Fry stabbed a fork into the quiche. The outside was hot, but the centre was stone cold. Some days, this was about the best that it got.
Fry stabbed a fork into the quiche. The outside was hot, but the centre was stone cold. Some days, this was about the best that it got.
3
Hudson and Slack was one of the oldest established funeral directors in the Eden Valley. A dependable family firm, according to the sign over the entrance. Diane Fry pulled her Peugeot into the car park next to the chapel of rest. The company might be long established, but the premises dated from the 1960s, flat-roofed and square, with a modern plate-glass frontage. The place had been built discreetly out of sight in a side street off Fargate.
Fry got out of the car and stood at the gate, looking at the houses in Manvers Street. There were stone terraces on both sides, with no gardens between their front doors and the roadway. She wondered what sort of people would choose to live where death passed their windows every morning. How many times must they look up from a meal or a TV programme and see the long, black limousines creeping by? How often did they try to enjoy a moments peace, only to catch a glint of chrome from the handles of a coffin out of the corner of one eye?
She turned back to the entrance of Hudson and Slack. She was sure that living here wouldnt suit her at all. But there must be many ways of shutting out the sight of death passing by, or pretending it didnt exist.
I presume you want me to come in with you, Diane? said a voice from the other side of the car.
For a moment, shed forgotten Ben Cooper. As usual, hed been the only DC she could find in the CID room when she needed company. If there was anything to follow up from this visit, she wouldnt be able to do it herself, because shed be tied up in court.
Yes, of course. Youre not here to enjoy the scenery.
Cooper followed her into the funeral directors, where they found Melvyn Hudson to be a dapper man in his late forties, with neat hair greying at the temples. He was wearing a black suit and black tie, and he seemed to slip effortlessly into character as he came through the door into the waiting room and held out his hand.
Come through, come through. And please tell me exactly how I can help.
Beyond the door was a passage, and two men walking towards them. Like Hudson, they were in black suits, though neither of them carried it off so well. The larger man had a shaven head and a prominent jaw, like a night-club bouncer, while the younger one was slender and ungainly, his suit barely concealing the boniness of his shoulders and wrists. They stopped in unison when they saw the visitors, and their faces fell into serious expressions.
Sergeant, these are two of our bearer drivers, said Hudson. Billy McGowan and this is Vernon Slack.
The two men nodded and moved on, closing a door quietly behind them.
Hudsons office felt like a doctors consulting room, with soothing décor, interesting pot plants and certificates framed on the wall. Who did funeral directors get certificates from, Fry wondered. Were there classes in undertaking at night school? A diploma in coffin manufacture at High Peak College?
You realize there are quite a lot of people like that? said Hudson, after Fry had explained what she wanted.
Like what?
People who make a hobby of going to funerals. We see them all the time. Sometimes we joke to each other that a funeral isnt complete without our usual little bunch of habitual mourners.
You mean they go to the funerals of people they never knew?
Of course, said Hudson. They watch the church notice boards, or read the death announcements in the Eden Valley Times to see what funerals are coming up. And then they plan their diaries for the week ahead. For some people, funerals are their favourite type of outing. They become social occasions. Perhaps even a place where they meet new people.
Hudson must have noticed the shocked expression on Frys face.
Its perfectly harmless, he said. These are people who simply like funerals.
And you recognize these individuals when they turn up?
Oh, yes. Many of them are familiar faces to staff at Hudson and Slack, as they are to all my colleagues in this area.
Fry saw Cooper open his mouth as if about to join in, but she gave him a glance to shut him up. As he dropped his eyes to his notebook, an unruly lock of hair fell over his forehead. She ought to suggest it was time for a haircut again.
I dont suppose you could let me have some names, Mr Hudson? she said.
As it happens, yes. The Eden Valley Times used to publish lists of mourners on its obituary page until quite recently, and it was usually our job to collect the names. We did it as part of our service to the bereaved family, you see. The names wouldnt be hard to find, anyway. Youd only need to look through a few back copies of the newspaper and check the obituary pages, and youd see them listed as mourners at almost every funeral in the area.
No addresses, though?
Hudson shrugged. I cant help you with that. The only thing I can say is that they tend to stick to funerals on their own patch. They dont travel very much for their hobby.
