‘Whatever your reasons, let them grieve. A family has a right to bury its dead.’
The congregation rose again. The pall-bearers were surrounding the coffin.
‘OK, Dad. But after that we’ll have to move. I’m not here to embarrass you.’
‘You have your job to do – I’m quite sure you’ve weighed the consequences.’
His father’s pale eyes gazed at him for a moment and then he got up to follow the others into the churchyard.
Valentine rose to follow him but was held back by DS McCormack. ‘You might be better putting a bit of distance between you.’
‘I think I’ve already done that.’
As the detective moved off he felt McCormack grip his arm again. ‘Seriously, you should hang back, give him some space.’
‘You think that’ll spare his blushes?’
She shrugged. ‘It might, a little.’
‘Sylvia, you don’t know Cumnock. I’m already the talk of the steamie just for being here. I knew that the second I walked through the door.’
The crowd followed the pall-bearers and the coffin to a prepared piece of ground in the graveyard. Two men stood under a bare elm, shovels propped behind them on the tree’s bole, waiting to bury the deceased’s remains. As the minister made his dour chants, the sky seemed to clear and weak sunlight broke the clouds. It was a temporary affair, however, and by the time the coffin had been lowered and the first sod cast, the grey wash had returned.
Valentine and McCormack stood a respectful distance away, behind an elderly lady who dabbed her eyes with a white handkerchief and a bull-necked man who accompanied her, supporting her elbow with both hands.
When the gathering started to disperse, Valentine felt a surge of panic in his chest that he might lose sight of Keirns, and then he spotted him and jogged down the crowd’s flank, against the flow of movement. All eyes followed him, and at the end he met his father, who was shaking his head at the mild commotion.
‘Your mother would have been ashamed of you.’
Valentine had no words to reply with. He gazed at his father for a moment and then he was reminded of his duty and sidestepped him on the way to Keirns.
DS McCormack followed, briskly pushing through. The pair stopped Keirns, blocking his path.
‘What’s all this?’ said Keirns.
Warrant cards were produced. ‘Are you Garry Keirns?’
‘Yes, I am. What’s going on?’
‘I’m Detective Inspector Bob Valentine and this is DS Sylvia McCormack. We have some questions we’d like to ask you.’
Keirns removed his hands from his pockets and showed open palms. ‘At my foster father’s funeral?’
‘I’m sorry for the inconvenience,’ said Valentine. He was dully aware of a halt in the proceedings as the few remaining attendees took in the spectacle.
‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘We’d really like to conduct this in a civilised manner, Mr Keirns,’ said Valentine. He motioned him towards the path. ‘If you’d like to accompany me to the station.’
‘The station!’ Keirns snapped. ‘Am I under arrest?’
‘No, sir. You’re not under arrest.’
‘Well, you can’t bloody well touch me then. I’m going nowhere.’ He barged past the officers.
Valentine caught Keirns’s coat sleeve and pulled him back. ‘I’m conducting a murder investigation.’
‘What? Murder.’ His voice rose to an unnatural pitch; his words seemed to startle the motionless crowd into action, and the minister encouraged them to move on.
‘We’ve found a body out at Ardinsh Farm. I don’t think this is the place to go into details, do you?’
Keirns was silent. He looked like a man whose thought process had shut down. He started to tug at the sagging black knot of tie around his neck.
DS McCormack encouraged him down the path, towards the car. ‘If you’d like to accompany us to the station now, Mr Keirns.’
‘I . . . I don’t know anything about a murder.’ His face was bereft of emotion; even when he spoke his lips hardly seemed to move.
‘We can talk about that at the police station, Mr Keirns,’ said McCormack.
As they went Valentine looked out for his father but couldn’t see him. He had never known his father to react so cruelly, and his harsh words played over now. He knew there was no apology or explanation that could fix things. It had already gone beyond the point where words might help balm the wound.
At the car Valentine felt a sudden sharpness in the back of his head, like he’d been smacked with a broom handle. The pain was short-lived, fleeting, but enough to halt him mid-stride.
‘What is it?’ said McCormack.
‘Nothing.’ Valentine continued towards the vehicle and placed a hand on Keirns’s shoulder. ‘I’ll take him from here.’
‘Please, don’t do that thing,’ said Keirns. ‘With the hand on my crown as I get in the car. I see that on the telly all the time. It always makes them look guilty.’
Valentine removed his hand from Keirns’s shoulder and took a step back.