Page 150 of Dying Truth
The funeral of Joanna Wade had not been the sombre affair she had expected. Her colourful friends and younger brother had ensured that the service was a celebration of her life, not her death. Particularly poignant had been readings from students of both her old school and Heathcrest about what Joanna had meant to them. After the service Thorpe had revealed to her that Joanna had moved to Heathcrest for the substantial pay increase and benefits following her mother’s move into a care home. Joanna’s pension and death-in-service benefit would cover the bills there for quite a few years to come.
And so, she had read all the statements, filed all the papers, replied to all the emails.
And then she had sat and talked to an empty desk. A desk that still held his personal possessions because no one had yet found the courage to remove them.
She had pictured him sitting back in his chair, his tie loosened, his button opened and sporting a lazy smile. She imagined him rolling his eyes at Bryant when his older colleague was trying to give him some good advice.
She could visualise him winking at Stacey when needling her about her addiction to theWarcraftcomputer game. And her secret smile that told Kim she enjoyed it.
She pictured him tapping away on his computer with a fierce single-minded hunger in his eyes when he knew he was on to a lead.
She could see him walking the length of the office in high-heeled shoes on the back of a bet from Bryant. Which he’d won.
Hundreds of memories had played through her head as she’d stared at the space that had been his.
One memory had got hold of her and would not let her go. There was a time that they’d stood in the car park outside the station. She had laid into him verbally for disobeying a direct instruction not to use the press for a public appeal.
She had made no effort to hide the disappointment she had felt in him, and he had made no attempt to hide his regret and hurt at her disappointment. She knew her approval had been important to him. She’d known it then, and she’d known it in his recent appraisal.
The phone rang, startling her even though she’d been expecting the call.
‘Car’s ready, Marm,’ Jack said, sombrely into her ear.
He couldn’t see her nod as she replaced the receiver.
She pushed herself to a standing position and reached for the elbow crutches issued by the hospital.
She hopped her way through the office and paused at the desk nearest the door.
She placed a single sheet of paper in the centre. The recommendation for promotion, complete with her signature at the bottom.
‘Yes, Kev,’ she whispered. ‘You were ready.’
One Hundred Ten
Kim threw her crutches out of the car as the police officer jumped out to help her.
She waved him away.
Bryant had offered to pick her up from the station, but she’d refused. She hadn’t wanted to be alone in the car with him. He would want to talk, and she did not.
She began the trek along the walkway she knew so well. Everyone she’d ever loved was here somewhere.
She stepped into the chapel and remained at the back. There was barely standing room left. The space was filled with family, friends and colleagues.
A constable she recognised stood and offered his seat. She shook her head and glanced around.
The minister was speaking of Dawson as though they’d been old friends, reliving anecdotes passed second-hand from family members. She tuned out. He hadn’t known Dawson at all.
He didn’t know the total contradiction that the man had been. How selfish he could be one minute and totally selfless the next. He had not known the sharp intelligence that had been evident to her. The instinct in him and his passion for sorting right from wrong.
He had not known Dawson’s empathy for the disadvantaged or the passion with which he’d attacked his work. He had not known the protective instinct when anyone he cared about had been placed at risk.
He had not known the man that she had known.
The congregation stood to sing a hymn, obscuring his coffin from her view. She didn’t want to picture him still and cold inside that box. It was bad enough that her last memory of him was his body broken and bloodied, smashed against the ground, his eyes staring up to the top of the bell tower. That picture would remain with her for ever.
She looked around the chapel as the mourners sang. Each person held a different part of the man in their hearts, all carried different memories from each stage of his life. His parents, school friends, colleagues.
