Numb: A Dark Thriller (20 page)

29

As if the occasion called for it, the weather was wet and gloomy, and a galleon of dark and sombre clouds had gathered overhead, draining the colour from the land.

Three miles outside of the city centre, Riley, dressed in his one black suit and overcoat, an umbrella held above his head to keep the worst of the weather off him, stood on the waterlogged field a hundred yards or so from the viaduct that towered above him.

It had been repaired and re-enforced over a period of months after the accident and was still in use to this day. Most people who rode the trains that crossed it probably never thought about that day twenty-five years before. Out of sight, out of mind and all that shit. Only those who survived the tragedy and those that had lost loved ones probably felt shivers down their spines when close to this spot; only they felt the icy chill of a graveyard when looking at the small copse of trees that now flourished on the spot where the carriages once lay.

Riley stared at the four oaks, at the markers of death. ‘Memorial trees’ the council had called them when they’d been planted on the first anniversary of the rail accident. Oak trees had been chosen as they were the national tree of England. At the ceremony all those years ago he remembered the Mayor (who’d planted the first tree) saying something about how in Celtic mythology oak trees were known as the Tree of Doors – a gateway between worlds, a way for those still living to be closer to those that had crossed over.

It was a nice thought, but even as a child, Riley never really believed it. His parents had been stolen from him. His life had been wrecked just as much as the carriages that had formed their tombs. Sugar-coating things didn’t do anything for him.

He checked his watch and saw that it was almost nine-thirty. There was still an hour until the funeral and even though he was only eight miles from the church where the service would be held he assumed that he’d better get moving, just in case the traffic didn’t ease up.

But before he turned to leave, he took one final look at the four trees that towered above him, their strong branches sprouting new leaves, like skeletal arms growing new flesh.

I still miss you...

I still think about you...

This was a place of mourning and remembrance, and death was the talk of the day. So what better way to get in the mood for a funeral than to visit here, a place of massive loss, a place he rarely came anywhere near anymore. Not on the anniversary of the event, not at Christmas or birthdays. He hadn’t placed flowers here since he was a child when the trees were mere saplings, yet today he had, the bouquet of roses now lying at the foot of the first tree, the inscription card blank, the flowers already saturated by rain as if the petals themselves were weeping. Next to the flowers, the rain-speckled brass plaque rooted in the ground in front of the gnarled trunk bore eighteen names, more names than were engraved on any of the other plaques in front of each subsequent tree.

Two stood out from the others.

COLIN DAY

DEBRA LOUISE DAY

Again he felt that pang of loss mixed with a strange feeling of guilt.

He knew there should be another name beneath those two. An entire family should’ve died together that day. But it hadn’t meant to be.

“Everything happens for a reason
,” his grandmother often used to tell him, especially during the first few years following the accident when he used to wake sweating and shaking after a nightmare. “
You survived for a reason...”

A reason? No, his survival had been just what he’d always thought it was – pure luck! There was no reason for it. He wasn’t special. He wasn’t saved for something later in life and he certainly hadn’t deserved to survive anymore than those who’d died. He was no better than them. Life just isn’t fair sometimes. Simple as that. Good people can die young and evil people can live to a ripe old age, surviving wars, avoiding fatal accidents and dodging killer diseases. There was no such thing as fate and certainly no higher power as God. Surely there couldn’t be, for it didn’t make sense. What divine force would decide that a serial killer or rapist should live only for a child to succumb to leukaemia? If there is a God or gods then why let anything bad happen to an innocent person? Hell, why allow evil people to be born in the first place? And if God
does
exist but can’t change what happens down here on earth or refuses to intervene then why worship the sadist at all? Riley would soon be sitting in a church listening to a vicar praising the same Lord who allowed Michael junior to die in a hail of bullets. It seemed so ridiculous. But then again, he’d never gotten along with the concept of religion. He preferred to believe that what happens in life is as simple as being dealt a hand of cards. Some people get dealt a winner whilst others can only bluff for a few bets before having to fold. Everything in life comes down to chance. The reason Riley was still alive today was down to chance and nothing more and he had to believe that, because if he chose to believe in God or fate, then he’d have to assume that working for Mike Nash was part of some divine plan to make the world a better place; that working for Mike Nash was what he’d been saved for, what he was meant for.

And that thought depressed Riley more than anything.

