One of Us Is Dead

105 Wednesday 9 November 2022

This time there was a coffin, and there was a body inside it. It looked cheap, cardboard with fake brass handles, and there were no flowers on top of it. As if this was Fiona Rorke’s Parthian shot at the odious husband she had come to despise, and only been liberated from through his death. Although not as liberated as she thought, Taylor had learned from a slip of the tongue from detective Glenn Branson.

The coffin was carried by six pall bearers — almost as many employees of the funeral directors as there were mourners — into the South Chapel of Brighton’s neo-Gothic Woodvale Crematorium.

The interior, with its wooden chairs and benches, red seat cushions and carpet, and vaulted ceiling, felt like being in a small church, which, Taylor, supposed, was the intention. He stood at the back accompanied by Debbie Martin, there to support him — and out of curiosity — as the service began. It was officiated by a celebrant, as Rorke’s last ‘funeral’ had been — Fiona’s one concession to his atheism.

The chapel could hold eighty people. It was less than a quarter full: Fiona, looking striking in widow’s weeds, and their twin boys; a handful of other people, middle-aged and older, a sister, and some relatives whom Taylor vaguely recollected meeting at Rorke’s previous funeral.

The celebrant clearly hadn’t read the press release — nor the press — or perhaps was choosing to ignore all of that, as she waxed almost lyrical about what a fine father and husband Rufus Rorke had been. And then, one small nod to his dubious past, by acknowledging that all humans made errors of judgement.

Murdering at least six people, as the two detectives had told him, off the record, constituted a bit more than errors of judgement, Taylor opined, not sure he could take much more of this sanctimonious crap about a man who had come within moments of murdering him too. But, as he turned to slip out of the service, gripping Debbie’s hand, he noticed that both detectives, suited and booted, were standing just inside the doorway directly behind him.

He went over to them. Detective Superintendent Roy Grace was attired in a respectfully sombre suit. Detective Inspector Glenn Branson looked like he was dressed to brighten someone’s day, with a tie that could have been seen from Mars. They both nodded at him in acknowledgement, and at his companion.

‘You guys here to make sure he hasn’t faked it again?’ he asked quietly.

‘Doesn’t seem like he’s being mourned by too many people,’ Branson replied.

‘Could that be because he’s murdered — or tried to murder — all the people who might have grieved for him?’ Taylor posited. ‘When I gave the eulogy at his last funeral, the church was full.’ He looked at the two detectives.

‘You decided against giving Rufus Rorke’s eulogy — again?’ Grace asked.

Taylor smiled. ‘He actually complimented me on it.’

‘We heard, on the voice recording in the plane,’ Branson said. ‘He seemed genuinely pleased.’

‘He did Rufus proud,’ Debbie Martin interjected, keeping her voice low. ‘Much more than he deserved.’

Grace looked at him. ‘Sounds like you were a loyal friend to him. Too bad he had strange ideas about repaying loyalty. Listening to this celebrant, you’d think he was a saint.’

Taylor replied, still keeping his voice low, ‘It makes you realize, doesn’t it, how well do we really know anyone? Who would have thought that Rorke’s girlfriend would end up helping to save my life? What’s happened to her?’

‘She was arrested and fully cooperated with the investigation. She is currently on bail while decisions are made as to what charges she may face, but her assistance will certainly help her outcome. And it certainly helped you!’

The celebrant finished her eulogy. A hymn struck up, chosen by Fiona. The meagre congregation sang, or mimed as best they could, to the words.

James Taylor, Debbie Martin and the two detectives did not join in.

When the organ stopped, the only sound was that that of the green curtain drawing slowly, with a slithering sound, until the coffin was no longer visible behind it.

Glenn Branson looked mischievously at Grace then at Taylor. ‘I guess that’s what they mean by curtains.’

Roy Grace gave him a sideways look, grinning. ‘Let’s hope he’s not planning on reappearing for a second curtain call.’

As they walked out of the crematorium together, Grace said, ‘How about we call the girls and take them and the kids out somewhere tonight for a celebratory meal. On me. What do you think?’

‘Nice idea, except—’

‘Except what?’

‘After seeing Rorke’s post-mortem — you know — all the bits that had been eaten — let’s not go to a seafood restaurant.’

‘Wuss!’ Grace said.