Dead Man's Grip

their heads and remained standing.
    ‘I didn’t know this was a goddamn Starbucks,’ Fernanda Revere said. ‘I’ve flown here to see my son, not to drink fucking coffee.’
    ‘Hon,’ her husband said, raising a warning hand.
    ‘Stop saying Hon , will you?’ she retorted. ‘You’re like a fucking parrot.’
    Darren Wallace exchanged a glance with the police officers, then the Coroner’s Officer addressed the Americans, speaking quietly but firmly.
    ‘Thank you for making the journey here. I appreciate it can’t be easy for you.’
    ‘Oh really?’ Fernanda Revere snapped. ‘You do, do you?’
    Philip Keay was diplomatically silent for some moments, sitting erect. Then, ignoring the question, he addressed the Reveres again, switching between them as he spoke.
    ‘I’m afraid your son suffered very bad abrasions in the accident. He has been laid on his best side, which might be the way you would like to remember him. I would recommend that you look through the glass of the viewing window.’
    ‘I haven’t flown all this way to look at my son through a window,’ Fernanda Revere said icily. ‘I want to see him, OK? I want to hold him, hug him. He’s all cold in there. He needs his mom.’
    There was another awkward exchange of glances, then Darren Wallace said, ‘Yes, of course. If you’d like to follow me. But please be prepared.’
    They all walked through a spartan waiting room, with off-white seats around the walls and a hot-drinks dispenser. The three police officers remained in there, as Darren Wallace led the Reveres and Philip Keay through the far door and into the narrow area that served as a non-denominational chapel and viewing room.
    The walls were wood-panelled to shoulder height and painted cream above. There were fake window recesses, in one of which was a display of artificial flowers in a vase, and in place of an altar was an abstract design of gold stars against a black background, set between heavy clouds. Blue boxes of tissues for the convenience of grieving visitors had been placed on shelving on both sides of the room.
    In the centre, and dominating the viewing room, was a table on which lay the shape of a human body beneath a cream, silky cover.
    Fernanda Revere began making deep, gulping sobs. Her husband put an arm around her.
    Darren Wallace delicately pulled back the cover, exposing the young man’s head, which was turned to one side. His bereavement training had taught him how to deal with almost any situation at this sensitive moment, but even so he could never predict how anyone was going to react at the sight of a dead loved one. He’d been present many times before when mothers had screamed, but never in his career had he heard anything quite like the howl this woman suddenly let rip.
    It was as if she had torn open the very bowels of hell itself.

25
    It was over an hour before Fernanda Revere came back out of the viewing room, barely able to walk, supported by her drained-looking husband.
    Darren Wallace guided each of them to a chair at the table in the waiting room. Fernanda sat down, pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her handbag and lit one.
    Politely Darren Wallace said, ‘I’m very sorry, but smoking is not permitted in here. You can go outside.’
    She took a deep drag, stared at him, as if he had not said a word, and blew the smoke out, then took another drag.
    Branson diplomatically passed his empty coffee cup to her. ‘You can use that as an ashtray,’ he said, giving a tacit nod to Wallace and then to his colleagues.
    Her husband spoke quietly but assertively, with a slight Brooklyn accent, as if suddenly taking command of the situation, looking at each of the police officers in turn.
    ‘My wife and I would like to know exactly what happened. How our son died. Know what I’m saying? We’ve only heard second-hand. What are you able to tell us?’
    Branson and Bella Moy turned to Dan Pattenden.
    ‘I’m afraid we don’t have a full picture yet, Mr and Mrs Revere,’ the Road Policing Officer said. ‘Three vehicles were involved in the accident. From witness reports so far, your son appears to have come out of a side road on to a main road, Portland Road, on the wrong side, directly into the path of an Audi car. The female driver appears to have taken avoiding action, colliding with the wall of a café. She subsequently failed a breathalyser test and was arrested on suspicion of drink driving.’
    ‘Fucking terrific,’ Fernanda Revere said,