I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t what I saw.
My father looked more peaceful than I could ever remember. So much so, that I surprised myself by finding tears in my eyes. I was crying for the bastard. He was lying on his back, the sheet revealed he was not wearing anything on his upper torso, but I assumed he was naked. His eyes were closed and he looked to be asleep. I knew that he wasn’t asleep; not this time. It was his pale colouring and relaxed muscle tone that gave it away. Even his hair looked neat and tidy; that hair that he had spent so much time on, keeping it the right colour and always so neat. The last time I saw him he had been trying to grow it back after having shaved it all off. I was glad he managed it.
I nodded, and said, “That’s my father, Jonathon Edward Lake.” Even to my ears, my voice sounded flat and emotionless.
“May I touch him?” I asked.
“Of course, if you want.”
I reached out and stroked his cheek. It was as cold as ice. He was definitely dead, this time. I bent and kissed his forehead.
“Bye, Dad, you old sod!” I whispered to him and stepped back.
The woman replaced the sheet, sliding the drawer back and closing the door.
“Are you sure that’s your father?” The detective asked.
“Oh yes, that’s Dad. He looks pretty good, considering,” I said, with a little smile.
“I need to get some paperwork completed first, and then I’ll get you a cup of coffee or something. There are some personal effects, you can have them now,” he said.
I signed a form stating that I positively identified the body as my father, and another form that, as his only next-of-kin, I was taking custody of all the personal effects that were on him when he was brought in.
The clerk handed me a large clear plastic bag with a red plastic seal around it.
I signed another form for the hospital that I released the body to the Coroner for post mortem examination by autopsy. This was a mere formality, as there would be a PM regardless of my wishes. They explained that once the autopsy had established cause of death, the body would be released to me for burial, or cremation.
“I actually buried him the first time nearly two years ago. Can I have the ashes sent to me, and I will dispose of them appropriately,” I asked. “Is it possible that the publicity on this can be kept to a minimum? Only the last case was highly publicised as part of an FBI operation, after which he went into the witness protection programme.”
“That has already been arranged. The FBI is dealing with that side of things, but we still have a homicide to investigate.”
“But he is already dead, legally.”
“Not as Charles Armitage, and that is who he is, legally.”
Oh, the joys of being an only child of an unsuccessful criminal.
The lieutenant took me out of the Morgue and to his car. He drove a short distance from the hospital, pulling up outside a bar/diner.
“Look, Miss Lake, Jim Randall from Scotland Yard called me, so I know some of what has happened to you, but not everything. If it will help, I’d like to hear your side, after all, it is a very unusual story, plus, it’s not every day I get to take a top fashion model out for a drink.”
I stared out of the car window, the wipers were still going, and the rain was making the lights refract into weird patterns. New York seemed a lot seedier like this.
I looked down at my hands, which were clasped together in my lap, the long manicured nails glistening darkly as the light reflected off the red varnish. The single engagement ring gleamed on my left ring finger, and I twiddled it absently, smiling as I thought of him, my rock, who was several thousand miles away when I really needed him.
I realised that with my father’s death, my long ordeal was over and, with a little luck, I could now pick up my life and start afresh. But I’d been here before, and here I was again. The enormity of everything I had experienced, and the relief that it was all over hit me like a double whammy, so I almost broke down into tears.
I sat there as the tears threatened to well up, finally I could not contain them and they streamed down my face, but then the sobs started. Great heaving sobs, but as always when I cried, almost totally soundless.
The policeman was clearly at a bit of a loss, and he looked so uncomfortable that it made me start to laugh. It was enough to make me stop.
He handed me a tissue, so I blew my nose and wiped my eyes. I took out my make up, so cleaned up and repaired my mascara.
“I’m okay now. I’m sorry, but I suppose it has just dawned on me that it is finally, actually over,” I said, and he smiled.
“Come on, Miss Lake, I’ll buy you a coffee, or something stronger.”
“A glass of wine would be much more appealing, but can you call me Sandi, as Miss Lake sounds awfully official?”
“Sure, Sandi, if that makes you feel happier.”
I smiled a little, so we got out of the car.
I followed him into the bar, and we sat in a secluded booth. A waitress came over so he ordered a glass of wine for me and a beer for himself.
He sat opposite me, as I sipped my wine.
“Where would you like me to start?” I asked.
“How about the beginning, it is usually the best place?” he said, with a smile.
I smiled, took a deep breath, casting my mind back two years.
1.
“Alex.”
“What?”
“I’m going out, are you okay to get your own supper?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be back late tomorrow, so don’t wait up.”
“Okay Dad, I won’t.” I said, hardly breaking concentration from the computer in which I was engrossed. I heard the front door slam and the sound of Dad’s Jaguar drive across the gravel and onto the road. I was out onto the landing, watching the car disappear over the brow of the hill.
Dad was a businessman, but I was aware enough to know that his business was not all above board. I knew enough to realise that most of Dad’s deals were the wrong side of right. So to speak.
We had a nice house, super holidays in lovely parts of the world, and I had every material thing I needed or even wanted. To be honest, half the junk he bought me had yet to be taken out of the boxes in which they came. With all that, the one thing I never seemed to get was the love and attention from caring parents. My mother had left my father, and me, several years ago for another man. The pair of them had died in a sailing ‘accident’ a few months later.
I felt so betrayed by my mother that I didn’t think about her death at all. However, it was only recently that it occurred to me that it might not have been an accident after all, as I can’t recall my Dad being exactly that cut up or surprised about it all.
However, that was in the past, for now my father was doing deals all over Europe, it seems, so I was left at home to my own devices, as usual. I am not saying that my Dad didn’t care, he did. He cared a lot in his own way, so would argue that everything he did was for me, but we both knew that was complete bollocks.
He could have retired on the money he had already made and invested. The truth was simple; he loved the wheeling dealing and turning a quick quid. He was a crook, pure and simple, and he got his thrills from making as much money as he could. He did everything for himself, and I was simply an appendage.
I went back to the computer, and said goodbye to the guy I was chatting with, making some excuse or other.
“Bye, Candi, keep moist for me, Hun.” he wrote.
“I will, Babe. Bye.” I wrote, and severed the connection.
I paused, as I really enjoyed living a dream in the chat rooms. I was Candi, an eighteen-year old girl from London. I really enjoyed pretending to loads of guys, particularly in the States, as I felt safe with the Atlantic separating us.