Page 68 of A Very Bookish Murder
Ally took the opportunity to sidle up to Amir so that she could have a quiet word with him. ‘I assume you’ve heard all about the goings-on at the Craigmonie last night.’
‘I have,’ he said, not turning to look at Ally but still staring down into the grave.
‘Do you know about the revelation that Brigitte’s husband is Jodi Jones’s natural son?’
He turned to look at her and nodded, but said nothing.
‘Do you think you’re going to get this case wound up today then?’ Ally asked with a wry smile.
Amir shrugged. ‘It’s not impossible,’ he replied enigmatically, but as Ally was about to ask him to explain further, the hearse drew up at the gate and everyone fell silent. Ally moved back to be beside Ross.
The funeral directors slowly brought out the wicker coffin, on top of which were two personalised wreaths,JODIspelled out in white roses against a background of greenery on one, andLove of my Lifein red roses on another. That one had to be from her current lover, butwherewas he? And who had organised the JODI one? Ally wondered. Probably Rigby. Yes, obviously Rigby, Jodi’s little brother from years ago. Or even George?
At this point, both George and Rigby made their way towards the gate, and each of them hoisted a corner of the coffin onto their shoulders. The main funeral director shouldered the third corner and a man, whom Ally had never seen before, took the fourth corner as they headed through the gate. The fourth pall-bearer was tall, dark-haired and dressed in black, with an impressive black cape swinging from his shoulders. Who was he? The current lover, Harry Harper? She supposed it had to be. Following behind, walking slowly, was the more junior funeral director, who didn’t look more than about sixteen or seventeen.
The coffin was laid down gently alongside the grave, on top of the five cords laid out on the grass. This wasn’t exactly a standard burial though, and Ally wondered who exactly would be lowering the coffin into the grave.
The tall mystery man stood alone, at the top edge, his cape blowing around him, not unlike the setting for a horror film, Ally thought.
The main undertaker, who was standing behind him and slightly to one side, cleared his throat. ‘We will now play some pieces of music which had particular significance for Jodi,’ he said as loudly as he could, ‘and then we shall hear some eulogies before we lay her to rest.’ He turned and nodded towards Owen, who bent down and pressed a button on the equipment at his feet. Immediately, Frank Sinatra was belting out ‘Strangers in the Night’.
Ally liked Sinatra, but it was as unlikely a number ever to be heard in this grey, remote place, and hardly had the last note drifted into thin air than it was immediately followed by some modern jazz which, looking around at the mystified faces, Ally reckoned no one had ever heard before.
The undertaker then waved a hand at Owen, signalling ‘enough’ as far as the music was concerned, and turned to George.
‘George Atkins, Jodi Jones’s only son, will now say a few words.’
Even from several yards away, Ally could see that George looked nervous. Brigitte was gripping his arm and standing close to him.
He gave a little cough and began to speak. ‘Thank you for coming here today.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s not an easy day for me because Jodi was my birth mother, which I’m sure many of you didn’t know.’
Ally noticed Desdemona stagger slightly. She’d obviously had no idea.
‘The thing is,’ George continued, ‘I can only think of my real mum as Mary Atkins, the wonderful, loving mother who brought me up but is unfortunately no longer with us. I was twenty-one years old when I met Jodi, and we took some time to get to know each other. I discovered that she very much liked to be in control, due, I’m sure, to her strange life. She was pregnant with me at just sixteen, and then had to hand me over to someone else, which couldn’t have been easy. From then on, I think she felt she needed to be in control of her own life, and the lives of all the people she met. I understand that Owen here was her first and only husband, although they’ve been apart for a long time, and I’m sorry that this is the way we’ve had to meet.’
Ally saw Owen roll his eyes at Laura, who nodded with a grin.
‘She was kind, and she helped me financially to set up my business, and I know that, whatever her faults, she loved me.’ George’s voice broke a little at this point, and Brigitte squeezed his arm. ‘She was a very talented lady and, as you know, became a bestselling author. I’m proud to have been her son, and I’m delighted’ – he turned to Rigby – ‘to have met her wee brother, Detective Inspector Bob Rigby here, who is my new – and only – uncle! May Jodi rest in peace.’ George stood back and wiped his eyes.
A few people clapped a little hesitantly, not knowing if they should be doing so or not.
The undertaker signalled to Owen again, who, with some grunting and then some squeaks from the machine, finally produced Ella Fitzgerald singing the mournful ‘Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye’.
Ally studied the little groups. Rigby was looking impassively straight ahead; Cathy beside him was staring at the open grave. Desdemona, still alone as always, had her head bowed, inscrutable. Penelope and Morwenna were sharing a black umbrella, standing back a little and whispering. Morwenna had her phone out, filming this ritual for her ex-husband, one of Jodi’s ex-lovers. Millie, slightly apart from the other two, and unrecognisable in her mourning outfit, looked to be gazing at something or someone at the top end of the grave, although it was difficult to tell from behind her dark glasses.
Owen was taking his disc jockey duties very seriously and was bent down, tinkering with a row of knobs, which kept altering the sound and volume at irregular intervals, the sudden bursts of volume causing everyone to jump.
‘Do you know who that man in the cape is?’ Ross murmured.
‘That has to be Harry Harper,’ she replied in a whisper. ‘The lover and her agent.’
For a moment, she wondered if he might be involved, but a man like that – and he was quite distinctive – could hardly have nipped into the ladies’ room at the Craigmonie, strangled Jodi and then nipped out again unnoticed. Ally sighed. The killermustbe here today.
She looked at Laura, standing shivering in a thin coat just behind Owen and his machine. She still couldn’t believe that any of her remaining four guests could have had any hand in this. Again, she wondered if perhaps she’d been wrong; perhaps someonehadcrept into the ladies’ cloakroom that fateful afternoon and got out again unnoticed?
If Amir knew something, then he certainly wasn’t telling. But it was interesting that he had two uniformed officers with him.
Were they expecting trouble?