He checked his watch again. Told himself for the second time he should get moving. Nash wouldn’t want him to be late - that’s if Nash was in the right frame of mind to notice what was going on around him. Who knew what state the boss would turn up in today? He hadn’t left his mansion in the past ten days and only Purvis and Turner had seen him since Mark Dainton had been taken care of. Purvis had said that Nash had been drinking a lot and crying a lot. When he wasn’t doing either of those he was snorting coke and rambling on excitedly about when Michael junior had been a boy, telling stories of football matches and holidays. When his body couldn’t take anymore booze or powder he was sleeping, and even though he was somewhat incapacitated for the time being plans were being made to take out Dainton with Turner running things in Nash’s absence. After the funeral, whether Nash recovered from his loss and found enough closure to return to work or remained a wreck, those plans would be carried out. That was if Dainton didn’t get to Nash first.

There hadn’t been a police investigation into Mark Dainton’s disappearance because, as planned, nobody had reported him missing. After freezing his corpse McCabe had cut the body up into manageable pieces and with the help of Howden had scattered them throughout the woodland not far from where Riley now stood. The animals would have taken care of most of the evidence by now and if any part of him turned up it would take the best pathologists and anthropologists weeks to identify him. The two girls who’d been with him that night had obviously heeded the warning and kept their mouths shut and Anderson had made the Audi disappear. And his uncle Lenny had also remained quiet about the little package he’d received which blatantly meant he was going to keep the police out of this and take matters into his own hands. Things weren’t over. Not by a long shot.

Riley said one more mental goodbye to his parents, turned away from the trees and trudged back across the soaked grass to the hard shoulder on the motorway where his car was parked. He changed into his clean shoes and tossed the muddy ones into the boot. Then he fired up the engine and waited for a gap in the traffic before pulling out and heading back to the city centre.

It was time for more death.

30

Riley guessed that there were over three hundred people at the church. Strange how Michael junior should have more people mourning his death than celebrating his twenty-first. But then again, the shooting
had
been in all the local papers and the obituaries in last week’s chronicle had taken up two full pages. A lot of people would have read the story, seen the heart-felt messages and, for some reason, felt compelled to attend the service today. Most of them had probably never even met Michael before but still wanted to pay their last respects. Why anyone would choose to come to a funeral was beyond Riley. If he had a choice he could think of a hundred different places he’d rather be today, maybe even the dreaded hospital. But he had no choice but to be here. Every who worked for Nash had turned up today. It was to be expected.

He shook hands with a few of the boys as he joined the queue outside the church. Harry Knight and Tony Devlin were there. So was Danny Atkins. Alan Anderson, the garage owner, was having a coughing fit as he sucked on a roll-up by the side of the building. Riley spied numerous other doormen and bar staff and many more casual acquaintances dotted throughout the line of mourners. Finally, he found Purvis, standing by himself amongst the crowds, looking suitably glum.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” Purvis said, looking at his watch. “You’ve cut it fine.”

“I didn’t fancy the idea of hanging around here waiting,” Riley replied, quietly. He didn’t mention that he’d spent the last hour at the site of his parent’s deaths. Even Purvis, his closest friend, had no idea about his past. “Besides, why would anyone want to turn up early to a funeral? It’s not like a wedding or a christening where you can soak up the atmosphere and have a laugh, is it?”

They both turned to the road where five hearses were pulling into the courtyard.

“No, it certainly isn’t,” Purvis said.

Suddenly the very air seemed to gain weight and become oppressive. The crowd fell into a deathly silence, punctuated only by the odd sob from one of the mourners, or a brief explosive cough from Alan Anderson. The noise of background traffic and falling rain seemed subdued and less intrusive. Birds seemed to stop chirping. The branches of the trees lining the nearby graveyard seemed to stop blowing in the breeze as time appeared to come to a stop for several brief seconds.

The coffin was visible through the glass partition in the back of the first hearse. As expected, the flowers spelled out
SON
. Behind it, from the first black limousine in the procession, Nash and Sandra climbed out onto the pavement, little Wendy with them, looking innocent and lost in the occasion as she clutched her mother’s hand. When a pallbearer dutifully appeared and held a black umbrella above them, Nash didn’t even acknowledge him. In fact, he didn’t look like he was aware that anyone else was here or even if he was aware of where he was or what was going on himself. He looked lost and moved slowly, like someone hypnotised or drugged. The dark glasses he wore didn’t hide his pained expression and as he waited for the pallbearers to unload the coffin he looked like he had aged ten years since the death of his beloved son.

That’s probably how Jamie Hudson’s father looked at his son’s funeral
, Riley mused.
How does it feel now Nash? Can you remember how you didn’t care when you heard the news of the boy’s death? How you laughed and joked and got on with your life with one less problem person in your way. Can you finally sympathise with the boy’s parents, Nash? Have you thought of them since losing your own son? No, of course you haven’t...

