‘I thought you had embraced the white man’s world,’ the dreadlocked man said.
‘I still remember where my parents came from. Christine Devon deserves a proper send-off.’
Rasta Joe, flanked on either side by two of his gang members, turned to them. ‘This man is cool. He’ll not trouble us today.’
Isaac knew of the antipathy towards anyone who represented the police, and the church was in the centre of the gang’s heartland. ‘Samuel Devon?’
‘He’s not been seen.’
‘Killing of a fifteen-year-old youth seems extreme.’
‘There are some who wouldn’t have a problem. And don’t come snooping around here at any other time.’
‘Not good for my health, is that it?’
‘Not from us.’
Isaac could see that Rasta Joe had cleaned himself up for the ceremony.
‘You know the family? Isaac asked.
‘They were not involved in anything wrong if that’s what you’re fishing for.’
‘What about Samuel Devon? You owe that to his brother and sister, to Christine Devon.’
‘We don’t owe anyone anything. We do what we want.’
‘Where can I find someone that will talk?’
‘Not around here.’
‘Who murdered his mother? Do you know that? And how about Amelia Brice? Someone was supplying her with cocaine.’
‘Isaac, drop it. We didn’t kill Christine Devon; and as for Amelia, we knew her. If she was taking drugs, she didn’t get them from us.’
Isaac knew that Rasta Joe was not usually a man to be trusted, but this time he did. After the service he went to talk to the daughter of the woman they had congregated for. Charisa Devon was pleased to see him. ‘Samuel, we’ve not heard from him.’
‘We’ve had no leads either, other than the word on the street.’
‘That he’s dead.’
‘Is he?’ Isaac asked.
‘We think so. We pray every night, hope that he’ll come home, but it’s only wishful thinking.’
‘His disappearance, your mother’s death, are they related?’
‘Why would someone kill her? She minded her own business.’
‘It’s tied in with Amelia Brice.’
‘Then maybe you should ask there. We had nothing worth stealing, no great secrets. Mum was a battler, Billy’s a hard worker, and I’m a student.’
‘Any strange occurrences since?’
‘We’ve not been back to look, other than to take our personal belongings.’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘With my boyfriend.’
‘And Billy?’
‘He’s sharing a flat with some of his friends, probably getting up to mischief.’
‘Mischief?’
‘You’ve met Billy. He’s popular with the girls. He tried to sneak one into the flat one night, Mum went spare. Where he is now, there’ll be no issues. At least they keep his mind off what happened.’
‘And you?’
‘I try, but sometimes I get upset, thinking about what Mum went through.’
‘It’s best not to dwell on it,’ Isaac said.
***
Amelia Brice was buried in the family plot in the local churchyard. Isaac had watched from a distance. He saw Jeremy Brice arrive in the company of a woman.
Nothing was said at the service and in the media about Amelia’s issues with rough men and cocaine; Isaac assumed that the father had pulled in favours to keep the disturbing parts of his daughter’s life quiet. Jeremy Brice, an abrasive personality on the radio and the television, had been remarkably pleasant after Isaac had broken through his cover. They had met on two other occasions since to discuss Amelia’s death. Isaac thought the man to be cold, considering that she had died, or maybe he was stoic, not a man who showed emotion readily.
Isaac had felt a tear at Christine Devon’s funeral, but nothing as he stood across from the churchyard at Amelia’s. The constable on duty had recognised him, offered to let him through, but Isaac had declined, and besides, there were more pressing issues to deal with.
For once, Commissioner Davies was holding back; Isaac assumed that Brice had had a word in his ear, but the man was pushing hard to find out who had killed his daughter. Isaac knew that he would not have long.
It was straight up to Superintendent Goddard’s office on Isaac’s return from the church. The man was in a good mood. ‘What’s the latest? Any breakthroughs?’
Too often Isaac had been called into his senior’s office to listen to his invective about why the investigation was going too slowly, or the results were poor, or the budget was being exceeded. This time was different. He wondered why.
‘Davies phoned up and congratulated us.’
‘For what?’
‘The current investigation into the death of the two women.’
‘We haven’t done anything,’ Isaac said. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘Perceptions, I suppose.’
‘Or Brice singing our praises. Our commissioner is easily hoodwinked. Brice could change on the turn of a coin.’
‘Enjoy it while you can, Isaac.’
‘I can’t while one of the women’s sons is missing and we haven’t got a clue who killed her and why.’
‘Brice, could he know something?’
‘It seems unlikely. Why would he kill his own daughter? And besides, it would need a third party.’
‘Why?’
‘Jeremy Brice would not have the strength to kill either of the women.’
‘Why do you say that? He seemed fit enough the day he was here.’
‘He suffers from a form of upper muscular atrophy, the result of a car accident in his youth. He wouldn’t be able to apply sufficient pressure.’
‘He told you?’
‘I checked with his doctor.’
***
Isaac felt it was his responsibility. He picked up Billy Devon from his work and then swung by Charisa’s place of learning. The road was busy, no parking. He displayed his permit on the window and left the car close to a set of traffic lights. Under normal circumstances, he would have driven around the area until he had found somewhere better. ‘What is it?’ Billy asked when he was picked up.
‘It’s Samuel.’
‘Is he…?’
‘It’s not confirmed yet, but it’s almost
