Page 105 of Her Last Breath

‘It wasn’t your fault, Ed. None of it was. They were to blame.’

Jane thought how beautiful a place this was, a good place for her brother to die. She hoped that he hadn’t suffered in his final moments because he had suffered enough in his life. Closing her eyes, she imagined putting her arms around him, whispering in his ear.

‘You would be so proud of me. Your silly little sister is now officially a hard ass. Even Mum was proud of me. I wonder if that’s why she let me be? She always thought I could take care of myself.’

Jane kicked her feet to stay at surface level.

‘I miss her. I missed her all the years I was away from her. But I always knew she was there, so I was OK. Now I really wish … but she’s where she wanted to be as well. She is at peace. With you.’

Jane thought about what lay ahead.

‘Today is just about her body, doing what she wanted with it. So let’s do this, send her off in style. She dealt with a lot and still she never gave up. She was a remarkable woman, I just wish I could have told her that.’

Opening her eyes, Jane looked around once more, feeling the void inside her dissipate. It was replaced by a sense of calm, as though their family was finally at peace. She smiled, thinking how she felt less alone now than she had for years.

The church was fuller than she had expected. Jane wondered how much of that was Father Walsh’s doing. Then again, her mother had died in her early sixties, probably before a lot of her contemporaries. Women who Jane vaguely remembered came up to her, telling her what a wonderful woman Maeve was, how lucky she was to have a daughter like Jane. A real survivor.

Jane was dressed in a black suit she normally saved for work. Despite knowing what she was coming to Burnley to do, she hadn’t bought a dress with her, not a funeral appropriate one. Afterwards she couldn’t be bothered with the shopping, her head full of the grief that her mother had left behind. The suit seemed more apt. It was her identity and she owed that in large part to the woman who was in the coffin behind her.

The church smelt of the white lilies her mother had chosen. Jane had forgotten the beauty of a Catholic church. The decorative panelling, the religious artwork. The giant statue of Christ on a cross behind the altar, which was laden with gold-plated paraphernalia. It was strange that in the building next door Alice Rogers had met Colin Wilson in the foodbank, and that connection had later been manipulated by Dave Johnson to provide a viable suspect to conceal his wicked crimes.

Jane didn’t feel anything as she stared down the aisle, towards the coffin. It was light oak wood, her mother’s choice again. Everything about today was going to be done in accordance with the plans that Maeve had made before she died. Jane was there to make sure those plans were executed just the way she would have wanted.

She checked her phone: it was time to start. Father Michael was taking his place at the front. She saw Sameer in one of the pews, along with the rest of her team. DCs Berry and Chan together. They were tight-lipped, leaning close together, overwhelmed by what had happened. Dave Johnson had been a big part of their lives for years, yet none of them had suspected the secrets he was hiding. The team, the investigation, was now under review to understand if there had been any other suspicious deaths covered up by Johnson. Their own professional reputations would be put on the line. Jane felt for them and hoped they would be resilient through the whole experience.

Nodding at Father Michael to start, she heard the church doors open behind her, the sound of footsteps. Unsteady heels walking on the carpet of the aisle. Jane knew even before she spun around who it was.

Heads turned. Women who had known her mother and knew the family history looked on curiously. This was what made funerals and weddings. This would be the tale they would take away, not that Maeve Hacker had a beautifully organised funeral.

Melody stopped when she saw Jane’s face. She was dressed in Dynasty-style attire. Shoulder-padded black dress, lace veil sprinkled with white pearls covering half her face. A small bouquet of white lilies in her hands. Jane felt the congregation looking their way.

She also felt her mother’s presence, her spirit, standing at her shoulder. Not today, Jane. Not ever. Don’t let this woman near us.

Jane crossed to her aunt, close enough to smell the alcohol on her breath.

‘You are not welcome here. Leave.’

Melody swayed slightly, but remained upright.

‘She was my sister! I have a right to be here.’

Melody’s voice echoed loudly around them as she tried to barge past Jane, who stood firm. Gripping Melody’s arms, Jane pushed her gently back.

‘You have no right to be here. You know what you did, you and that sick bastard husband of yours. Before I tell everyone here what that was, I suggest you leave.’

Melody pushed Jane’s shoulder with her frail fingers.

‘Maeve was my sister long before she was your mother. I will say goodbye to her if I want. She is all I have left.’

‘She couldn’t stand the sight of you,’ Jane said bitterly. ‘And neither can I. Now get out.’

Melody again tried to push past Jane, but Jane grabbed her arms and kept her in place. Melody shouted over Jane’s shoulder, stumbling.

‘Father Walsh, please,’ Melody called out to the priest. ‘I have the right to be here, she was my sister.’

Father Walsh didn’t reply. He exchanged a meaningful look with Jane, then turned away, his back to them. His back to Melody.

This gave Jane all the impetus she needed. Grasping Melody’s arm, she dragged her from the church. Melody protested, shouting and hitting out at Jane, losing one of her shoes. Jane refused to relent, watching as the disgusting woman slipped and fell onto the gravelly path. Returning to the church, Jane grabbed Melody’s missing shoe, hurling it at her.