Lately Valentine had lost the knack of early starts. The morning coffee had been coming later and later – it would soon be a mid-day affair. He could understand how those with time on their hands became different people. It was possible to change completely, alter your outlook on life. He knew some who had become slobs, couch contents. There were others who became obsessively fastidious, like over-grooming parrots who plucked away their plumage.
It was strange how people changed. He knew he had. There was a time when he thought he wouldn’t be able to live without the force, because he believed it was his life. He was wrong, of course. It had never been that. It had never been more than a part of his life – there was more to Bob Valentine, and there was so much more to life.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come?’ said Clare.
‘No, I have to do this by myself.’
‘You know I’m there to support you, whatever you do, Bob.’
He reached out to brush her arm. ‘I know that.’
Clare smiled, an easy gesture, like a child’s. ‘Look at your shoes,’ she said, ‘you could see your face in them.’
He laughed. ‘Dad did them for me. He’s not at all bad with the shoe-brush.’
‘He’s some man.’ She leaned over and pressed her lips to his cheek. ‘You’re quite the chip off the old block, Bob.’
He watched his wife walk back into the house and he headed out to the car. The Hyundai Getz wasn’t a match for the Audi, but if he put down the seats he could get his golf clubs in the back, and he certainly wasn’t in any danger of a speeding ticket.
As he headed into Ayr, Valentine tried to prepare himself for what was ahead. He hadn’t seen any members of the squad, or even any colleagues, save the odd uniform on the High Street, since he’d been suspended. There had been no shame attached to his departure. At first, he wondered why, but later he found he simply didn’t care. His only concern was for the way his team might be affected – he didn’t especially want DI McCormack to suffer unduly for her part in what had happened. He’d had his career, and she still deserved hers, if that’s what she wanted.
He parked outside the gates of the cemetery and made his way into the open gathering. The wind raked his hair as he walked, stirring up old thoughts about Ian Davis on the day of his internment. Valentine would never know what had driven Davis over the edge, but he could, in retrospect, follow some of the trail there. It was pointless, of course, to do that now. Davis was gone, but raking over his actions could be left to others.
He spied McCormack with some officers from the station, and made his way to her side. As the ceremony began the wind picked up, worrying the priest’s cassocks and the spray of roses on top of the coffin. Clouds crossed the sky and some weak sunrays were lowered over the cemetery, scattering a bouncing light. The mood was sombre, perhaps more than any other time he could remember.
When the ceremony was over, and the coffin lowered into the ground, a woman in black came forward with three children, the oldest couldn’t have been more than six. As he watched the children scattering soil on their father’s remains, it seemed like the image of true sadness. As they turned to leave he watched them go, sidling past a floral tribute spelling the word ‘Daddy’.
‘It breaks your heart, doesn’t it?’ said McCormack.
‘In ways I never imagined possible,’ said Valentine.
‘I’ve been thinking about what Dr Mason said about the suicide rate among detectives on this sort of case.’
They started to walk back to the cemetery gates. A blackbird swooped over them and rested on a gravestone.
‘What Dr Mason said was on my mind too. That and one or two other things.’
McCormack gathered her collars, squinting into the wind. ‘I’d been thinking about the earlier shooting,’ she said.
‘You mean the shooting of Malcolm Frizzle?’
‘And Phil Donnelly. We still have nothing to go on.’
‘My conclusion is that Malky simply fell foul of the wrong people. Davis wouldn’t shoot one of his own.’
‘But if he hadn’t found the gun at the scene, we might not be here today.’
‘Perhaps. But here we are.’
McCormack looked around, doubts falling from her face. She changed the subject. ‘I didn’t see Kevin Rickards here, I thought he’d definitely show.’
‘I spoke to Rickards, I don’t think he wanted to upset Davis’s wife by attending.’
‘Oh, is there some kind of difficulty?’
Valentine turned to face McCormack, halting in the pathway. ‘It was Rickards’ idea for Davis to send away his wife and kids; he thought it was for the best, for their safety. Rickards had faced a lot of threats himself, but he never imagined for a moment that separating Davis from his family would be one of the things that pushed him over the edge like that.’
‘How could he?’
‘How could any of us?’
They’d reached the road.
‘Such a horrible outcome,’ said McCormack.
‘So much heartbreak.’
She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Bob.’