Chapters (43)
- Dedication
- Author’s Note
- Epigraph
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- Chapter Thirty-Two
- Chapter Thirty-Three
- Chapter Thirty-Four
- Chapter Thirty-Five
- Chapter Thirty-Six
- Chapter Thirty-Seven
- About the Author
- Also by Stephen Booth
- About the Publisher
When he entered the room and was pointed towards a seat in front of a small forest of hostile stares, he realized exactly who was being expected to give a performance.
Gavin Murfin offered the DI a miniature chocolate bar from a box of Cadbury’s Heroes, rattling it temptingly. Hitchens shook his head abruptly.
‘Sir, DC Murfin has been checking on Melvyn Hudson’s former business partner, Richard Slack,’ said Fry.
‘This is old Abraham’s son,’ said Murfin. ‘And father to Vernon. Richard was the second generation of the family on the Slack side of the business, so to speak.’
‘He and Melvyn Hudson were contemporaries?’ said Hitchens.
‘If you like. Their fathers set up the firm, but both retired and left their interests in the business to their sons. Old Mr Hudson died, but Abraham Slack is hanging on – he just doesn’t play an active part in Hudson and Slack any more.’
‘So what happened to Richard?’ said Hitchens.
‘He was killed in a car crash last year.’
‘You know, I remember it,’ said the DI, leaning forward in his chair. ‘There was a lot of stuff in the local paper about him. But it didn’t happen on our patch, did it?’
‘In C Division,’ said Murfin. ‘It was a bit ironic, actually. He was on a late-night call at the time, collecting a body from a house near Holymoorside. He was driving one of those unmarked vans with blacked-out windows.’
‘Was this before or after Audrey Steele’s funeral?’
‘After, by nearly two months.’
‘Well, I suppose funeral directors have to meet their end the same as the rest of us,’ said Hitchens.
Murfin shrugged. ‘Also, Dad’s Army have been helping me make some enquiries into the state of business at Hudson and Slack. It seems they’re almost the last family-owned funeral directors in the valley. All the other independents have gone. Most of them belong to the big chains now, though they often keep the old names to make people think they’re still locally owned, like. A couple of them are run by American companies.’
‘Has this affected Hudson and Slack?’
‘The word is that they’ve been struggling for a while,’ said Fry. ‘Apparently, they’ve lost a lot of business over the last few years to the big boys. I suppose it’s a question of advantages of scale, like any other business.’
‘The larger players will always push out the small men, if they’re allowed to,’ said Hitchens. ‘That’s the way it goes.’