by M J Johnson
"The only evidence," answered Mullings, "is what we've been told to believe, by a laptop, conveniently found at Owens' house."
"Come, come!" was the immediate response of the DCC. The man's naturally sanguine features suddenly grew in depth and shade to a colour resembling tawny port, "Unless you can back up these views with some compelling evidence, I'm afraid your reservations sound like bitterness and sour grapes."
Mullings opened his mouth to interject but thought better of it. Nothing would be gained.
The Deputy Chief Constable changed tack. He smiled understandingly, his high colour fading to a less dramatic hue, "This situation isn't easy, John … not for anyone. Your record is first-class and it isn't being disputed. However, I've heard it said in some circles, and believe me, I'm not personally in agreement with this view, that two lives may have been saved had certain questions been asked."
Mullings really disliked it when the top brass became all reasonable and cuddly.
The Deputy Chief Constable paused to smile with shark-like sincerity, "Under the circumstances the authority would understand entirely, and indeed wish to back you up, should you choose to take early retirement."
Mullings wasn't entirely surprised. Even so, it still came as a shock. He felt his hands trembling with emotion as he replied, "I wish I'd been able to prevent the deaths of Mr and Mrs Blatt, sir. However, I remain satisfied with the investigation I led. I believe the right lines of inquiry were pursued, and I have no plans to take early retirement."
The DCC looked across the table at Mullings with a face like thunder, "Then I have to advise you, should any discrepancies or shortcomings in your current investigation be uncovered, the authority may have no option but to take disciplinary proceedings on grounds of incompetence against you. This may result in loss of rank, or possibly dismissal. I should remind you too, that such a situation may prove detrimental to any final salary pension, which would be a shame, after so many years of loyal service."
Mullings swallowed hard and nodded.
25
The date fixed for the funeral was Wednesday the eighteenth of March.
The evening before, Gil took Sally to dinner. It was the first time they had been out together since those happy few days in Manchester, which now seemed eons past.
"I wanted to say thanks for sticking me out," said Gil, "I know I've been difficult."
"If you weren't affected by what happened to you, then you probably wouldn't be someone I'd care about much," Sally replied.
"I've been selfish," he said.
"You were traumatised," replied Sally, dabbing at a tear that was forming in her eye with the corner of a napkin.
"It's not only me though, is it? You were caught up too … when Michael was killed."
Sally nodded, "I'll admit, it wasn't easy … but then I wasn't the one who found him! And let's face it, I didn't have too many warm memories of Michael," she said, before adding, "Even so, I still wouldn't have wished what happened …"
"'Course not."
"I break out in a cold sweat to think my friends could believe for one minute I might have done it!"
"They were only trying to protect you."
"I know," she replied, "but it makes you wonder, what do people imagine you're capable of?"
Gil shook his head, "Who knows what any of us is capable of under certain circumstances? When I drove to Geoff Owens' house that night …" he stalled momentarily before going on, "If he'd been alive … I really don't know what I'd have done."
For a moment, the haunted expression that had taken possession of him for so many days flickered back into his eyes.
"Poor love," said Sally, taking his hands in hers. Her eyes were filling up with tears again. "And you've got the hardest day of all tomorrow," she said, meaning the funeral.
"Not hardest," he replied, "I'm not looking forward to it … but I know from experience, it'll at least bring closure."
Sally understood this and nodded.
"I wanted to talk to you about after the funeral," he began. "I wanted to ask if you'd still consider coming away to Wales with me … like we'd planned once the opera opened."
Sally smiled, "Yes, yes of course, I'd love to," she said. She hadn't forgotten their plan, but the opera's opening night was now almost two weeks ago, and she assumed Gil had given up on the idea. Sally would have been in favour of anything that might help rekindle their relationship.
"I'd understand if you didn't want to!" put in Gil, "I've been such an almighty pain … I'd understand if you …"
"Gil?"
"Yes?"
"Just shut the fuck up! I'd love to come."
Gil smiled. He felt happier at that moment than he had done in weeks.
"Where is it again?"
Gil laughed, "West Wales, near a place called Llangrannog, on the Ceredigion coast."
"Sounds lovely."
"I wouldn't describe it as lovely. It's pretty basic - a tiny farm labourer's cottage - but I've always loved it. The coastline is stunning - rugged and very beautiful."
If Sally had any reservations at all she didn't show it. "I can't wait," she said.
26
Gil had given the funeral planning a great deal of thought. It was a practical way of expressing his love and respect for Felix and Kate. Opting for a joint funeral seemed an obvious choice for two people who had spent such a large portion of their lives together, and what's more, the thought of two separate funerals seemed like an unnecessarily grim prospect.
Those attending were met by an excerpt from Faure's Requiem, and they would exit the church to The Song of the Birds by Pablo Casals. Gil found the picking of the hymns enormously difficult and he enlisted Megan's help here.
It was touching to witness the large number of children accompanied by a grown-up who came. The church itself barely managed to seat those invited, let alone accommodate the three to four hundred fans who arrived. However, Gil had anticipated this and organised speakers to be set up in the churchyard.
