Come back soon. Come back safe. Don’t go at all. “Lysol spray.”

“For?”

“The car upholstery. And Diet Coke. Now go. Being late to a funeral is the height of disrespect.”

CHAPTER 18

HE WASN’T LATE, BUT HE WAS AMONG THE LAST TO SLIP into the funeral home chapel before the service began. The entire left side had been reserved for policemen, and every seat was occupied. The other side was filled to capacity with civilians.

Raley stood against the back wall, along with dozens of others who’d arrived too late to get a seat. Hymns were piped through invisible speakers, but the service was more secular than religious. Indeed, if Jay had had a spiritual conviction of any kind, Raley was unaware of it. Raley had been required by his parents to attend church with them regularly. Jay had always ribbed him about it.

Familiar scriptures were read from both the Old and New Testaments, and the Protestant chaplain of the police department said a prayer. But most of the service was given over to eulogies that extolled Jay’s virtues and wit, his commitment to law enforcement, and of course, his heroism on the day of the police station fire.

The overriding theme of each speech was that the police department and the community as a whole had been robbed of one of their finest members and that the world was severely diminished by Jay Burgess’s departure from it.

One of the last and most touching eulogies was written by Judge Cassandra Mellors. It was read by the funeral director in her absence. Pressing matters and professional obligations prevented her from attending the service, he explained, and she deeply regretted not being there to express, in person, her affection for Jay Burgess and sorrow over his passing and the unfortunate circumstances surrounding it.

Ever since his arrival, Raley had been scanning the sea of heads looking for Candy. It was sorely disappointing to learn that she wasn’t there and that he wouldn’t have an opportunity to reestablish contact with her face-to-face.

Naturally he wouldn’t have broached the subject of the fire. Nor would he have mentioned Britt. Candy would be under the misconception that Britt was a fugitive from justice. But if it became necessary later on to seek Candy’s help, a prior personal meeting would have made it less awkward to contact her after such a long absence.

At the conclusion of the service, everyone stood. A bagpiper played “Amazing Grace” as the casket was carried up the center aisle and out the wide doors to the waiting hearse. Burial was to be private, with only Jay’s surviving kin-a smattering of cousins and one uncle-in attendance. Once the coffin had cleared the door, the congregation was ushered out by funeral home staff, a row at a time, starting with the first rows and working backward.

Among the first up the aisle was Cobb Fordyce, walking arm in arm with an attractive woman whom Raley assumed was his wife. Both wore stoic, solemn expressions, the standard visage of dignitaries at funerals. If the attorney general picked Raley out in the crowd, he gave no sign of it.

But George McGowan did. He wasn’t far behind Fordyce, and when he saw Raley, he did a double take and came to a dead stop, causing Miranda to look at him with consternation. His father-in-law, coming up behind him, gave him a slight push.

George averted his head and continued up the aisle and out the doors. Not wanting George to get away, Raley flouted protocol, maneuvered his way through the crowd along the back wall, and fell in with those who were exiting.

It was a hot, airless afternoon, heavy with humidity. Men not dressed in police uniform were discarding their suit jackets as they stood in groups, talking. A few were lighting up cigarettes. No one was really looking toward the hearse, but everyone was respectfully mindful of it and seemed reluctant to leave before it did.

Raley scanned the crowd that had spread out onto the chapel lawn. Fordyce and his missus were already being assisted into a limousine. But George McGowan was standing with his wife, father-in-law, and several people Raley didn’t know.

He made a beeline for the group.

George, seeing him, separated himself from the others and met him halfway. His smile was broad and guileless, his voice as big as his barrel chest. “Raley Gannon. I thought I spotted you in there. Christ, how long has it been?”

“Five years. Hello, George.” He played along with George’s blatant bullshit and pumped the hand extended to him.

George clapped him on the back as he looked him over. “Lookin’ good, Raley. Still fit. A few gray hairs, but hell.”

“Thanks.”

“Me?” he said, slapping his gut. “I’ve put on a few.”

There was nothing to say to that. He had. More than a few.

“I got married.”

“I heard.”

“I left the PD and went to work for my father-in-law.”

Raley acknowledged that this wasn’t news, either.

“You know my daddy worked for Les up till the day he keeled over,” George said. “I thought marrying the boss’s daughter would give me privileges. Don’t you believe it.” He socked Raley’s shoulder and laughed, but his laughter sounded hollow and forced.

Underneath the affected bonhomie, George was nervous. He kept wetting his lips; his eyes darted about. He wasn’t glad to see Raley, making Raley all the more convinced that George had good reason to be jittery. Had it already been reported to him that it appeared Britt Shelley was camped out at Raley’s cabin in the woods, not at the bottom of the river as believed?

“Enough about me,” he said, “what are you doing these days?”

“Well, today, I’m attending a funeral.”

George’s affability deflated like a punctured balloon. Without the balancing smile of large, white teeth, his facial features looked heavier. The flesh sagged, forming crevasses of dissipation and unhappiness.

He glanced toward the hearse still parked in front of the chapel. “Hell of a thing, wasn’t it?”

“Um-huh.”

“A total shock. Like the cancer. Did you know about that?”

“Not until after he was murdered.”

George took a handkerchief from his pants pocket and blotted his sweating upper lip. “First the big c, then…that.”

He was regarding Raley closely, as though gauging his reaction. Raley kept his features carefully schooled.

“You and Jay had been friends for a long time.”

“All our lives. Until five years ago.”

George shifted his big feet, rolled his shoulders, cleared his throat. Obvious signs of general discomfort, which an ex-cop should know how to conceal.

“Aw, Raley, you know how Jay was about women,” he said, deliberately skipping over any reference to Suzi Monroe. “He could have slept with a thousand and it wouldn’t have been enough. Always on the scent of fresh meat, and he’d had a lech for your lady for a long time. Besides, by the time they hooked up, you’d sorta moved on, hadn’t you?”

“No, I’d got kicked out. Disgraced, discredited, and fired.”

George was about to respond when he was interrupted. “George?”

He turned, looking grateful for the interruption. “Honey, come here.” He took his wife’s arm and pulled her forward. Miranda was wearing a snug black dress and high heels, a wide-brimmed, black straw hat, and dark sunglasses. Funeral attire gone glam. “Do you remember Raley Gannon? He was an old pal of Jay’s. From when they were kids.”

“The fireman. Of course I remember.” She removed her sunglasses and gave Raley a smile that suggested he was the only man on the planet and he had a twelve-inch dick she was just dying to treat like a lollipop.

“Hello, Miranda.”

“Where’ve you been keeping yourself all this time?”

“Here and there. Nowhere.”

Her laugh was throaty and sexy. “That sounds like an ideal place to be.” She paused, then said, “It’s good to see you. Shame about the circumstances, though.”