Lost River by Stephen Booth

Author:Stephen Booth [Booth, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Stephen Booth
ISBN: 9780957237995
Amazon: 0957237995
Publisher: Westlea Books
Published: 2012-05-12T16:00:00+00:00

16

Thursday

The funeral of Emily Nield was held on a morning of cool mist. The sun had been promising to break through since dawn, but didn’t quite make it until after the soil had been scattered on the coffin.

Crowds of people had streamed through the gothic entrance gates towards the tall central spire of the church. Watching the mourners, Ben Cooper wondered how many of them actually knew the Nields, let alone their eight-year-old daughter. In communities like these, there was a general instinct to turn out to show support and sympathy.

Cooper could see the faces of people closing as he passed. Everyone knew he was a police officer. Perhaps they were aware that he was the officer who’d failed to save Emily Nield’s life. And there was no question that most people would have read the story about the anonymous letter and the police investigation. As yet, no one had any idea who’d written the letter, or who’d leaked it to the paper. The clever money was on it being the same person. Someone with a grievance, and determined to give it a public airing, just in case the police didn’t act.

Considering what everyone would be thinking about him made Cooper feel like turning round and walking back to his car. But that would be cowardice. That would be another failure.

In any case, these were nice, respectable people. No one would say anything. They might ignore him, or give him dark looks behind his back. They might shake their heads in disapproval at his presence. But no one would point a finger at him. They wouldn’t start shouting and screaming. Not here. His reception would be a cold, uncomfortable silence. That was the respectable way.

While Cooper waited, he found himself examining the wreaths. There was always a kind of poignant fascination in reading the message cards and trying to guess who the wreaths were from. Some of the messages were baffling, but no doubt they had some personal meaning – an intimate link between the dead and the bereaved. Take this one at the end of the front row, for instance. A large spray of roses and carnations, with a green ribbon. Cooper bent closer to read the card, and frowned a little.

Remembering 30th June for ever.

But today wasn’t 30th June. Nor was the day that Emily Nield had died. So what was the sender of the wreath remembering for ever?

And there was no name on the message, which was odd. Part of the ritual when someone died was this conspicuous display of grief in the form of giant displays of dead flowers. The bigger the wreath, the more you’d paid – and therefore, the more you cared. Wasn’t that the way it went? Leaving your name off the message card broke with the ritual. It meant the sender wasn’t concerned what other people thought. She’d sent the wreath entirely for her own reasons.

Cooper watched the mourners starting to file back towards their cars. He realized he’d already started to picture the sender of the anonymous wreath as a ‘she’.

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