Silent Scream

Twenty-Eight

‘Seriously, Guv, I’ve heard of ambulance chasing but speeding after a bloody corpse?’

Kim closed the road distance between themselves and the car in front. ‘You heard the undertaker. She only left two hours ago. If we can get there in time we can stop the ceremony and order a post mortem.’

‘The family will be thrilled.’

‘Stop whining.’

‘You realise we’re headed back to the crematorium right next to the site? Ever feel like you’re getting nowhere?’

‘You have no idea,’ she said, sounding the horn at the car in front that was hesitating at a small traffic island. The car turned right.

Kim motored up the Garrett Lane hill and over the canal bridge. Bryant bounced in his seat. She took the fourth exit off the island straight into the crematorium grounds and stopped outside the entrance.

‘Damn, no cars or mourners,’ she observed.

‘Maybe we’re early. Perhaps the funeral party is still at the house.’

Kim said nothing as she got out of the car and headed into the building. A young girl sat on the wall, her head bowed.

Kim continued forward. There was a funeral to crash.

Kim shuddered as she entered the building. Wooden benches lined the space on each side of the walkway. The centre aisle led to a curtained area. Red velvet drapes were pulled back to their resting positions.

To the right was an elevated pulpit. A board behind held three hymn numbers.

Kim felt the soullessness of the place. She didn’t care much for churches but at least they provided balance. There were weddings, christenings; celebrations of a beginning, to equal out loss. This place existed for death alone.

‘May I help you?’ asked a voice without a body.

She and Bryant looked at each other.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Bryant whispered.

‘Not quite,’ said a figure appearing from behind the pulpit.

Although not fat, the black ministerial robe was not flattering to the man that wore it. His face was not as round as his body shape indicated. His salt and pepper hair was heavy at the sides but thinned in a wide arc over the top of his head like a well-trodden path over a field. Kim guessed he was mid- to late-fifties.

‘But may I help in His absence?’

The voice was low and even with a gentle rhythm. Kim's foster mother number five had possessed a telephone voice which bore no resemblance to how she spoke normally. Kim wondered if the minister had a special voice for services.

‘We’re looking for the funeral party of Mary Andrews,’ Bryant said.

‘Are you family members?’

Bryant produced his warrant card.

‘In that case, you’re too late.’

‘Damn. Is there any way the process can be stopped?’

The minister looked at his watch. ‘She’s been in there at eleven hundred degrees for about an hour. I suspect there won’t be a lot left.’

‘Bugger ... Sorry, Father.’

‘I’m a minister, not a priest, dear, but I’ll pass your apology on.’

‘Thank you for your help,’ Bryant said, nudging Kim towards the door.

‘Dammit, dammit, dammit,’ Kim said, heading back to the car.

Her peripheral vision registered the young girl still sitting on the wall, alone. She reached the car and glanced back. It was obvious that the girl was shivering but it wasn’t her problem.

She opened the car door and paused. It really was not her problem.

‘Back in a minute,’ she said, slamming the door shut.

Kim trotted over to the girl and stood to her side. ‘Hey, you okay?’

The young girl looked surprised. She tried to manage a polite smile while nodding. Her eyes were raw recesses in a pale face.

Her feet were encased in flat, patent shoes with black and white bows. She wore thick black tights and a knee-length skirt. A grey shirt was smothered by a double-breasted suit jacket that was both outdated by two decades and oversized. An outfit cobbled together for a funeral but offering no protection against the temperature that had not crept above two degrees.

Kim shrugged and turned away. She’d asked the question. The girl was in no distress other than grieving. She could walk away with a clear conscience. It was not her bloody problem.

‘Someone close?’ she asked, sitting on the wall.

The girl nodded again. ‘My nan.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Kim offered. ‘But sitting here is not going to do you any good.’

‘I know but she was more like my mum.’

‘But why are you still here?’ Kim asked, gently.

The girl looked up at the chimney of the crematorium. Thick smoke funnelled out and dispersed. ‘I don’t want to leave her until ... I don’t want her to be alone.’

The girl’s voice broke and the tears rolled over her cheeks. Kim swallowed as she realised who she was talking to.

‘Your nan was Mary Andrews?’

The girl’s tears stopped as she nodded. ‘I’m Paula ... but how did you know that?’

Kim didn’t feel the need to give the grieving child any details.

‘I’m a detective. Her name has come up in connection with that over there.’

‘Oh yes, she used to work at Crestwood. She was the housekeeper for about twenty years.’ The girl suddenly smiled. ‘She used to take me with her sometimes if she worked at weekends. I’d help with changing the beds or some washing. I’m not sure how much help I was.

‘All the girls loved her even though she took no nonsense from them. They seemed to respect her. They didn’t cheek her and she got lots of hugs.’

‘I bet the rest of the staff loved her as well.’

Paula shrugged and then smiled. ‘Uncle Billy did.’ She nodded to the bottom of the hill. ‘He used to live down there.’

Kim was intrigued. ‘How did you know Billy?’

‘Sometimes my nan would watch his daughter for a bit so he could go shopping.’ The girl smiled and looked up at the chimney. ‘She was only supposed to sit and watch Lucy but my nan couldn’t do that. She’d always find a couple of jobs to do before he got back, just a bit of ironing or vacuuming. And I’d play with Lucy. When he came back she wouldn’t mention anything she’d done. She didn’t want thanks, she just wanted to help.’

‘It sounds like your nan was a very special lady,’ Kim said and meant it.

‘We never went back after the fire and my nan said they’d moved away.’ Paula thought for a moment. ‘You know, a lot changed for my nan after that fire. She’d never been an old nan, if you know what I mean, but after the fire it’s like something went out of her.’

Kim found herself wondering why Mary Andrews had lied about William Payne having moved away.

‘Did you ever ask her about it?’ Kim pushed gently.

She knew she was taking advantage of the girl's need to talk about her grandmother. Talking about a person so recently lost kept them alive in your heart and your mind. It preserved the link, the bond. Kim hoped they were helping each other.

Paula nodded. ‘One time and she got very angry with me. I remember it well, because my nan never got angry with me. She told me never to mention that place or those people ever again. So I didn’t.’

Kim noted that the girl’s body was shivering. Her whole body rocked but smoke continued to billow out of the chimney.

‘You know, someone said something to me once and I always remembered it.’ Kim recalled it clearly. It had been at the funeral of foster parents number four and she’d been thirteen years old.

The innocent, unlined face turned towards her eagerly, desperate for some comfort, as Kim had been, although she had shown no one.

‘I was told that the body is no more than a jacket which gets cast off when it’s no longer needed. Your nan isn’t there any more, Paula. The jacket she wore caused her pain but she’s free of that now.’

Kim looked up at the smoke, thinner now. ‘And I think the jacket is gone now, and so should you be.’

The girl stood. ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’

Kim nodded as the girl turned. Any words would cushion the grief for a matter of moments. Intrinsically selfish in nature, grief was for the living. It was a measure of how keenly one felt their own personal loss, and in some cases, as Kim knew, their regret.

Kim watched as Paula trotted down the hill. She had considered telling the girl that Lucy still lived in that same house, but her grandmother had lied to the child for a reason and Kim had to respect that.

The ringing of her phone brought her back to the present. It was Dawson.

‘Guv, where are you?’

‘So close I can almost smell your aftershave.’

The day was developing into a bad episode of the Twilight Zone.

‘Good, Guv, ‘cos we need you back here right away.’

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, sprinting towards Bryant.

‘That magnet machine has just gone mental. It looks like we have another body.’