The doors of the church fling open as men in dark suits descend taking their post, each on every second step. Immediately following are guests, all dressed in expensive black gowns, big dark hats , black suits and long satin gloves. The heels of sad loved ones clatter against the cemented steps, their faces concealed behind dark veils and designer shades.

What an awful occasion, Nick thought. To be murdered and buried so young, so beautiful…so wealthy. And at the hands of someone you loved. Someone here, who without a doubt is pretending their sadness. Someone here, wanted you. Not gone but dead. I guess it does seem true, that the more money you have the more problems you’ll endure.

Cathy Griffendell had been the city’s it girl. Everyone knew her. Anyone could have secretly admired or worse… hated her so violently that they’d decided to end her life permanently.   

A few moments pass and Nick begins to lure himself amongst the crowd. He steps down from the curb of the church, onto the side walk and begins walking hastily up the pavement near the black hearse. There are six pallbearers carrying the coffin toward the vehicle. They begin to lift it into the car.

A woman who appears to be in her late sixties is holding a single rose in one hand and with the other she rubs the coffin, sniffling. Her hair has thinned and grayed with only streaks of blond curls dangling here and there. Nick recognizes her, this is Cathy’s mother. Behind her are Nicole, Sinclair and Elly. They cling to one another like ferns on a leaf. Unified and poised, careful of bending in the wind.

Nick approaches.

Nicole sees him first, gripping the in-folds of both Sinclair and Elly’s arms to grasp their attention. “The detective is here.” Nick reads her lips.

He presses on confidently through the crowd.

Ms. Griffendel glances up and without losing her balance she steps onto the curb putting herself between the girls and detective Nick.

“This is highly inappropriate, you shouldn’t be here.” She scoffs.

“I do apologize for your loss and the timing, Ms. Griffendell”. The words slide from his mouth as if they were cursed. “But the law is the law.” He says, matter of fact, looking behind her. He can see Sinclair’s chest heaving. It is very clear that she is losing it.

“Fact is Ms. Griffendell, your daughter’s death was no accident. Someone killed her and it is my job to bring this murderer forward.” Nick looks over to Elly, then Nicole.

Ms. Griffendell sniffles and straightens her posture, displaying her rich privilege for all the reporters and their cameras to see.

“Well, come out with it then. If I can’t bury my daughter in peace, maybe I can do so in justice.” She says matter-of-factly. 

Nick looks down at his notebook, reassuring himself. He pulls into his pocket retrieving his handcuffs.

“Is this really necessary? My wife hasn’t been dead nearly a week and already you’re tarnishing her memory. You should be ashamed of yourself.” Tom fumed. He had been standing next to Ms. Griffendell, so quiet and deferential. If only he had remained that way.

“Your wife?” Nick asked.

“Yes, my wife.” Tom steps forward at means to protect his mother in law, at any cost necessary. Even if that meant committing the crime of obstruction of justice. Aiding a criminal to resist their arrest.

Shouldn’t he like the others want his wife’s murderer exposed. Didn’t he want them to pay for their crimes. It was his wife after all that he was burying today. He should want this.

He did.

Or maybe not.

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary Mr. Banks.” Detective Nick says, flashing his holstered gun on his waist. “This can all be very simple you see,” he lowers his voice. “If you’ll just come with me to the station.”

“For what?” Tom yells, jumping back in a bit of rage. “I’ve done nothing wrong. Is this really what the laws come to, arresting widowed husbands at their wives funeral? You’re disgusting!”

Ms. Griffendell begins to sob quite maddingly. She as well as the others couldn’t fathom the peculiar scenario happening before their eyes. Was this detective actually accusing Tom of killing her beloved Cathy?

Everything else had happened quite quickly.

Detective Nick had slammed a cuff onto Tom’s right hand, thrusting him against Cathy’s hearse to help him secure the other. It was all quite sickening. By now, the guests had all gathered around the small group, watching the ending of Cathy’s life unfold in chaos.

“Tom?” Ms. Griffendell spats. “What on earth is going on here?”

Reporters that had already been positioned outside the church, teetered their microphones closer to the crowd, hoping to hear the commotion word for word.  

Tom is fuming.

As the detective begins to mirandize him, Tom makes quite the scene, throwing himself toward the detective and flailing around on Cathy’s  hearse like a snagged fish out of the sea. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Let go of me! Who the hell do you think you are? Do you know who I am?”

* * * * * * *

When all the madness was done and detective Nick had finally brought Tom to the station, he found himself looking at Tom through the interrogation window. He  couldn’t help but to shake his head in disgrace.

Detective Nick removed a photograph from his pocket, staring at it keenly.

It was a photograph of the late Cathy, she had to be no older than fifteen.

In the photograph, Cathy was smiling with her squared white teeth and rosy cheeks pressed against a round boy about her age. A stubby boy with round glasses.

What a disgrace, detective Nick thought. She was so beautiful.  

“Are you ready to sack em?” Arnold asks excitedly.  

Arnold was the chief of police and he took great pride in the conviction of the murderer of Cathy Griffendell, it would bring quite the publicity to his station. Not only would Nick be a hero but he would be too.

Nick stuffs the photo back into his pocket and straightens his suit. “Yes, let’s get on with it.”

He enters the interrogation room with Tom.

“Hello again Mr. Banks, no need to get reacquainted, I’m only here for the logistics.”

“You mean a confession.”

Tom spits at the detective and is almost successful. It lands onto the table, Nick curls his nose.

“Well, I don’t have one for you because I didn’t do it!” Tom hisses.

Nick retrieves a napkin from his coat pocket, wiping the saliva from the table and tossing it into Toms lap.

“Really?” detective Nick begins. “So these aren’t your handprints on the murder weapon? Or your dna around Cathy’s throat, on the sheets, or her dress, is it?” Nick fires without a single breath in between. He tosses the evidence onto the cold, metal table. Pictures of Cathy naked,  covered in blood scatter across the table.

“No! No!” Tom shouts. “It wasn’t me, this is all wrong!”

“And who Mr. Banks, who would believe you? You were the last one seen with Cathy the night she died. What jury would take your side with all the overwhelming evidence against you?”

Questions spewed from Nicks mouth surprising even himself. He hadn’t been this thorough with any of his cases in months. Truth is, he had been quite distracted in secret affairs of his own. But this case needed his attention, demanded it. It felt quite personal really and Tom was a man of power; it would be hard to bring a man of his multitude down to his knees.

Yet he intended to, his livelihood depended on it.

“Mr. Banks, I’ll give you a moment alone, to think about what you’re dealing with, the evidence. You’re a smart man, I trust that you’ll make the right decision.”

“But I-”

Before Nick could get the rest of it, he had exited the room, the door slamming behind him. In the hallway he dapped beads of sweat from his forehead and neck. Looking around to make sure he was alone, Nick retrieved the photograph from his pocket once again. Pushing his glasses up onto his face, he heaved silently.

Oh, Cathy, he sighed. What did I do? What did I do?

Stuffing the charred image of Cathy and himself back into his pocket, Nick hovered down the hall to the breaking room for a cup of coffee. It would be a very long night.