Several more people climbed out of the following cars, including Nash’s elder sisters and their husbands and Michael junior’s cousins. Several young men climbed out of the following car; some of Michael junior’s best friends who had been at the party. Turner, McCabe and Howden climbed out of the final hearse. They obviously considered themselves important enough to warrant a car in the procession along with the others. Both Riley and Purvis had been asked to ride with them but both had politely refused. Riley said he didn’t feel he had the right as he had only been with the firm properly for a few years and had only met Michael junior on a handful occasions. Purvis had said that funerals didn’t agree with him and he’d be spewing and running to the toilet all morning and so it would be best that he made his own way here. Riley guessed that had been a lie. Purvis just didn’t want to act so close to Nash on this day as he planned on running off with Sandra soon.

When everyone was ready, the coffin was walked towards the open doors to the church and the crowd of mourners stood silently and respectfully as it passed before following it inside for the most depressing of shows to begin.

Riley wished he could have waited outside with the hundred or so that couldn’t fit into the auditorium. Instead he sat in the third row beside Purvis, along from Turner, McCabe and Howden, and directly behind Nash and Sandra and several of Michael junior’s family and friends.

Nash wept throughout the seriously long service, his head buried in his hands and he only looked up at his son’s closed casket on the platform beside the alter once before breaking down again as the priest droned on about God and Heaven and asked the congregation to join him in prayer or hymn.

Even though the thought of praying to a God who allowed so many terrible things to happen both amused and disgusted him, Riley mumbled along to The Lord’s Prayer and said his Amen’s in respect of the occasion.

Then, the service over, it was time to carry the coffin out to the cemetery at the back of the church for the burial with only family and close friends gathering around the grave whilst most of the mourners waited in the churchyard. Riley and Purvis had no excuses this time and trudged along with fifty or so others to a freshly dug pit at the far end of the bone-yard.

After standing around the grave in the rain for another fifteen minutes, the coffin was finally lowered and a distraught Nash, aided by Sandra’s strong hand on his elbow, tossed the first handful of dirt onto the lid. Sandra did the same. Then Nash’s sisters and other family members. Then Michael junior’s friends. Then Turner. Then McCabe.

Riley eyed him suspiciously, thinking,
Are you really grieving?
Or are you just gutted that the wrong person is in the ground? What’s your game, McCabe? Whose side are you on?

Soon all the formalities were over and that was the end of Michael junior’s funeral; the end of a life. More tears were shed, people blessed themselves, the priest shook a lot of hands and then everyone headed back to their cars. Riley and Purvis walked together, Turner, McCabe and Howden just behind them. Nash, still in that somnambulistic state, walked back to his limo with Sandra and Wendy in tow. There was no planned gathering back at his mansion. He just wanted to be alone. Nash’s sisters had booked a function room for the guests to celebrate Michael’s life and mourn his passing but none of the boys from the firm would be attending. It wasn’t their scene. Instead, Turner had organised a little drink at a private club for them to say a proper goodbye to the deceased by getting hammered, and private
meant
private. No outsiders, not even Nash’s family. The club was owned by Turner but didn’t make any money to write home about. It was mainly a front for his other activities and at the very least gave him a job title. Today there would be no one on the bar and all the drinks would be free. Nash had given Turner his blessing but hadn’t wanted part of it. Said the funeral itself would be too much for him and would head straight home afterwards. No doubt he wanted to be alone. And despite the fact that Sandra and Wendy were going back with him, he may as well have been by himself today. He hadn’t even acknowledged the two of them the whole time, as if the death of Michael junior had made him feel guilty at having any remaining family.

Riley and Purvis watched Nash climb into the passenger seat of the limo. He moved like a man suffering from some dilapidating ailment and again Riley was sure the death of his son had aged Nash a great deal, both mentally and physically. Sandra helped Wendy into the child seat in the back and closed the door. She looked back at Purvis briefly. There were tears in her eyes. Then she climbed in and the hearse pulled away.

Before Riley could ask if Purvis was alright, Turner tapped him on the shoulder.

“See you two at the club, right?” he said as he McCabe and Howden headed towards their black limo.

Riley nodded and gave a thumbs up. Then when they were out of ear-shot, he whispered to Purvis, “I suppose we have to go. Pay our respects.”

“I guess,” Purvis replied, staring after the limo carrying his daughter.

“Come on,” Riley told him. “I’m driving, so you can get shit-faced.”

“Sounds good.”

Together, they headed out of the churchyard for the Merc.