The intimacy of the church magnified the presence of Kate and Felix's coffins, which lying side by side left barely enough room for participants to pass to the pulpit. The vicar led the service, and there were three eulogies delivered before the final hymn; Felix's nephew went first, then Patrick Small, and finally Gil.
Gil began by explaining his choice of venue, "In case you were wondering why I chose All Saints' Tudeley, and not something bigger … it's because it was Kate and Felix's favourite church …"
He went on to explain how Felix, who had always derived great pleasure introducing his young colleague to new experiences, had brought him to Tudeley church some fifteen years earlier, "I remember how excited he was at the prospect that I'd never been here before. As we walked from the car he told me, 'Harp, you're about to see a jewel.' And of course, Felix was rarely wrong about such matters ... I'd never have told him that though."
At this a gentle ripple of laughter passed through the congregation.
"And on that, my first of many visits here, we sat together in silent appreciation of these wonderful windows." Gil was referring to the stained glass of Marc Chagall that bestowed a sublime benevolence over the setting.
"I worked closely with Felix Blatt for nearly twenty years. He was an inspiration: colleague, friend, mentor … as the illustrator of his books, he provided me without fail with a rich vein of pure gold.
"I am forever in his debt.
"As friends, Kate and Felix proved themselves constant and unfailing. I met them at the same moment in time, and across the twenty years that followed, I doubt if more than three days ever passed without some communication between us. At the Blatts' home, I never received anything but the warmest welcome … they were the kindest of people.
"Five years ago, when my wife Jules died in a car accident along with our unborn child, I didn't know quite frankly how to continue living." Gil looked for a moment like he was struggling to speak, "It was only the perseverance of my friends, like
Kate and Felix, who didn't give up on me, and refused to let me become reclusive, which got me through. Their love and support slowly guided me back to life.
"Nobody should ever die the way they did …"
At this point there was a tremor in Gil's voice.
Sally, already moved to tears herself, feared he would be unable to continue.
But he drew breath and found the strength to go on, "… and it seems particularly unjust that two people who abhorred violence, should die in such a terrible way.
"Kate and Felix adored children. And although they rarely mentioned it, not having children was an acute sadness … perhaps the only sadness in otherwise content and happy lives. However, they compensated for this only real disappointment in their lives by the work they did for children's charities. Their philosophy was a simple one … happy children from happy childhoods become happy adults who in turn contribute to a better society. Felix's books were properly anarchic and irreverent, adored almost universally by children … the number of children here today testifies to that.
"Our collaboration was about to naturally conclude … our final work is with our publishers. But what I'm forced to say goodbye to here today is far more important than any book …"
At this point Gil's lip trembled and a single involuntary tear ran down his cheek.
"They leave me with a hole …" he stretched a hand out across his heart, "here ..." At this point Gil stopped. He had written a couple more sentences but knew that he could not deliver them. He looked up at the bowed heads of the congregation through blurry eyes and told them with a gentle smile, "They were my friends."
When the service was over and the coffins were borne out into the churchyard for burial, the skies suddenly burst open and a torrent of rain poured down onto the mourners. It was completely unexpected. When they'd walked into the church an hour earlier, blustery winds had been blowing fluffy white clouds across a blue sky.
"Felix will have organised this," Patrick Small whispered in Gil's ear as they followed the coffin bearers through the deluge, "Far too much reverence and respect!"
Gil smiled.
Fortunately, some people had come prepared, and a rather garish golfing umbrella was passed to them before Gil, Patrick and Sally got too soaked.
The funeral attendees were now hunched and huddled together under an assortment of jackets, kagouls, rain-coats and umbrellas.
It caused Gil to chuckle inwardly as he thought, 'The old bugger will be loving this!'
The coffins were committed to the earth in the same grave. The vicar's ministry, respectful but thankfully succinct, was succeeded by a faster than usual exit by those present from the churchyard to the car park; half walk, half sprint, it was the kind of human foible Felix loved to parody in his writing.
It was touching to see how many of Felix's fans remained after the downpour. Gil felt it was only fitting to stop and talk to as many as possible, and he shook a lot of hands. Many of the children were carrying posies of flowers to put on the grave. Everyone seemed to want to express how sad they felt.
"Felix Blatt was a fantastic writer."
"Will you continue to draw pictures?"
Many of the grown-ups voiced how glad they had been when the Blatts' killer was finally identified. Some began to re-iterate what the papers had said about police incompetence. Gil didn't want to get into a debate on the subject, which prompted him to head for the car.
As he stooped to get into the black funeral car, a hand suddenly gripped his elbow with unexpected determination.
"Could you sign this, Mr Harper?" asked a male voice.
Gil looked up in the direction of the person who was holding on to him. The first thing he noticed was branded white trainers and navy-blue track-suit bottoms, white-striped along their sides. The man was dressed in a soaking wet grey hoodie pulled down over a red peaked baseball cap set low on the forehead. It obscured most of the face apart from the mouth. The man was grinning, revealing teeth with quite large gaps between them. He held out a copy of The Rotten Trotters, Gil's first collaboration with Felix.
