Dianna Poleski’s funeral was small, about twenty people, dressed in regulation black. They whispered in huddles as if by raising their voices they might disturb some invisible thread that bound them to Dianna.
Samantha knew that perpetrators often attended a victim’s funeral. She stood, discreetly positioned, under a tree overlooking the cemetery. That vantage point enabled her to observe the mourners.
Bernard, although no longer in the force, had offered to come along to identify anyone of interest. She had gratefully accepted the offer. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, large gut rolling over a tightly pulled in leather belt.
“Your club?” Samantha asked, nodding toward a small group huddled at the end of the freshly dug grave. “Are they from the Phene’s club?”
“Yes,” he leaned forward to focus on a woman in a tightly fitting black dress. He held a finger to his mouth. “I know that woman,” he said tapping his lips. “Just can't place her right now," He closed his eyes, concentrating.
Samantha impatiently tapped him on the forearm. “Where do you think you’ve seen her? The Phene?”
“No,” he snapped. “The elitist Triskelion?” He lowered his voice. “They wouldn’t let me join, not crooked enough,” he said bitterly, “but she fits the profile perfectly”.
Samantha was immediately alert. “What makes you say that?”
“Similar age, high roller, I guarantee. Finance world loves those sorts, especially if they don’t mind cutting a corner or two.”
The sun glanced off the silver medallion she wore. Samantha squinted against the sun. “There's that medallion again,” she said.
“My police career was cut short thanks to women like her.” Bernard glanced venomously at the grave, “and her.” Samantha looked at him sharply. He recovered quickly. “I mean I’ve seen her around.”
The woman in black dropped flower petals on to the coffin then carefully stepped away in her high heels.
Samantha closed her eyes and the woman's image flashed before her. She lay, horribly twisted and broken with her throat slit.
Just as Samantha lifted her phone to take a quick photo, a man cupped the woman’s elbow and tried to lead her away. She planted her heels in the dirt. The man impatiently pulled her away making her feet lift out of her shoes. She half ran beside him to stop from falling.
As he shoved her in a shining black car her wide brimmed black hat caught in the door moulding and revealed a white bandage covering a head wound. Samantha gasped. “I think we’ve just seen Linda.”
“We have to follow that car. She signalled Jacob, standing on the other side of the gathering.
Bernard seemed strangely reluctant. “I don’t think she’s significant,” he said.
“Oh yes she is. You don’t need to come. We’ll take it from here.”
Rider and Jacob ran to their car leaving Bernard gaping at the graveside.
“Ring the hospitals and see if anyone was treated for gunshot wounds recently,” she instructed Jacob.