by J. M. Peace
"I've told the troops to show lenience today. Especially with tickets. Angus liked his cars so there'll be some rev-heads around today."
"It would be unwise to turn a blind eye completely," Owen cautioned. "We are still the police. We're not going to lose face in town by ignoring offences committed right in front of us."
"Police presence should be enough," Simon replied. "And we've got that."
Owen nodded once as if it was a concession. "Alright then. Let's get this done."
39.
Patricia had insisted that the funeral be held at a church. A nice church she had even said. As far as Roy knew, his brother had never set foot in a church. But Patricia had gone to the trouble of going through Angus's paperwork. Sure enough, he'd been baptised an Anglican. The Anglican Church in town had recently been refurbished and was set in a quiet cul-de-sac with views of the water. Patricia had organised everything. Including the finances. No one had known how much money Angus had managed to accumulate over the years, living on the cheap with his brother. Patricia had only ever seemed to tolerate Angus, but she got it into her head that he deserved to go out in style.
Roy had thought it all a bit over the top especially when Patricia had finally told him the costs, but as he looked around the church, with fresh flowers everywhere and the sun on the water out the window, he understood why people valued things like this. You could tell people were impressed, whispering amongst each other as they filed into the church.
It was a good turn out. There were lots of old friends from Ipswich, plus family he hadn't seen in years. But there were also a lot of Tannin Bay locals who had liked Angus enough to pull on a pair of clean pants and a button down shirt. Roy himself was in a suit on Patricia's insistence. It was the same suit he had been married in. It still fit him well enough. Even as a young man, he'd had the same barrel chest and broad shoulders. Sure his gut had filled out and he couldn't get the button done up on the jacket anymore but it was fine for a funeral. He looked the part in here today amongst the roses and ushers.
He and Patricia sat on either end of a pew with their kids between them. There hadn't been enough room for all of them so Skeeter and his girlfriend were in the pew behind them. Hi brother, Stan, and his family were in the front row on the other side of the aisle. Mick was sitting right next to Stan. He had insisted on coming saying no one knew him and he needed to pay his respects. Roy had a gut feeling this was a bad decision.
"Dad," Eddy said in a loud whisper. "Why are they called pews?" He held his nose between his fingers. "Is it because 'pew', these flowers are so smelly?" Kylie giggled. Patricia glared and shushed. Roy ignored them and thought about his brother. It was still so hard to believe.
There was a tap on his shoulder. "Dad, look!" Skeeter hissed from behind. Roy turned to see two cops take a seat in the back row. They were wearing ties, with their hats tucked under their arms. Holy crap! What were they doing here? He recognised one of them as the Colonel. The other one had shiny buttons on his shoulders.
Roy said nothing, turning back to face the front and seethe soundlessly.
40.
It was no surprise to Simon when all heads turned as he and Owen walked into the church. Simon had done exactly this, walked into the funeral of a grub in full dress uniform, only once before. But he couldn’t count the times he'd walked into pubs, churches, hospitals, and shops to hear the whispered words 'the cops are here'. That was just part of the job as a police officer. It was also one of the reasons police stuck together. Although Owen had been decidedly unfriendly since the death, Simon felt an 'us versus them' camaraderie with him right now.
There was a TV camera in the back corner and it had swivelled towards them as quickly as all the faces. Really? Simon thought. A drunk's funeral? This is news?
He ignored the camera completely and kept his eyes forward. He and Owen took seats in the very last row. Owen leant towards him as soon as they were seated.
"Did you see him," Owen asked in the lightest of whispers.
Simon said nothing, giving a slight shake of his head as his answer.
"The suspect," Owen said, doing little more than mouthing the words.
Simon's eyebrows pulled downwards, frowning, then shot upwards as he worked out what Owen meant. Simon sat straight now, looking around at the backs of everyone's heads. Simon hadn't even considered that the suspect might be here. He’d seen the footage though. Angus and the other man had walked in together and he guessed they were friends, even if Roy continued to deny it.
So the suspect had come to pay his last respects. Maybe he had come because he was filled with shame and remorse. Maybe he thought he would draw more attention to himself if he didn't come. But Simon was kicking himself that he hadn’t thought to look for him when they entered the church.
Owen held three fingers against his pant leg and pointed to the right. Although he looked a little different with his hair slicked down and wearing a long sleeved shirt and tie, Simon was pretty sure Owen had correctly spotted the suspect sitting in the third row on the right.
"Text Sharpey," Owen whispered.
Simon had already turned his phone onto silent before coming into the church. He used his hat as cover to send the stealthy message. A moment later, he slid his phone into his hat and handed it to Owen.
The message on his phone was from Sharpey. "Do u want us to grab him?" And a handcuff emoji.
The Inspector grimaced and gave one sharp shake of his head. Simon agreed. It would be extremely unwise to arrest the man during the funeral, even if he was the chief suspect. Cameras were running. It would be bad PR.
They could keep an eye on him until afterwards.
41.