Fry nodded. What about Wardlow?
Well, thats different, said Hudson. A small village, a few miles out of town there arent many funerals in a place like that, as you can imagine. Hudson and Slack are one of the busiest funeral directors in the valley, but we dont do more than one job a year in Wardlow, if that. So if there were habitual mourners in Wardlow, I wouldnt recognize them.
He smiled, a sympathetic smile that suggested he cared about everybody, no matter who they were.
And I dont suppose they get much outlet for their interest, either, he said. Theyd be all dressed up with nowhere to go. Rather like a dead atheist.
Sorry?
Just my little funeral directors joke.
Fry raised her eyebrows, then looked at Cooper to make sure he was taking notes. Mr Hudson, you said a minute ago that the Eden Valley Times published lists of mourners until quite recently?
Yes. But theyve stopped doing it now. A new editor arrived, and he thought it was rather an old-fashioned practice. Well, I suppose he was right. The Times was one of the few local newspapers left in the country that still did it, so it was bound to go the way of all traditions eventually. But our customers liked it.
Why?
Well, locally, it became an indicator of status an individuals popularity and success in life were measured by how many mourners they had at their funeral, whether the mayor attended or only the deputy mayor, that sort of thing. Also, people would look to make sure they were on the list and their names had been spelled right. Of course, there was often a lot of gossip about whod turned up and who hadnt especially if there had been some kind of family dispute. You know what its like.
Not really, said Fry.
Hudson looked at her more carefully. Youre not from around here, are you? he said. I should have noticed.
She tried to ignore the comment. It wasnt the first time shed heard it. The traces of her Black Country accent normally betrayed her straight away, but apparently Melvyn Hudson wasnt quite so observant as he claimed to be. Nevertheless, Fry found herself unreasonably irritated by the implication that he ought to have been able to tell at a glance she wasnt local.
She tried to ignore the comment. It wasnt the first time shed heard it. The traces of her Black Country accent normally betrayed her straight away, but apparently Melvyn Hudson wasnt quite so observant as he claimed to be. Nevertheless, Fry found herself unreasonably irritated by the implication that he ought to have been able to tell at a glance she wasnt local.
Wouldnt it be true to say theres another factor? she said.
Whats that?
That it isnt enough just to show your respects when somebody dies, you have to be seen to be doing it. Thats the whole point of getting your name in the paper, isnt it? So that everyone can see you were doing the right thing, no matter what you thought of the deceased person?
I think thats a little unfair.
And its the purpose of all the money spent on floral tributes too, isnt it? After all, they dont do the person whos died much good, do they?
Cooper stirred restlessly and snapped the elastic band on his notebook, as if he thought it was time to leave. Hudsons smile was slipping, but he stayed calm. Of course, he had to deal with much more difficult situations every day.
Have you had some kind of unfortunate personal experience? he said. If something is troubling you, we can offer the services of a bereavement counsellor.
No, snapped Fry. It was a general observation.
Well, your view might be considered somewhat cynical, Sergeant, he said. But I wont deny theres an element of truth in what you say.
All right. Do you conduct all the funerals here, Mr Hudson?
My wife Barbara does some of them.
And I suppose the fact that the Eden Valley Times stopped printing lists of mourners means your staff no longer collect the names, said Fry.
Thats correct. We dont do it as a matter of course any more. Only if a customer specifically asks us to.
And at Wardlow church yesterday?
Hudson shook his head. He accompanied the gesture with his sympathetic smile, suggesting that he understood her distress, and she had his condolences.
No names at all, he said. Im very sorry.
Back in the CID room after his unexpected trip to the funeral directors, Ben Cooper wondered why Fry looked so distracted. Worried, even. But whatever was bothering her, at least she had time to take an interest in his forensic reconstruction, shuffling through the photographs hed brought back from Sheffield.
Theyre not bad, she said. Are we going to get these into the papers?
I delivered them last night. Media Relations have already set it up.
Good. You might get an early result. Have you got any other ideas, Ben?
I thought I might take copies round to show Mr Jarvis.
Who?
The owner of the property nearest to where the remains were found. His name is Tom Jarvis. We dont know how she ended up down there, but its possible Mr Jarvis may have seen her around the place while she was still alive.
No indication of how she died, right?