***
Samuel Devon’s funeral was at the same church as his mother. Isaac had attended, not only as a police officer, but also as a friend of the family. It was clear that his sister admired the DCI, a feeling that was reciprocated. Isaac could see himself in the young woman: articulate, educated, aiming to better herself.
Charisa Devon was in the front pew of the church, her boyfriend on one side, Billy Devon on the other. The boyfriend had his arm around Charisa, pulling her in closer to him when the woman faltered due to the emotion of the ceremony. She had read a passage from the Bible, and then, unexpectedly, eulogised her dead brother, and how it was a life wasted, a light extinguished.
Isaac could recognise the passion behind what Charisa said, not the truth. He had seen too many take the same road that Samuel Devon had. The gangs were seductive, he remembered that. The chance to do what you want, to indulge in what you could not afford. If you wanted an expensive car, you took one. If you wanted a Rolex watch, the same solution, and if you wanted money and women, then they were available in equal measure. Of the twenty-eight students that had been in his final class at school, four had succeeded, himself included, another fifteen were still in the area battling away at mediocre jobs, six were either in jail or dead.
‘It’s a good send-off,’ Rasta Joe said, one of three remaining from that class who should be in jail. The man had taken a seat next to Isaac on his arrival though neither man liked the other.
‘Did you know Samuel?’ Isaac asked.
‘In passing. He was always polite. I knew his mother, that’s all.’
‘How?’
‘I took her out a few times when we were younger.’
‘She was a few years older than us,’ Isaac said.
‘It didn’t last long, and besides, she was uptight.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Not receptive to my charms.’
‘You didn’t sleep with her?’
‘She was into religion and how it was a sin to indulge in sexual relations outside of marriage.’
‘It’s a good enough sentiment,’ Isaac said.
‘Maybe it is, not that I’d know. It certainly didn’t stop her husband putting it around.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘I’ve no idea, and that’s the honest truth.’
‘We’re still focussing on the death of Amelia Brice. You knew her?’
‘Not really. We all knew who she was, but she’d come into the pub, line up a likely candidate and take him outside.’
‘Sex?’
‘That’s a polite word for it. Once she was finished with him, she’d either have a few drinks or disappear.’
‘If she had chosen you?’
‘I’d have gone outside, but I’ve got more than I can handle.’
Billy Devon, the eldest child, gave a eulogy as well: long on praise, short on his brother’s failings. In fact, the young man’s death and the reason for it were glossed over.
Isaac did a scan of the church, and after the ceremony he stood close to the door, trying to see who he knew, who he didn’t. In there, he supposed, might be a murderer.
Charisa approached him as he stood to one side. ‘Thank you for coming. Samuel would have appreciated it.’ Isaac doubted that the dead man would have welcomed him there, but he understood that it was politeness on her part.
‘How are you and Billy going?’
‘We manage from day to day. Have you found out who killed Samuel?’
‘Not yet.’
‘And our mother?’’
‘We’re working on it. We’ve some possibilities, nothing concrete. Just one question.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Was your mother an honest woman?’
‘Too honest for her own good.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That dump we lived in. It belongs to the council, but if it had been me, I’d have refused to pay and taken them to court for their failure to fix it up, but not our mother. She paid the rent every month without complaint.’
It sounded litigious to Isaac, the sort of thing that an American boyfriend would come up with. He knew that the council was not the problem; it was the wasted effort that in most cases they would fix it up one day, only for it to be vandalised the next.
‘What are your plans?’
‘I’ve told you before. As soon as I have my visa for America, I’ll be going there with Troy.’
‘A complicated process?’
‘It is wasn’t for Troy, I’d stay here. Billy would prefer it if I stayed.’
‘He could always go to America.’
‘Not him. They’ll only let him in if he has a degree, something to offer. His working in a shop is not a skill they’re in desperate need of.’
Charisa Devon excused herself and went to speak to the other mourners. Isaac took a step back from where he was to allow himself a more unobstructed view. Over to one side, Rasta Joe was talking to some other men. He was sure that they were bartering the price of drugs, judging by the gesticulating of their fingers. Billy Devon was standing on his own. Isaac went over to him. ‘A good send-off,’ Isaac said.
‘I suppose so, but he shouldn’t have died.’
‘Have you been tempted to take up crime?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Don’t go there,’ Isaac said. ‘I don’t want to be pulling you out of the river.’
‘I won’t. Our mother brought us up well, taught us right from wrong.’
‘It didn’t help Samuel.’
‘Not him. It’s a shame, but there it is.’
Isaac realised that he was not likely to get much more out of the man. He excused himself and saw no one else of interest. The funeral procession to the cemetery left. Isaac did
