“The day after tomorrow to allow time for family to come across from Ireland.”
After spending a few minutes, Tracy and Eden said goodbye and left the house.
As they got into the car Tracy commented.
“We may not agree with the way they conduct themselves to the outside community, but you have to respect them when it comes to family.”
“I know what you mean. We’ll have to keep a low profile but we need to be present at the funeral. If Tyson doesn’t attend then something is wrong. There’s no way on earth he would miss it, even if he is in the middle of a holiday. Things don’t add up here and we need to find out what’s going on.”
Chapter Forty-Three
THE FUNERAL
Two days later, Trentbridge was brought to a halt when the funeral procession for Lennox as it made its way to St Paul’s Catholic Church.
Over 100 mourners watched as a white Mercedes hearse carrying the coffin arrived, followed by a fleet of eight white Rolls Royce Phantom cars to give Lennox O’Connor a lavish send-off. A red carpet had been laid from where the hearse stopped all the way to the entrance to the church.
The white coffin with silver handles and photos of Lennox inside silver frames was carried by eight smartly dressed pallbearers into the church.
Kevin O’Connor, still using his crutches and escorted by his wife Sadie – who had been granted special permission to attend the funeral by a judge – made their way behind the coffin followed by a large procession of expensively dressed mourners. Members of the family and friends from across the travelling community. Most of the men wore handmade suits some wore black shirts and wraparound sunglasses, while many of the women wore high heels and expensive attire. Rolex watches, flash jewellery and genuine top-brand designer handbags and dresses costing into the thousands were prevalent.
The outside of the church was festooned with floral tributes and poster-size photos erected on stands left by relatives and friends.
It was a lavish emotional send-off. And obvious that absolutely no expense had been spared.
Over sixty police officers had been drafted in to keep control and DI Eden Gold and DS Tracy Archer joined the mourners in their capacity of keeping track of Sadie, but also to see if Tyson made an appearance. She would be allowed to attend the church service and burial but not the wake that would follow.
According to an article in the Trentbridge Times newspaper, an insider had revealed the flowers alone had cost over £50,000 and the total for the funeral had been ‘just short of half a million pounds’.
It quoted the chief undertaker, who didn’t want to be named but said, ‘I’ve organised quite a few large funerals in my time, but nothing on this scale.’
The article went on to say that the police had called on pubs and local businesses to warn them to shut early.
The travellers had planned a celebration of Lennox’s life into the early hours of the morning at a secret location.
The newspaper also mentioned the large amount of trouble and damage caused at the wake. Four people were arrested but later released without charge.
A special Facebook page paying tribute to Lennox O’Connor had been set up where over two hundred messages had been posted.
Following the article, the online edition the newspaper received a large number of comments:
I don’t think you can blame anyone for disliking gypsies – It’s childish to compare them to any other racial group. They are just criminals who hide behind the law when it suits, hate all the gorgeas [non gypsies, who they consider fair game for criminality and violence], and break the law when it suits them – which is all the time. I expect Mother Teresa would have hated the gypsies and wished a plague on them. If they had lived next door to her they would have nicked her shrubs and pooped in her garden. Not so much a different race of humans – more a different species through persistent interbreeding from a thankfully very small gene pool.
But of all the comments in the newspaper the one that got the most response was the one that simply said:
‘Truly a great loss for the UK.’
Chapter Forty-Four
THE FARM
“Hello, Kevin. It’s Vinny. Just calling in with news on our friend. It looks like another day of following his daily routine.”
“Okay. Listen, Vinny. I’m going to call Davy at the farm and get him to check over the box. When we take our friend for a ride. You stay where you are until midnight. I need to make sure we don’t lose that bastard. Then go home and get some rest and meet us at the farm at six.”
“Sure, Kevin.”
Kevin dialled a number on his mobile. “Davy. I’ve got a special job. Some rubbish I need to dispose of.”
Davy knew exactly what Kevin meant. “No problem, Kevin. Just tell me where and when.”
“Check over the horsebox and be ready to be on the move tomorrow. Make sure it’s filled with diesel and check the tyres and lights. We don’t want to get stopped because something’s not working. I need it all to be ready to go for early tomorrow. Vinny and I will be at the farm at six.”
“You can rely on me, Kevin.”
Situated just outside of town on the Stonebridge Road and set back behind a row of trees was Grainger’s Farm. A small property of six acres that Kevin O’Connor had bought nine years earlier, although he used an Irish cousin’s name on all the paperwork. The property looked run down, but deceptively, one of the barns had been restored and made extremely secure. In the early years, it was used as a place to hide stolen vehicles until they could be moved on or cut up for spares. Since then its main purpose had been to store drugs. The farm was situated about a mile downstream from Kevin’s house and on the opposite bank of the river. It was