Roy was a bit nervous. He'd agreed to do the eulogy because he knew he'd do a better job than Stan. Stan would try to put jokes in it or something. Today was not a day for jokes. It was not even a day for questions. Today was a day to remember. He looked at his hands, curled into half fists, resting on his thighs. If he had been the one fighting and getting arrested that night, he reckoned things would have ended differently. Even though Angus was the eldest of them, Roy had frequently felt like his protector and guardian. Especially in the last years. He'd get to the bottom of this. But not today.
The pastor was talking. It was a bland and all-purpose speech for a man he didn't know. Roy doubted he'd ever even met Angus. Or did church people still go to pubs and try to convert the patrons?
There was a hymn and Roy stood up when those around him rose. And then it was Roy's turn. As he took his place at the front of the church and adjusted the angle of the microphone, he saw the TV camera in the back. His heart jumped into his throat before he remembered Patricia asking him about it. He'd agreed they could be here. He wanted as many people as possible to know what a great guy his brother was and that he shouldn't be dead. He cleared his throat and didn't allow himself any further procrastination.
"We're all here today because we knew Angus. My brother. He was a great bloke. Everyone who met him, liked him. He was just that kind of guy. But I want to tell you some things about Angus today. Things you might not have known. Because the happy-go-lucky bloke who liked a drink was only a part of who he was. He was, I guess, a private man who chose to show people a different man to the one he really was."
Roy looked around the room. All eyes were on him. It was all quiet except for someone's baby making that frustrated noise just before they start crying.
"Not all of you knew that Angus was a married man. On October 17, 1986, he was married to Leanne Bettany. Myself and our other brother, Stan, were the best men at his wedding. It was a great day. Leanne and Angus were such a happy couple. They both loved the speedway and spent many happy hours there. They tried hard to start a family but it never worked out. And before Leanne had even turned forty, she was diagnosed with cancer of the stomach."
A sympathetic murmur rippled through the guests. Those who knew it, remembered. And it shocked those who didn't know.
&n
bsp; "It was a difficult time as Leanne went through rounds of chemotherapy and radiation. And Angus was an absolute rock. When his work could no longer give him time off, he tossed in his job to care for Leanne. He did everything he could for her, first to fight the cancer in any way they could. He was the one who researched treatments and doctors, made appointments and spent long frustrating hours in waiting rooms. And then when the fighting was over, he did everything he could to give her comfort and peace. She died in his arms."
A small sound came from the front row and Roy saw Patricia was crying.
"Angus was a hero to Leanne. And to me as well." He paused. The white of tissues was speckled through the dark colours worn by the guests.
"After that, he didn't want to live in Ipswich anymore. Everything reminded him of Leanne. So we decided, as a family, to make a sea change to Tannin Bay. We bought our block and although he had his own place, he was always welcome in ours. He was like another father to our children. 'Unky' Angus was who the kids ran to when they got in trouble with me. His home was a like a little haven for them. There was always a hug and a lollipop waiting at Unky's place. The kids don't even know how much they'll miss him yet.”
Even Skeeter was sniffling now.
"Leanne's death hit Angus hard and he was never the same after that. It was like a part of him was missing. He never even went back to work. If you knew him as a carefree happy bloke, that was only because that was what he chose to show you. He made me understand the expression - 'drowning your sorrows'. So when he drank too much and ended up at the cop shop, I didn't get upset. I remembered the kindness and patience he showed to Leanne, and tried to return a little of that back to him. Because he deserved it. He deserved to be looked after when he wasn't at his best, because that's what he did for his wife. For everyone he loved. Without question, without complaint. He didn't deserve what he got. No one should die like that."
Several people turned with deliberate movements to look at the coppers. Roy too let his gaze rest on them for a moment. The local guy dropped his eyes but the senior guy met his stare.
"We really appreciate every one coming today. So many different people here from different phases of Angus's life. You'll all have particular memories of him. I could talk all day about what a great guy he was, a brother to look up to and count on. But the one thing all of you will remember about Angus was his laugh. He was always laughing. Even after the worst happened, he could still find a reason to put a smile on his face. So I'll ask you all to remember Angus like that. With a smile on his face and a drink in his hand. Because even though that was only part of who he was, it was the part he chose for everyone to see. Thank you for coming today."
Roy sat down, somehow exhausted from a few minutes of gripping the lectern. A photo collage put together by Patricia and a couple of his aunts was playing now. They had chosen the song 'Born to be Wild'. Lots of shots of Angus and cars. Lots of shots of Angus with a drink in his hand.
The final shot showed Angus's date of birth and date of death. That's when it struck him like a stab to the stomach. September the third. The date of Angus's death. It was also the date of Leanne's death. Angus died on the anniversary of his wife's death. The knife in Roy’s stomach gave a twist.
Then curtains were drawn in front of the coffin.
That was it. It was over.
Angus was gone.
42.
Simon frowned as Sharpey slowly cruised past the front of the church as everybody came out after the service. Just because he was in an unmarked car, didn't mean he was invisible. He should have the sense to stay low. But he probably thought he could smell a big pinch and was like a shark circling a swimmer.
Everybody was milling around on the front lawn of the church until it was time to make the short drive to the cemetery.
