Revenge (David Shelley #1) - James Patterson Page 0,5

front row, the backs of their heads betraying nothing of their grief—nothing until the coffin disappeared behind the curtain, when Susie’s shoulders dropped and Drake did something that was extraordinary and yet perfectly forgivable in the circumstances: he let out a long impassioned wail, a sound dredged from the very depths of his soul.

As the service ended, Susie took him in her arms. His shoulders shook as he wept, his head buried in her so that at least he was spared the sympathetic looks of the mourners as they filed out of the crematorium quickly to escape the weight of his grief.

Outside they stood making small talk. When the two grieving parents eventually appeared, Drake was red-eyed but composed. Shelley shot Lucy a look—Would you mind waiting?—and was about to move over to them when he found himself intercepted by Bennett.

“Captain Shelley of the SAS,” said Bennett with a smile appropriate to the occasion. He held out a hand, and for a childish moment Shelley considered refusing to shake it. “It’s an honor to meet you,” continued Bennett.

“It’s nice to meet you too, mate,” said Shelley, although he wasn’t so sure about that. “Bennett, isn’t it?”

“In one,” said Bennett, glowing a little.

“You on close-protection duty, are you?”

“Something like that. I’ve got a man on the perimeter keeping the press at bay. Couple of paps he’s needed to chase off but that’s about it. Just general security, you know?”

Shelley nodded, trying to keep it casual. “That’s all, is it?”

“That’s all, yes,” replied Bennett, throwing up a barrier.

“Fair enough,” said Shelley, acting as though he bought it. But when he walked across to see Susie and Drake, he could sense the eyes of Bennett and his minion upon him.

He and Drake shook hands and he could feel the grief radiating off him like heat from a fire.

“Thank you so much for coming, David,” said Susie. They kissed and she enveloped him in a cloud of the same scent she’d worn all those years ago, the smell of it taking him straight back there—back to their home, excursions out with her and Emma, those shopping trips . . .

“I’m so, so sorry,” he said, trying to find the words. “Emma was really something. I think you know how fond I was of her. I only hope that she did too.”

“She did, David, she did.” Susie was one of the few people who had ever called Shelley “David.” It sounded strange and slightly incongruous, and another time he might have laughed. But not now.

He found himself wishing he could ask how she had done it, how Emma had killed herself. He wanted desperately for Susie simply to surrender the information. Indeed, it was almost as though there was a gap in the conversation waiting to be filled with that piece of information, and maybe Susie sensed it, too. He saw her lips part, words forming . . . and then her husband spoke instead.

“We appreciate you coming, Shelley,” said Drake, his Manchester accent undimmed by the years in London. “I know it’s normal to invite everybody for a drink and a bite to eat to remember Emma, but we’ve decided we’d rather say our goodbyes here. I hope you understand.”

“Of course, mate, of course,” said Shelley, at the same time unable to rid himself of the idea that there was something odd about it.

Standing some way off, Lucy had been talking to some of the mourners. He’d seen her embrace a girl who would have been about Emma’s age—a friend or a cousin. He couldn’t help but notice that Drake was keeping an eye on things in that corner, too. Bennett and his mate drifted across, hoping to achieve Shelley had no idea what. If it was to try to intimidate Lucy then good luck with that.

Lucy was wrapping up her conversation as Shelley finished saying his goodbyes to the Drakes and stepped away.

She took his arm as the funeral-goers dispersed.

“Did you ask how it happened?” she said. They reached the Saab and climbed in.

“I chickened out,” admitted Shelley ruefully. He picked his hat up off the back seat and fitted it back on his head. A Christys’ newsboy cap. Like him, it looked like a worn relic from another age, and just wearing it made him feel more himself again.

“Thought you might. So I asked for you. Well, I didn’t ask outright. I dug.”

His fingers dropped from the ignition key. “Yes. And?”

“She shot herself, Shelley. Took herself off to that hostel and ate a bullet. And if anybody knows anything