Miller loathed him with the kind of obsessive hate that was in the end self-destructive. To be precise, ten years of his life had gone to Dandy Jack without the slightest hint of success. Meehan had to be behind the Krasko killing, that was a fact of life. The rivalry between the two men had been common knowledge for at least two years.
For the firs”- time in God knows how long he’d had a chance and now, the priest…
When he got into the rear of the car he was shaking with anger, and on a sudden impulse he leaned across and told his driver to take him to the headquarters of Meehan’s funeral business. Then he sat back and tried to light his pipe with trembling fingers.
5
Dandy Jack
Paul’s Square was a green lung in the heart of the city, an acre of grass and flower-beds and willow trees with a fountain in the centre surrounded on all four sides by Georgian terrace houses, most of which were used as offices by barristers, solicitors or doctors and beautifully preserved.
There was a general atmosphere of quiet dignity and Median’s funeral business fitted in perfectly. Three houses on the north side had been converted to provide every possible facility from a flower shop to a Chapel of Rest. A mews entrance to one side gave access to a car park and garage area at the rear surrounded by high walls so that business could be handled as quietly and as unobtrusively as possible, a facility which had other uses on occasion.
When the big Bentley hearse turned into the car park shortly after one o’clock, Meehan was sitting up front with the chauffeur and Billy. He wore his usual double-breasted melton overcoat and Homburg hat and a black tie for he had been officiating personally at a funeral that morning.
The chauffeur came round to open the door and Meehan got out followed by his brother. “Thanks, Donner,” he said.
A small grey whippet was drinking from a dish at the rear entrance. Billy called, “Here, Tommy!” It turned, hurled itself across the yard and jumped into his arms.
Billy fondled its ears and it licked his face frantically. “Now then, you little bastard,” he said with genuine affection.
I’ve told you before,” Meehan said. “He’ll ruin your coat. Hairs all over the bloody place.”
As he moved towards the rear entrance, Varley came out of the garage and stood waiting for him, cap in hand. A muscle twitched nervously in his right cheek, his forehead was beaded with sweat. He seemed almost on the point of collapse.
Meehan paused, hands in pockets and looked him over calmly. “You look awful, Charlie. You been a bad lad or something?”
“Not me, Mr.. Meehan,” Varley said. It’s that sod, Fallon. He…¯
“Not here, Charlie,” Meehan said softly. “I always like to hear bad news in private.”
He nodded to Dormer who opened the rear door and stood to one side. Meehan went into what was usually referred to as the receiving-room. It was empty except for a coffin on a trolley in the centre.
He put a cigarette in his mouth and bent down to read the brass nameplate on the coffin.
“When’s this for?”
Dormer moved to his side, a lighter ready in his hand. “Three-thirty, Mr.. Meehan.”
He spoke with an Australian accent and had a slightly twisted mouth, the scar still plain where a hair lip had been cured by plastic surgery. It gave him a curiously repellent appearance, modified to a certain extent by the hand-tailored, dark uniform suit he wore.
“Is it a cremation?”
Donner shook his head. “A burial, Mr.. Meehan.”
Meehan nodded. “All right, you and Bonati better handle it. I’ve an idea I’m going to be busy,”
He turned, one arm on the coffin. Billy leaned against the wall, fondling the whippet Varley waited in the centre of the room, cap in hand, the expression on his face that of a con-demned man waiting for the trap to open beneath his feet at any moment and plunge him into- eternity.
“All right, Charlie!” Meehan said. “Tell me the worst”
Varley told him, the words falling over themselves in his eagerness to get them out. When he had finished, there was a lengthy silence. Meehan had shown no emotion at all