*
The funeral service was brief. The eulogy, intoned by the vicar as if he were reading a shopping list, was attended by half a dozen people sprinkled around the large church hall. Wreaths and sombre flower displays layered the walls and the floor before the cloth-covered coffin, but they held no cards of notice or condolences. All were prepaid as a condition of the will by David Masters in a presumptuous letter of wishes drawn up one lonely, drunken night. The rich scent of freshly cut flowers and juniper were overpowering in the enclosed hall.
The vicar completed a brief history of the deceased to the audience, folded the script and placed it neatly between the pages of his bible. He nodded to the organ player and a willowy chord signalled for the congregation to stand. An upbeat tune played as the curtains closed and the coffin trundled along rollers toward a hatchway at the rear wall. Even before the curtains were fully closed the sparse attendees prepared to leave the chapel.
The first to emerge from the gloom of the chapel was Daniel MacDonald, tapping a cigarette from a packet and lighting it with a flick, click of his lighter. He inhaled the smoke and blew out hard. He paced around the paved entrance of the chapel, squinting as he looked out at the gravestones. The sun was bright but the day was cold, fresh snow clung to ridges against a bitter wind that sought to brush it from the ground.
'I'm a little upset that he specifically noted in his will that I wasn't to take the service.' White said as he walked out of the church and stood next to MacDonald. 'I think I would have made a much better job of it.'
'Not exactly a crowd puller,' Daniel said. 'A quiet funeral for such a big man.'
'I suppose so. Perhaps it would have been a waste of my sermon talents with so few people turning up. Still, to specifically state that I was not to say even a few words at his funeral. Right there in his will. Especially in my capacity as a leader in the church. Rude to the end, some would say.'
'Some would,' MacDonald coughed into his glove.
'What do you think of that?' Anderson made his presence known, stepping from the chapel and pulling a coat around his bony shoulders.
'I think it's a crock, is what I think.' MacDonald turned into the sharp wind, sucking hard on the cigarette so that the end glowed, despite the breeze.
'Exactly what I was saying,' White chirped. 'To name me specifically. What kind of eulogy would he think I would prepare? I really don't know.'
'Two trustees dead inside a week?' MacDonald ignored the Bishop. 'Wheels are turning and I don't like not knowing.'
Tic tac heels walked from the chapel to the huddle of hunched shoulders. 'Well boys,' Kelly checked her mobile phone for missed calls or new messages. She lingered over the picture on the screen, then slipped the phone back into her pocket.
'Well?' Anderson asked.
'First Grace,' Kelly said. 'Now Masters. Is it just me or are there too many circumstances circling our intrepid little gang?'
'It's not just you.' MacDonald pinched the end of the cigarette and flicked it, end over end, into a bed of purple chipped stones next to the entrance to the Garden of Remembrance.
'Coincidences do occur. And their deaths do seem wildly dissimilar,' Anderson said.
'Mark of a pro,' MacDonald said, 'Made his first mistake, though. Should have taken me out first. Now I'll be ready for him. Calling in some very serious friends of mine - have this bastard hunted down and nailed before Christmas.'
'Do you really think someone is out there? With a telescopic sight and our names on a list?' White looked about the bleak hillside of gravestones, suspicion drawing his eye to any movement. Two figures drifted along the skyline between distant graves. An old woman, hat pulled tight over her head, walked from the Garden of Remembrance. The vicar lurked at the open doors of the chapel, stared at the group, then slunk back into the shadows. White moved closer to the gathering.
'Whoever he, she or they is - they are professional,' MacDonald said. 'Which leads us to the question - professionals get hired, so which of you three are doing the hiring?'
'I wondered when paranoia would start pointing its finger,' Kelly said. 'You really can't suspect anyone here?'
'Why not. Who has anything to gain from our deaths? Only the remaining trustees. Until one is left and they don't have to split the gains with anyone.'
'But there is plenty for everyone. The trust stipulates, quite categorically, annual payments. We are all well provided for and all have enough to supplement our careers and live successful lives,' Anderson said.
'Naive thinking, professor. There is never enough. Just ask Reginald what he is prepared to do to for the Beijing Resolution. Or you, Saul, for your next project - what was that you were going on about last year? Genome Dictionary? One trustee means total control. No arguments around the board table, no gainsaying voices or petty politics.'
'So you suspect one of us?' White eyed a lady in black walking by their parked cars at the gates.
'No,' MacDonald said. 'I suspect all of you.'
'Very charitable,' Anderson laughed. 'But you have a point. The only ones who seem to gain are the four of us. But what happens if we are all dead? Who controls the trust then?'
'I suspect it would be chewed up by expensive lawyers' fees for a very, very long time,' Kelly said. 'Not to mention what the rightful beneficiaries of the trust may initiate, if word ever got out.'
MacDonald pulled a handkerchief from an inside pocket as another coughing attack rendered him momentarily speechless.
'I don't know,' said Anderson, shivering against the wind. He realised that he was facing the cold blast as the others had positioned themselves at an angle against the elements. 'Aren't you over-reacting? A suicide and an accident. Surely just a coincidence?'
MacDonald stared at the handkerchief in his hand. A fleck of blood blemished the white linen. 'I expected more from you, Saul. You think coincidences happen? Where money is concerned, there are no coincidences. Only opportunities and excuses. Now if you don't mind, I've some calls to make.'
MacDonald turned and walked away from the group. The other three glanced from one to the other in silence.
'Does he have a point?' White asked. Kelly wasn't listening. She was watching MacDonald walk down the grey Church road. A woman had intercepted MacDonald at the wrought iron gates, he had stopped momentarily, then waved her away as he leapt into his Jaguar. The woman watched him leave, scribbled something onto a pad and turned to walk up the hill towards them.
Kelly shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets. 'His perspective is one of violence and treachery.' She nodded at the departed trustee. 'And, if it is paranoia, perhaps it is with reason. If that is the case, I shall have to take my own steps to protect myself, because if he is right, and it is not him, then it must be one of you two. Though I truly hope it's neither of you, because I have enough dirt to make your lives very uncomfortable, and on word of my death my editors have instructions to hold the press and print up the prepared articles I have had written. They don't make for pleasant reading.'
The woman in black approached the three, 'Excuse me, may I talk to someone who may have known David Masters?'
'And who might you be?' Kelly rounded on the woman, annoyed at the break in the flow of her threats. She was not used to being talked over.
'Detective Constable Morgan.' Amanda flashed her warrant card. 'I would like to ask a few questions about the late Mr Masters. Did any of you know him?'
The three fidgeted uncomfortably in the face of the direct question.
'I have to go, I'm afraid, Detective,' Kelly broke the silence. 'I have nothing to say to you or feel the need to explain my presence at this funeral. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask these two. Goodbye gentlemen.' She turned and stalked down the hill to the carpark.
Amanda turned to the remaining two. They both took a step back.
'Could any of you two gentlemen help me with answering a few questions? Perhaps you know of the 'Duvalier & Rose' law firm?' Amanda asked. 'D
oes the term Valentine Trust mean anything to either of you?'
Silence.
'Or have you all turned up to a stranger's funeral? For the buffet, perhaps?' Amanda interposed herself between the two men and the road to the gate and the carpark beyond.
'I'm very sorry but I have nothing to say,' Anderson said, walking one side of Amanda. White, flustered, wrapped his heavy coat around himself, to cover his dog collar as much as protection against the bitter wind, and walked briskly around the other side. Amanda glowered at the three figures, the two men half running down the hill.
'Nothing suspicious?' she muttered. 'That is anything but.' She pulled out her notebook and scribbled another name on her pad. Duvalier & Rose followed by three question marks.