Chapter 91

Jack and Tamara Lee’s funerals were held together as a single ceremony, at the request of both families.
A lot of family members on both sides didn’t approve of Jack and Tee’s marriage originally, Rawle knew, and there was a lot of ill will all around when Jack dumped what’s-her-face. But the murders seemed to have cauterized everyone together into one huge tragic Valley family.
The ceremony was held at White’s Family Funeral Home, a beautiful white chapel-like building set in the heart of downtown Kentville, overlooking the Provincial Justice Centre where Jack had once covered the Kings County court beat.
Athan stayed with Fiona Hendsbee for the afternoon, so Kelloway and Rawle could attend the funeral in solemn silence.
They dressed up slowly in their good black outfits, not saying much.
It was bitterly cold when they stepped out into the parking lot.
Rawle could already see hundreds of people, all smokers, huddled around the side door of the funeral home, dressed in trenchcoats and black dresses.
Rawle wished he could stand with them now and light up a big smoke.
There must have been 500 people or more.
Jack had an enormous old Valley family, plus all Tee’s family up from Windsor. Plus a lot of friends. Plus the ghastly nature of the murders had drawn out all the riff-raff, out of the woodwork, worse than winning a lottery ticket.
Rawle saw several television SUV’s from Halifax stuck in around the outskirts of the overflowing parking lot, where the Kings Transit bus station was. He hoped nobody tried to interview him. He didn’t want to blubber on TV.
The Gazette had sent crime reporter Elnora Redden from Halifax and a real news photographer.
Rawle, and numerous other reporters, editors, staffers and newspaper managers from the Gazette, and the Dennis family, were attending strictly as civilians.
Kyle Verryn was standing in line at the entrance with his wife and three kids, all dressed in cute baby blue suits from Frenchy’s.
Rawle waved. He liked Verryn’s wife. She was a sweet person, from Newfoundland somewhere.
Alan Lee and Dee Lee were outside, standing in front of the hearse at the front of the service hall.
It was almost as if Jack had been a biker himself, judging by the showing of shiny motorbikes outside, Harley’s mostly and a couple immaculately restored British cycles, popular in the area for some reason, all standing in a long, straight line, hugged together along the front entrance as if in common sorrow. Stretching all the way up to Alan Lee and son standing under a white veranda.
An hour or so before the funeral, people were saying, there had been a huge procession of bikers, all in black suits and leathers, growling around downtown, honking their horns in long, mournful groans.
Rawle didn’t mind.
It seemed to him that Alan and Dee Lee were genuinely in mourning. Their eyes looked red from grief as they stood outside, smoking.
Rawle was glad he was not here as a reporter and didn’t have to pester them for comment, and ask stupid questions like: “Sorry for your loss. How are you and your family coping?”
He watched Elnora bravely approach Alan Lee. He spoke to her for a moment, then turned his back.