lid. His father had done a good job. He had cleaned up the wounds, changed his clothes and combed his hair. It occurred to Sam that this was how he had first seen Jack, lying in a coffin, except this Jack didn’t look like the same man at all. He wore no sneer on his lips. There was no fire in his eyes. Somehow this Jack looked more human.
A dense fog hung low over the cemetery. It felt strange to Sam to see his father at a funeral. As they stood beside the grave, he kept having to remind himself to listen to the vicar’s words. The service was thankfully brief and impersonal. It would have felt wrong for him to have spoken of Jack’s contribution to the world or of the grieving loved ones left behind.
Before they lowered the coffin into the ground Mr Constable requested to say a few words while Mr Toop stared at the ground and said nothing.
‘Many will judge Jack Toop for his actions in life,’ said Mr Constable. ‘He was as flawed as all men are flawed men. But now he is dead we search for the strength to forgive. The dead deserve our respect. They can do no further harm, and gone is any hope of redemption. If the dead live on in our memories, let us try to remember them well.’
‘Thank you,’ said Mr Toop.
The vicar said a final prayer and the coffin was lowered into the ground. As they walked away from the grave, Mr Toop and Mr Constable kept their heads bowed, but Sam gazed searchingly into the fog. If Jack’s ghost had resisted the pull of the Unseen Door he would certainly be nearby. Sam had never met a ghost who had not attended his own funeral. He was relieved when he saw no sign of him.
Finally Sam could look past the dead that clouded his vision and see the living. Soon he would see Clara again. Walking slowly through the cemetery, he raised a hand to his face to hide his smile.