we didn't care. In any group, everybody takes on a role. I was the klutz. The fool. The one who always took things too far." He gave a small, self-deprecating shrug. "Some might say I still do. Ziggy was the one who saved me from myself. Ziggy was the one who kept me from destruction. He preserved me from the worst excesses of my personality until I found a greater Savior. But even then, Ziggy didn't let me go.
"We didn't see much of each other in recent years. Our lives were too full of the present. But that didn't mean we threw away the past. Ziggy still remained a touchstone for me in many ways. I won't pretend I approved of all the choices he made. You'd recognize me as a hypocrite if I pretended otherwise. But here, today, none of that matters. What counts is that my friend is dead and, with his death, a light has gone from my life. None of us can afford to lose the light. And so today, I mourn the passing of a man who made my way to salvation so much easier. All I can do for Ziggy's memory is to try to do the same thing for anyone else who crosses my path in need. If I can help any one of you today, don't hesitate to make yourself known to me. For Ziggy's sake." Weird looked round the room with a beatific smile. "I thank the Lord for the gift of Sigmund Malkiewicz. Amen."
OK, Alex thought. He reverted to type at the end. But Weird had done Ziggy proud in his own way. When his friend sat down again, Alex reached across and squeezed his hand. And Weird didn't let go.
Afterward, they filed out, pausing to shake hands with Paul and with Karel Malkiewicz. They emerged into weak sunshine, letting the flow of the crowd carry them past the floral tributes. In spite of Paul's request that only family should send flowers, there were a couple of dozen bouquets and wreaths. "He had a way of making us all feel like family," Alex said to himself.
"We were blood brothers," Weird said softly.
"That was good, what you said in there."
Weird smiled. "Not what you expected, was it? I could tell from your face."
Alex said nothing. He bent down to read a card. Dearest Ziggy, the world's too big without you. With love from all your friends at the clinic. He knew the feeling. He browsed the rest of the cards, then paused at the final wreath. It was small and discreet, a tight circlet of white roses and rosemary. Alex read the card and frowned. Rosemary for remembrance.
"You see this?" he asked Weird.
"Tasteful," Weird said approvingly.
"You don't think it's a bit?I don't know. Too close for comfort?"
Weird frowned. "I think you're seeing ghosts where none exist. It's a perfectly appropriate tribute."
"Weird, he died on the twenty-fifth anniversary of Rosie Duff's death. This card isn't signed. You don't think this is a bit heavy?"
"Alex, that's history." Weird spread his hand in a gesture that encompassed the mourners. "Do you seriously think there's anybody here but us who even knows Rosie Duff's name? It's just a slightly theatrical gesture, which should hardly come as a surprise, given the crowd that's here."
"They've reopened the case, you know." Alex could be as stubborn as Ziggy when the mood took him.
Weird looked surprised. "No, I didn't know."
"I read about it in the papers. They're doing a review of unsolved murders in the light of new technological advances. DNA and that."
Weird's hand went to his cross. "Thank the Lord."
Puzzled, Alex said. "You're not worried about all the old lies being taken out for an airing?"
"Why? We've nothing to fear. At last our names will be cleared."
Alex looked troubled. "I wish I thought it would be that easy."
Dr. David Kerr pushed his laptop away from him with a sharp exhalation of annoyance. He'd been trying to polish the first draft of an article on contemporary French poetry for the past hour, but the words had been making less and less sense the longer he glared at the screen. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, trying to convince himself there was nothing more bothering him than end-of-term exhaustion. But he knew he was kidding himself.
However hard he tried to escape the knowledge, he couldn't get away from the realization that, while he sat fiddling with his prose, Ziggy's friends and family were saying their final farewells