I hadn’t anticipated seeing anyone I knew, but the coven members were all there, pale with grief Faye stood with her arm around the waist of an older black woman whose face was veiled under the black hat she wore. She was leaning heavily on the girl. Morrison turned his head and murmured, “Ruby Tucker, Cassandra’s mother. The girl with her is Faye Kirkland, Cassandra’s best friend.”
“Yeah. She’s the one who accosted me.” That sounded better thandreamed about me, somehow. I glanced over the little group surrounding Ruby Tucker, then asked, as quietly, “Her father?”
Morrison shook his head. “He died a few years ago. Mrs. Tucker’s had a hard time of it.” He kept his voice so neutral I could hear the ache he was hiding. I reached out and touched the back of his hand with my fingertips. He looked down, then at me with his eyebrows lifted, and I let my hand fall without saying anything.
My inverted sight seemed to have settled down. The edges of things were still dim, but it was a vast improvement, allowing me to watch people as they arrived and paused to offer their condolences to Mrs. Tucker. She stopped letting Faye support her and stood straight and tall, taller than I expected. Through the shadows of her veil I could see traces of Cassandra’s youthful prettiness, and her determination to conduct herself with dignity. She did not look at me or Morrison, although other people did, some with sympathy and a few with anger. It wasn’t that we were white in a predominantly black crowd. What made them angry was the same thing that made me guilty: we were cops, and we hadn’t been there to save Cassandra Tucker. What good were we, if we couldn’t save one young woman’s life? Their anger and frustration was as misplaced as my own, but I couldn’t blame them for it. I held my hands still, fighting against the urge to make unhappy supplication to the men and women who had been Cassandra’s friends.
A church bell rang, counting off the hour at ten o’clock, and the crowd fell back, making an open path to the grave. Planes droned overhead, and I could hear the distant sounds of traffic, engines revving and horns honking. Closer to me, people sniffled and cleared their throats and lifted their chins, but the silence, for a city morning, was nearly complete. Almost as one, heads turned to watch the six men who carried Cassandra’s coffin approach her grave. The young man at the right front held his jaw so tightly set that mine ached in sympathy.
A bewildered little girl wailed and flung herself at the men who walked by, solemnly carrying a coffin on their shoulders.
Deja vu hit me so hard I clutched at Morrison’s sleeve to keep myself upright. I’d been here before, not all that long ago. Only then it’d been in the desert of my mind, with the big coyote, not real.
The girl’s cry cut through the silence, sharp as knives. The young man in the lead flinched, eyes darting down to the little girl before he yanked his gaze forward again. Morrison murmured, “Siobhàn.”
“What?” My fingers refused to unwrap from Morrison’s sleeve as I stared up at him, the funeral forgotten. It was all I could do to keep my voice down. “What? How do you know that name?” It wasn’t anywhere on my paperwork, and the only person who’d ever used it was dead.
Morrison frowned at me. “The little girl. Cassandra’s daughter. Shevaun Tucker.”
Faye darted forward to scoop the girl up. Shevaun buried her face against Faye’s shoulder, sobbing with misery and confusion.
I stared across the grave at the little girl who shared my name, and wondered if the universe could get any less subtle.
CHAPTER 20
Shevaun Tucker was tired and bored with the ceremony long before it was over. She squirmed unhappily in Faye’s arms, toddling over to hide behind her grandmother’s skirt when Faye put her down. She watched all the solemn, sad faces with wide dark eyes, and put her thumb in her mouth in the fashion of a child who thought she was too old for that, but couldn’t find any other source of comfort. She caught me looking at her, and for a few moments we held each other’s gazes. The guilt came back, stronger than before, and I looked away. I heard her snuffle a protest, and when I looked back, I couldn’t see her anymore. Ruth Tucker’s skirt swung, though, as if a little girl might be hanging on to its far side.
It was over startlingly quickly, then. Someone laid a wreath of daisies on Cassandra’s coffin, and her mother, grim-faced, put a handful of pansies in the middle of that. She stepped back, and the coffin-bearers lowered the coffin into the ground on taut ropes. Ruth threw a handful of dirt onto it, then turned away, shoulders knotted, unable to watch any more. I could see Shevaun again, trailing after her grandmother with a fistful of the woman’s skirt in her hand. The crowd began to break up a little. Morrison touched my elbow. “Come on.” His voice was low and strained. “We should offer our condolences.”
“Didn’t know cops knew big words like condolences,” I said almost as quietly, hoping to get a smile out of him. The corner of his mouth turned up a little. It would do. We made our way to the back edge of the crowd and worked our way around it, toward where Mrs. Tucker stood with the young man who’d led the coffin-bearers. Shevaun was hanging on his pants leg now.
“Her brother?” I asked Morrison in as discreet a voice as I could manage. He shook his head.
“Shevaun’s father. Cassandra was an only child.”
God. Her poor mother. I dragged in a deep breath, trying to break apart the bands of aching sympathy around my heart. Then we were shaking hands with Mrs. Tucker, whose weary expression held none of the blame or anger that I’d expected. She accepted our condolences graciously, inviting us, with more quiet dignity than I imagined I’d be able to summon, to come back to her home with everyone else, for funeral meats. Morrison shook his head in apology; he had to get back to work. Mrs. Tucker nodded her head without surprise, and we broke away, heading for the car.
“Joanne! Officer Walker!”
I screwed up the side of my face that wasn’t facing Morrison. Faye’s voice wasn’t one I’d wanted to hear calling after me. Morrison lifted one eyebrow and we both turned back to the blond girl, who had somehow collected little Shevaun as she approached us. “I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Faye said as she came up to us. Shevaun stared at us both, round-eyed and suspicious as she sucked on her thumb. No, I realized after a moment: she was gnawing on it. Poor kid.
“I wanted to come. Faye, this is my boss, Captain Michael Morrison. Captain, this is Faye Kirkland. We met the day after Cassandra died.”
“Did you,” Morrison said, a perfect example of neutrality as he offered Faye his hand. She tried rearranging Shevaun so she could take it, and the little girl abruptly put her arms out to me. Taken aback, I lifted her out of Faye’s arms, and she gazed around, apparently pleased with the new height she could view the world from.
“Thanks.” Faye shook Morrison’s hand, then put her arms out for Shevaun again. “C’mon, Shevaun, honey. It’s almost time to go, and you’ve been awful good. I’ve got cookies for you back at the house.”
Shevaun studied her with much the same suspicion she’d examined Morrison and me with a moment earlier. Then she swung her head around and checked my expression. I smiled at her. “Shevaun’s a very pretty name,” I told her. “Why don’t you go with Faye and get some cookies now?”
Evidently it was a convincing argument. Shevaun put her arms out again and leaned toward Faye. I managed to not quite dump her into Faye’s arms, but it was a near miss. I wasn’t used to handling children. Morrison and I watched them walk away, and I waited for the storm.
“I didn’t know you were good with kids,” he said, taking me completely off guard. He turned without waiting for me, walking across the grounds to the car. I shook myself and caught up after a couple of steps.