Page 56 of Silent Scream
Although not fat, the black ministerial robe was not flattering to the man that wore it. His face was not as round as his body shape indicated. His salt and pepper hair was heavy at the sides but thinned in a wide arc over the top of his head like a well-trodden path over a field. Kim guessed he was mid- to late-fifties.
‘But may I help in His absence?’
The voice was low and even with a gentle rhythm. Kim's foster mother number five had possessed a telephone voice which bore no resemblance to how she spoke normally. Kim wondered if the minister had a special voice for services.
‘We’re looking for the funeral party of Mary Andrews,’ Bryant said.
‘Are you family members?’
Bryant produced his warrant card.
‘In that case, you’re too late.’
‘Damn. Is there any way the process can be stopped?’
The minister looked at his watch. ‘She’s been in there at eleven hundred degrees for about an hour. I suspect there won’t be a lot left.’
‘Bugger ... Sorry, Father.’
‘I’m a minister, not a priest, dear, but I’ll pass your apology on.’
‘Thank you for your help,’ Bryant said, nudging Kim towards the door.
‘Dammit, dammit, dammit,’ Kim said, heading back to the car.
Her peripheral vision registered the young girl still sitting on the wall, alone. She reached the car and glanced back. It was obvious that the girl was shivering but it wasn’t her problem.
She opened the car door and paused. It really was not her problem.
‘Back in a minute,’ she said, slamming the door shut.
Kim trotted over to the girl and stood to her side. ‘Hey, you okay?’
The young girl looked surprised. She tried to manage a polite smile while nodding. Her eyes were raw recesses in a pale face.
Her feet were encased in flat, patent shoes with black and white bows. She wore thick black tights and a knee-length skirt. A grey shirt was smothered by a double-breasted suit jacket that was both outdated by two decades and oversized. An outfit cobbled together for a funeral but offering no protection against the temperature that had not crept above two degrees.
Kim shrugged and turned away. She’d asked the question. The girl was in no distress other than grieving. She could walk away with a clear conscience. It was not her bloody problem.
‘Someone close?’ she asked, sitting on the wall.
The girl nodded again. ‘My nan.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Kim offered. ‘But sitting here is not going to do you any good.’
‘I know but she was more like my mum.’
‘But why are you still here?’ Kim asked, gently.
The girl looked up at the chimney of the crematorium. Thick smoke funnelled out and dispersed. ‘I don’t want to leave her until ... I don’t want her to be alone.’
The girl’s voice broke and the tears rolled over her cheeks. Kim swallowed as she realised who she was talking to.
‘Your nan was Mary Andrews?’
The girl’s tears stopped as she nodded. ‘I’m Paula ... but how did you know that?’
Kim didn’t feel the need to give the grieving child any details.