Gil was momentarily flummoxed, "I … er … I … d … d ..." he stammered.
Patrick, already seated in the car, came to Gil's rescue by poking his head out and stating unequivocally in his most commanding Old Etonian tone, "I'm sure you can appreciate that under the circumstances, Mr Harper is not signing autographs."
The man immediately released his hold on Gil, "Aw … right … s-s-s … s-s-s … s-sorry," he replied.
Gil got in alongside Sally and Patrick.
"The cheek of some people," said Sally.
"Pretty insensitive," commented Patrick.
As they moved off, Gil strained to look back through the rear window but the man had already evaporated into the crowd. "Was he taking the piss?" he asked.
"One born every minute!" exclaimed Megan from the seat in front.
27
Some refreshments were organised for those invited to the funeral at a hotel in Tonbridge. A number of people expressed how moving they'd found the service, especially Gil's heartfelt eulogy.
Later that evening, DCI Mullings visited Gil's house unannounced.
Some friends had come back after the funeral and half a dozen people, including George and Marjorie who had travelled up from Somerset, were staying overnight. Megan too was putting up funeral guests; in fact, she had courageously volunteered to put up Felix's nephew and his dreaded wife for the night.
Gil took Mullings into the study.
"I just wanted to offer my personal condolences, Mr Harper. I didn't get a chance to speak to you at the funeral."
"I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were present."
Mullings shrugged, "What you said was very moving … powerful."
Gil acknowledged the compliment with a diffident nod.
There followed an awkward silence before Mullings continued with, "It was an extremely sad occasion … an ordeal for everyone."
"The way they died didn't allow much room for positive spin," replied Gil.
"No, no indeed … it's been a shocking, bewildering case."
Gil nodded again, then after a pause, he said, "I just want you to know, I didn't agree with the tabloids. I believe you did everything you could have done under the circumstances."
Mullings looked genuinely touched, "Thank you, I really appreciate you saying that."
"Can I offer you something to drink, Chief Inspector? Tea, coffee - something stronger?" he pointed to the scotch and ice in his own glass.
"No thanks, I won't take up any more of your time. I'll let you return to your guests." As Mullings approached the door he turned to say, "But, if anything should occur, anything to do with the case, however inconsequential it seems … don't hesitate, contact me." Mullings seemed uncharacteristically edgy; he was looking at his feet, shuffling about as he spoke. "There are parts of this inquiry that still remain hard to get into perspective," he added. "Anyway, you know how to reach me."
"Yes, of course," said Gil.
"Any immediate plans?" asked Mullings.
"The day after tomorrow, Sally and I are going away for a couple of weeks."
"Abroad?" asked Mullings.
"No. I have a cottage in Wales, on the Ceredigion coast. I haven't been there for years, since before my wife's death. Megan has all the details."
"I'll take the telephone number," said Mullings, reaching inside his jacket for a notepad.
Gil shook his head, "Sorry. We never had a phone line installed. It was our bolt hole, away from civilisation. It's on a wild but quite stunning stretch of coastline."
"Plenty of fresh air then," responded Mullings, returning the notepad to its pocket, "Anyway you'll have your mobile with you."
"Yes, but unless things have changed in five years, it's generally out of range of the mobile networks. I usually phone Megan each day from a town."
Mullings raised his eyebrows and smiled, "Sounds enviably peaceful," he said.
&
nbsp; FIFTH
20 March - 1 April
1
A plan to set off early for the cottage went awry when, out of the blue, Sally declared a little shame-facedly, "I'm sorry Gil, but I must sort out a few things before I can leave."
"What sort of things?" he asked, nonplussed by the suddenness of the announcement.
"Well, I definitely need some toiletries and stuff."
"Can't you pick them up when we get there?" he asked, holding back an urge to add it was Wales they were headed for, not the Hindu Kush.
"They may not have exactly what I need."
Despite his own raw emotional state, Gil had observed how tense, distracted and almost secretive Sally had become over the preceding few days; not altogether surprising perhaps in light of recent events. Even so, a sudden change in her naturally cheery demeanour had left him feeling slightly confused. She'd given him the impression that she was trying hard to rein in and keep the lid down on her own emotions. Her behaviour seemed uncharacteristic. She had spent an age in the bathroom that morning, so long, in fact, that Gil had taken a shower in one of the other rooms. And when she'd finally emerged, didn't want any breakfast and looked quite unsettled.
Her appearance prompted Gil to ask, "Are you sure you still want to go to the cottage? I'd understand …"
"I do, I really do" she countered, "I want to be with you more than anything."
Gil felt reassured. This was before Sally mentioned the need to delay their departure for the sake of toiletries.
Gil offered to drive her up to the shops.
"No, I'll be better on my own. And I really ought to go across to my house … pick up any mail and stuff."
"I thought you'd already done that … never mind, we can easily call on the way."
Sally winced sheepishly, "I have to get a prescription … anti-histamine, my hay-fever, in case it starts playing up. Sorry Gil, I should've sorted it out before. The surgery receptionist is a bit of a Tartar and wouldn't let me have a repeat prescription without seeing my GP, but I managed to get an early appointment."