‘Er…well, Ihardly knew him really. It was just –’
‘Just a shortpiece will be fine,’ Soraya interjected. ‘It doesn’t need to be anything toofancy.’
‘What do youwant me to read?’ he answered, hoping that his lack of enthusiasm might makeher change her mind.
‘I’ll leavethat up to you. Can I count you in?’
‘Yes,’ he heardhimself saying.
‘Brilliant,thank you,’ Soraya said, ending the call.
Marvellous. An unknown reading at the funeral of a murdered man he met one week ago. Life just couldn’t get any better.
Morton had been adding more string pathwaysto his Coldrick Case Incident Wall when he heard Juliette’s car pull upoutside. He hurried down to the kitchen and poured two generous glassesof red wine and sat patiently in the lounge, anticipating her arrival with newsof the registration plate. He heard her kick off her boots and trudgesteadily up the stairs.
‘What a day,’Juliette groaned, pecking Morton on the lips and reaching for the profferedwine. She collapsed into the sofa and sighed heavily. ‘Sometimesyou know, I just hate the police. Do you know what I had to do today?’
Morton shookhis head, hoping that it would be a very short story.
She took a gulpof red wine. ‘I was only sent out - on foot - on a three-mile walk to seean old man who called in a suspected burglary. Fine, whatever. So,I get my notebook out and start writing it all down – he arrived home teno’clock yesterday morning having been into town to collect his pension, pay thebills, blah blah blah and when he gets home, he finds his house smelling of excrement– his word – and since he’d only urinated the whole day, somebody must havebroken in and used his toilet.’
Morton laughed,much to Juliette’s consternation. ‘Come on, it is pretty funny.’
‘So I asked ifanything was taken. No. Was anything damaged? No. Anysign of forced entry? No. Anything else that would indicate aburglary? No. Just that his house smelt of excrement.’
‘And did it?’
‘Uh-huh, bigtime.’ Morton laughed again. ‘Anyway, I walk the three-mile trekback to find half the station doubled over in hysterics. Apparently, MrPepperdene is a frequent waster of police time. So, now I know. It’s really not that funny, Morton.’
‘Oh, I beg todiffer.’
‘So anyway,investigating the case of the phantom crapper meant I didn’t get time to lookup that number plate for you, I’m afraid.’
‘Really?’Morton said, suddenly losing his grin.
‘I’ll do ittomorrow but it isn’t easy, you know; I shouldn’t even be accessing thoserecords.’
‘I wouldn’t askif it wasn’t important,’ Morton said, deliberately not attempting to disguisehis disappointment.
‘What aboutyou, how was your day?’ Juliette asked, seemingly oblivious to hisdispleasure. She tucked herself into a foetal position beside him.
Morton rolledhis eyes as the memory of the day flashed before him. ‘After I got backfrom Dungeness I had a call from Soraya – she only bloody wants me to do areading at Coldrick’s funeral on Thursday. Can you imagine? I don’teven want to go, never mind read at it.’
‘Now it’s myturn to laugh,’ she said with a grin. ‘What have you got to read?’
‘That’s part ofthe problem: she said it was up to me and I haven’t got a clue.’
‘If it’s up toyou then just stick your finger in the Bible and plump for the nearest moraltale. Nobody listens at a funeral anyway, they’re all too wrapped up ingrief to care.’
‘We don’t evenown a Bible,’ Morton answered, taking a swig from his wine. He consideredhimself to be a born-again atheist, having been raised by devout Methodists,then, having toyed with all manner of religions at university, he realised thatthey were equally unappealing. He’d reached the conclusion that religionand oil were responsible for at least ninety percent of the world’s wars. If he were forced to accept a religion, he thought that he would be apagan. Earth, nature and all that.
‘Isn’t Yeathough I walk in the valley of the shadow of death a funeral reading?’Juliette asked. ‘Or is that for the last rights? The last funeral I wentto was a Buddhist’s: Gregorian chanting, swinging incense and shaven-headedwomen in monk’s robes. Very odd.’
‘Well thanksfor that, that’s really helpful.’
‘Don’t get sohet up about it, Morton.’ Juliette sat up to face him. ‘Just Google‘funeral readings.’ There must be something like funeralreadingsonline.com.’
‘Hmm,’ Mortonanswered doubtfully. Two days to plan a reading. Great. Hereached for the remote control, ready to switch on the television and switchoff from the Coldrick Case.
Chapter Ten
Wednesday
Morton woke midway through anightmare. Dr Garlick was offering him the copper box, telling him thatit was a ‘most unexpected and exciting story,’ but, just as Morton went to takeit, Dr Garlick inexplicably morphed into Daniel Dunk who cackled maniacallylike The Joker from Batman. Then he disappeared. Just likethat.
He opened hiseyes and it took a good few seconds for his brain to register that he wasslumped in a hard plastic chair in the waiting room of the Conquest Hospital inHastings. Nurses, doctors and visitors were milling about, ignoring him,as if he were just another part of the complexities of the A&Edepartment. He supposed he was really. He felt awful and craved ahefty dose of caffeine. The small waiting room comprised a dozen similarblue plastic chairs, an out-of-order pay-phone and an ancient-looking hotdrinks vending machine. There was no option for an extra shot ofcaffeine, so Morton chose a coffee with two sugars and stared at the posters onthe wall, whilst the machine proceeded to fill a plastic cup with cheap instantcoffee.
He wondered howhis father was getting on with the plethora of tests the doctors were runningon him. Morton had taken the phone call at four a.m. and, like allmiddle-of-the-night calls, it had set his heart pounding before the person atthe other end had even spoken the words ‘suspected heart attack’. Juliette immediately offered to drive them both straight to the hospital butMorton, despite his estranged relationship with his father, knew that he neededto get there quickly – not at Juliette’s law-abiding speed. He’dhurriedly pulled on whatever clothes first came to hand and dashed to thehospital, triggering enough speed
