Read Online So Say the Fallen (Dci Serena Flanagan 2) by Stuart Neville - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stuart Neville
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‘Photographs?’
‘That’s the one detail that doesn’t sit right. He had photographs of loved ones arranged around him.’
‘Suicides often do.’
‘But they were facing away from him. If he wanted to see them as he died, they would have been facing him. Why put them there at all if he couldn’t see them?’
McCreesh sighed. ‘I don’t know. We probably never will. What I do know is I found what appear to be crushed morphine granules on his teeth and the rear of his tongue, which is consistent with him chewing them before swallowing. The stomach contained exactly what we expected to find there, the mass spectrometer tests on the liver and blood samples will confirm the lethalmorphine levels. All of it adds up. This was a suicide. I can’t see it any other way, and I’m going to advise the coroner accordingly. I expect him to sign the interim death certificate, Mrs Garrick will put her husband to rest, and until the inquest, that will be that.’
‘Fair enough,’ Flanagan said. ‘But I can disregard your findings, and the coroner’s report, if I so wish.’
McCreesh bristled. ‘That’s your prerogative. But you’re just making grief for yourself.’
A sudden smile burst on Flanagan’s lips, in spite of everything, surprising her. ‘Oh, I’m good at that.’
McCreesh returned the smile. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Anyway, enough business. How’ve you been?’
‘Okay,’ Flanagan said. ‘Still on the tamoxifen for the foreseeable future, still having the check-ups, still terrified I’m going to find another lump. You?’
McCreesh’s eyes glistened. She blinked. A tear threatened to spill from the lower lid. ‘I found something. I have an appointment at the Cancer Centre first thing on Friday.’
Flanagan reached across the desk, took McCreesh’s hand in hers.
‘It’ll be a cyst,’ Flanagan said. ‘Just like the last time.’
‘That’s what I keep telling myself,’ McCreesh said. ‘Over and over. But I can’t drown that other voice out. You know what it’s like.’
‘I know,’ Flanagan said, squeezing McCreesh’s fingers tight.
‘All I can think of is, how will I tell Eddie, what will I say to the kids? What if it’s worse this time? What if it’s not been caught soon enough? What if it’s spread to the lymphatic system? What if, what if, what if ?’
Now McCreesh squeezed back, sniffed hard, blinked again.
‘But I won’t be beaten now,’ she said. ‘Six years clear. I’m not fucking letting it get the better of me after six years clear.’
‘Good,’ Flanagan said.
They embraced, and Flanagan walked from the mortuary wing out to the car park. She paid at the kiosk and found her car. Before she inserted the key into the ignition, she closed her eyes and said a small prayer for Miriam McCreesh.
12
Reverend Peter McKay left Roberta Garrick alone in his draughty house and crossed the grounds to the church. The morning prayer service, a daily tradition few parishes maintained. But McKay opened the chapel two mornings a week for the handful of parishioners who still wanted to commune with God on a Tuesday or Thursday morning.
Mr McHugh waited at the vestry door, a folder full of sheet music under his arm. A retired schoolmaster, he’d taught music and religious education at a grammar school in Armagh for forty years. Now he turned up at each service to play organ for the faithful.
‘That was a bad doing, yesterday,’ Mr McHugh said. ‘How’s Mrs Garrick?’
‘She’s coping,’ McKay said.
‘Well, tell her Cora and I are thinking of her.’
‘I will, thank you.’
Mr McHugh touched McKay’s sleeve. ‘We had the police at the door last night. Asking about it. A fella and a girl, I think they said they were constables. They were asking all sorts. Made me and Cora uncomfortable, if I’m honest.’
‘I suppose they have to do these things,’ McKay said.
‘Well, I didn’t like it,’ Mr McHugh said. ‘It’s not respectful. To us or the
‘That’s the one detail that doesn’t sit right. He had photographs of loved ones arranged around him.’
‘Suicides often do.’
‘But they were facing away from him. If he wanted to see them as he died, they would have been facing him. Why put them there at all if he couldn’t see them?’
McCreesh sighed. ‘I don’t know. We probably never will. What I do know is I found what appear to be crushed morphine granules on his teeth and the rear of his tongue, which is consistent with him chewing them before swallowing. The stomach contained exactly what we expected to find there, the mass spectrometer tests on the liver and blood samples will confirm the lethalmorphine levels. All of it adds up. This was a suicide. I can’t see it any other way, and I’m going to advise the coroner accordingly. I expect him to sign the interim death certificate, Mrs Garrick will put her husband to rest, and until the inquest, that will be that.’
‘Fair enough,’ Flanagan said. ‘But I can disregard your findings, and the coroner’s report, if I so wish.’
McCreesh bristled. ‘That’s your prerogative. But you’re just making grief for yourself.’
A sudden smile burst on Flanagan’s lips, in spite of everything, surprising her. ‘Oh, I’m good at that.’
McCreesh returned the smile. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Anyway, enough business. How’ve you been?’
‘Okay,’ Flanagan said. ‘Still on the tamoxifen for the foreseeable future, still having the check-ups, still terrified I’m going to find another lump. You?’
McCreesh’s eyes glistened. She blinked. A tear threatened to spill from the lower lid. ‘I found something. I have an appointment at the Cancer Centre first thing on Friday.’
Flanagan reached across the desk, took McCreesh’s hand in hers.
‘It’ll be a cyst,’ Flanagan said. ‘Just like the last time.’
‘That’s what I keep telling myself,’ McCreesh said. ‘Over and over. But I can’t drown that other voice out. You know what it’s like.’
‘I know,’ Flanagan said, squeezing McCreesh’s fingers tight.
‘All I can think of is, how will I tell Eddie, what will I say to the kids? What if it’s worse this time? What if it’s not been caught soon enough? What if it’s spread to the lymphatic system? What if, what if, what if ?’
Now McCreesh squeezed back, sniffed hard, blinked again.
‘But I won’t be beaten now,’ she said. ‘Six years clear. I’m not fucking letting it get the better of me after six years clear.’
‘Good,’ Flanagan said.
They embraced, and Flanagan walked from the mortuary wing out to the car park. She paid at the kiosk and found her car. Before she inserted the key into the ignition, she closed her eyes and said a small prayer for Miriam McCreesh.
12
Reverend Peter McKay left Roberta Garrick alone in his draughty house and crossed the grounds to the church. The morning prayer service, a daily tradition few parishes maintained. But McKay opened the chapel two mornings a week for the handful of parishioners who still wanted to commune with God on a Tuesday or Thursday morning.
Mr McHugh waited at the vestry door, a folder full of sheet music under his arm. A retired schoolmaster, he’d taught music and religious education at a grammar school in Armagh for forty years. Now he turned up at each service to play organ for the faithful.
‘That was a bad doing, yesterday,’ Mr McHugh said. ‘How’s Mrs Garrick?’
‘She’s coping,’ McKay said.
‘Well, tell her Cora and I are thinking of her.’
‘I will, thank you.’
Mr McHugh touched McKay’s sleeve. ‘We had the police at the door last night. Asking about it. A fella and a girl, I think they said they were constables. They were asking all sorts. Made me and Cora uncomfortable, if I’m honest.’
‘I suppose they have to do these things,’ McKay said.
‘Well, I didn’t like it,’ Mr McHugh said. ‘It’s not respectful. To us or the
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