At the front of the church a polished oak coffin with brass handles was set to the right side of the altar. There was a small bunch of red roses on the lid, and Erika noted that the family had opted for the American style of funeral; there was a large framed photo of Vicky on a stand behind the coffin. Had it been barely three weeks since she’d talked to Vicky in the canteen at Lewisham Row station? thought Erika. Could she have done more to save her? She should have put a police car outside Tess’s house that night. Erika shook the thought away. Whoever did this, didn’t break in, Vicky had let them in, and it burned Erika that after three weeks, they were still no closer to finding out who.
It also frustrated Erika that she didn’t have a photo of Becky Church-Wayland or Kathleen Barber. She stood up and scanned the mourners. There seemed to be so many young women in their twenties and thirties in the congregation.
Tess sat at the front on the left side, wearing a large black hat. She looked awful: thin and drawn, and like she hadn’t slept in days. Cilla Stone was sitting on the front pew, on the opposite side of the church, and her outfit stood out amongst the sea of black. She wore a bright green trouser suit, with a yellow scarf and a green pillbox hat.
‘What is she wearing?’ whispered Moss, who was crouching up beside her. ‘She looks like a cross between Willy Wonka and an Oompa-Loompa.’ Cilla was flanked by Colin on her right and another gentleman to her left. Both men had opted for smart black suits.
‘Who’s the other guy with her and Colin?’ asked Moss, mirroring her thoughts.
‘I don’t know, maybe that’s Ray,’ whispered Erika. The man wore a black suit and looked to be a similar age to Colin, early fifties, but he was thinner, with a ragged swarthiness about him. His head was shaved and he wore a silver stud in his ear. The three of them were deep in conversation with their heads together. Cilla was nodding along and looked captivated by what they were saying. She put her hand on Colin’s arm as Erika continued watching them, sliding it under the cuff of his suit jacket. The other man draped his arm over Cilla’s shoulders and rubbed the nape of Colin’s neck with his fingers. There was something about their body language which said they were all very close. ‘The three of them look like a thruple,’ she added.
Two rows behind them sat Charles Wakefield with Henrietta Boulderstone. Charles wore a smart suit but it was ill fitting and seemed baggy on him. Henrietta wore a smart black trilby with a black band and had a long black coat around her shoulders hanging off her like a cape. Charles seemed to sense them staring at him, because he turned and looked at them both, and prompted by his gaze, Henrietta turned too. They both gave Erika and Moss a hard stare and then they were distracted by an elderly lady, who came hurrying into the church. She took an order of service from Shawn and seemed out of breath and apologetic. The woman was small and craggy-faced, and wore a black trouser suit and patent leather court shoes. Her feet were swollen-looking and her skin spilled out over the bridge of the shoe. A man arrived just behind her. He was tall and lean with a weather-beaten face, and a very good suit. His cheeks were sunken and he had black eyes, like chips of coal. Erika could see that the man was weaving slightly as he took an order of service, and he had that glassy focused look in his eyes as if he were taking pains not to appear drunk.
‘I’m sorry, Jasper,’ they heard the woman say in a loud stage whisper when she reached the front of the church, ‘Your dad couldn’t find a parking spot.’
She pecked Tess on the cheek, and then she leaned in to Jasper and took his head in her hands and gave him a lingering kiss on his cheek, pressing her face against his for slightly longer than necessary. Jasper shrank away from her, and she brushed at the lapels of his suit.
‘You look very smart. You all do,’ she said to the row of people. ‘Conrad, Conrad! We’re over here,’ she hissed, turning to the old man who had stopped at the coffin and was standing, head bowed, with his hand on the polished wood surface.
‘Do you think it was more like they stopped in the pub?’ murmured Moss to Erika as they watched Conrad stumble as he moved off towards the front row.
‘Conrad. You’re here next to me,’ whispered the woman, as if they’d come to watch a show and the curtain was about to go up. Even through her stage whisper, they could hear her harsh cockney accent, which cut through the sombre atmosphere.
Erika saw Henrietta was watching the woman with a look of distaste; she leaned over to say something to Charles, and he nodded his head in agreement.