Simon and Owen joined the throng. Attempting to keep an eye on the possible suspect without being too obvious about it was proving difficult. Whichever way they stepped, someone else was staring at them. They should have just stood back out of the way, but their target was moving around too much.
"Should we just grab him?" Simon asked in a rumbly whisper.
"No. We'll wait and try to get him as he gets into his car. Then we'll be away from most of these people, off the front lawn of the church anyway. There's going to be trouble. But we want to try to keep it to a minimum," Owen replied.
Simon rocked from his heels up onto his toes to keep their mark in sight. Sharpey cruised past a second time.
On the road in front of the church, a lime green Commodore spun his wheels. As it drove past, Simon could see the words 'Justice for Angus' daubed in white paint on the rear windscreen. Somewhere behind him, the TV people would be filming it all. Simon turned to check their position on the top step at the front door of the church. They couldn't possibly know the suspect was here. His photo had not yet been released. Best to do it out of sight.
Roy and his family would be in the lead car in the funeral procession to the cemetery. But he appeared in no hurry to get moving. Roy and Simon’s eyes met. To Simon's surprise, Roy grabbed their suspect by the arm and pulled him across to where Simon and Owen were standing.
"This here is my nephew," he said without preamble. His voice was loud enough that everyone turned to watch. The young man's face was completely drained of all colour. "Yes, he was the man fighting with Angus. But if you try to arrest him here and now during his uncle's funeral, every person here is going to turn on you and you won't have enough paddy wagons in town. We will bring him in to you on Monday."
The young man had his eyes turned down and Simon could see him trembling.
"Now, you can piss off," Roy hissed.
Two emotions churned through Simon. You arrogant dickhead, I'll fix you. This competed with his second thought. No point, it's not worth it the fight. Walk away. Be the bigger man.
"We'll hold you to your word there, Mr Hegarty," Owen said in clipped tones. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
Simon and Owen turned away sharply at the same time, as if it had been rehearsed.
43.
Krista walked into the barracks to find Piero and Mort sitting and talking in the lounge room. They both looked up and fell silent as she came in.
She hesitated. "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. I'm just passing through." She pointed to her bedroom door.
Mort turned to Piero. "You should talk to Krista," he said. "I'm fine."
"Me?" Krista asked.
"Piero's a PSO," Mort said to her.
"Peer Support Officer," Piero added, seeing her puzzled look. "You haven't had a debrief either, have you?"
"See, I wasn't even there when he died," Mort said. "Poor Krista was the one yelling for help and doing CPR."
Krista swallowed hard. Mort stood up and gestured to his chair. "You should talk to Piero. He's a good bloke. He's here to help."
Piero nodded. "I still want to talk with you, Mort. But I did want to talk to you too, Krista. Do you guys want to have a chat together?"
Mort held his hands up. "I'm good." He disappeared into his room before Piero could argue. Piero rose to his feet and gestured to the chair Mort had vacated.
Krista sat down and looked nervously across at Piero.
"It was Sunday, wasn't it? When we met you. When you found me and Mort, and he was covered in liquid soap and blue paint." He laughed, but it sounded forced. He was trying to build some sort of rapport with her. She couldn't even meet his eyes. The laughter petered out into silence.
"Hell of a way to start at a new station," he said softly.
Krista nodded but added nothing.
"Hard to get to know people with all of this hanging over your head."
"Yep."
Piero paused, watching her. "Just to make it clear - this conversation is just between us. I don't have my sergeant's hat on at the moment. You're not going to get into trouble for anything you say here to me. I know we're not friends, but that's just because we haven't really had a chance
to get to know each other. And you could probably use a friend right now."
"I feel like Mort's the only one I know," Krista said. "He's been kind but he's under pressure too at the moment."
"Yep. But I don't want to talk about Mort. I want to see how you're going."
She shrugged and shifted in the chair.
"I don't know what's going to happen,” she said softly. “I know I'm partly at fault. Because I was watch house keeper and I didn’t lodge him. And I feel like people are kind of ignoring me since the... you know." She couldn't get her tongue around the word 'death'. "It's as if everyone thinks I'm guilty."
Piero shook his head. "I don't think that's the case. Every copper understands that things can go pear-shaped really quickly, sometimes for no obvious reason. People feel sorry for you but don't know you well enough to offer a sympathetic ear. Now, I don't know you well enough either but I'm going to offer it anyway. Sometimes it helps just to talk to someone. Sometimes it's even easier to talk to someone you don't know very well. You might find it easier to talk to me than to Mort about the death, because he was involved. So, if you want to talk things through, please know that this is a genuine offer. I'm not going to judge. Just listen and I may be able to help."
Krista stared down at her hands folded in her lap. She did want to talk. But she didn't want to cry. And right now, she had to keep her mouth clamped shut to keep her tears inside. If she tried to say anything right now, her voice would fail her. She didn't feel she deserved Piero's kindness.
"I know you're just out of your training year. You feel like there were some things you did wrong... no, not wrong," he corrected himself. "Things you would have done differently in hindsight. No matter how much service you've got, most coppers still feel like that after a big job like this. The last thing we want is you thinking you're not a good copper because you've landed in what will probably be the biggest job of your career in your first week at a new station."