After the funeral, I went back to my car. The wake was not a place I wanted to be, nor would I have been welcome at it.
As I was opening the door, I was accosted by a tall, thin man. Middle aged. Dressed in a dark suit and tie, suitable for the occasion. Smart but not sharp. He had been at the crematorium, but I didn't recognize him as one of Archie's regular associates.
"Do you know if he died well?"
The question seemed inappropriate. Perhaps my expression showed that, because he hastened to apologise.
"I have what you might call a professional concern," he explained. "Archie Black was a client of mine."
He handed me a business card.
'Martin G. Overton. The Art Of Dying Well. Consultant on Preparing to Move On'
I gave him a speculative look. "Are you a Minister?"
He shook his head. "Not at all. Of course, I realise that preparing for death has traditionally been the province of the Church, but in this day and age many people have little contact with formal religion. When they come to face their own mortality, they may not be inclined to break the habit of a lifetime."
I nodded. "Archie would certainly fall into that category. But then, I can't imagine him caring much about how he died anyway."
Overton hesitated. "Forgive me for prying, but did you know him well?"
I scratched my chin, wondering how best to answer. Instinct made me want to know more, so I was guarded in my reply. "I wouldn't say I was a friend of his. But we've had a professional relationship for nearly twenty years."
He smiled gently. He had the sort of face that radiated gentleness and understanding. I could imagine people easily coming to trust him. I suspected a con.
"You came to his funeral. That says a lot. Not many did, after all."
And a lot of those just wanted to make sure the bastard really was gone, I thought. But I kept it to myself, and simply nodded instead.
"Well then, perhaps you know that he had health problems?"
"Health problems?" I struggled not to laugh. Archie had not lived a healthy lifestyle, and had reaped the rewards. "It was only a question of which 'health problem' killed him first!"
"Yes. Exactly. That was why Archie contacted me. He had found, as many do, that facing this alone was harder than he realised. He wanted to talk things through, to find the best way of coming to the end of his life with dignity and control."
"Archie always liked to be in control," I agreed. "But I hope that didn't extend to assisting him in any way?"
"Of course not! That would be illegal! I do get asked about that sometimes, but I make it entirely clear that I am there to help them face death, not to achieve it!"
I nodded, accepting his statement, though with reservations. "So what exactly do you do?"
"I listen, mostly. Offer advice sometimes. Practical things, putting affairs in order. Helping people look back on their lives, assess them."
"Indeed? Assessing Archie’s' life must have been interesting!"
Overton looked uncomfortable. "It's not for me to make judgements. I know that Archie had a... chequered history, if you’ll excuse the cliché. But that was not my concern. I was helping him to deal with the end of his life, that's all."
I gave him a stony look. "Archie Black was a lifelong criminal. An extortioner, a blackmailer, a con man, a crook. He ruined lives for his own profit. Do you think he deserved a good death?"
"I know he was accused of all those things. He told me that he'd never been convicted, though."
"That's true. But did he also tell you that he was arrested five times?"
"Six times, he told me. Five times by the same officer. He claimed it was a record!"
I turned away, not wanting Overton to see my expression. He was correct. It had been six times. I'd forgotten about the first one.
Overton was still talking. "And although he went to court twice, he was never convicted. So I suppose that he deserved a good death as much as anyone."
"What did you talk about?"
After a slight hesitation, Overton answered. "Money, mostly. He was troubled about what would happen to his fortune after he'd gone. Having no family to leave it to, you see."
I nodded. We'd never found his wife's body. That was the second time I'd arrested him. Suspicion of murder. But without the body, there wasn’t enough evidence to make it stick.
"Plenty of good causes to leave his money to," I said.
"Indeed. But Mr Black had a poor opinion of most of them. It took a while to find a suitable recipient.”
“I’m not surprised. I take it you found one, though?”
“Yes.” He regarded me thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose it matters if I tell you. It’ll be public knowledge soon anyway. He wanted it that way. The bulk of his estate is going to a Hospice.”
I felt a coldness touch me. A threat from a direction I thought secure.
“Oh? Do you know which one?” I asked as casually as possible.
“Laurel House Hospice.”
My guts twisted, but I managed to keep it out of my face and voice. “Oh, yes. I know it.”
Overton was watching me closely. I wondered if I’d let something show after all. “I understand that Laurel House was founded by an ex-Police Officer. And that it has often been a preferred choice for officers or their families?”
“Yes. So I’ve heard.”
“In view of Archie’s history, that seemed to me to be very appropriate. And quite moving. I believe it showed he wanted to find some reconciliation with his past. A way of balancing the books, perhaps?”
I didn’t trust myself to speak. Just shrugged.
“Well, perhaps that was his hope, anyway. But that leaves me with my question?”
I just looked at him, but he persisted. “Do you know – did he die well?”
“My understanding is that he was found in his bed. Apparently he’d died in his sleep. I would suppose that that is as good a death as anyone could hope for.”
Overton smiled. “Yes. I expect so. Well, then, I can at least hope that I did my job adequately. Thank you for your help.” He shook my hand and went his way.
I got into my car, and sat back, closing my eyes and letting the internal storm subside.
After a while, I got a bottle of water out of the glove box and some pills out of my pocket. The background pain was almost constant now, but the emotional surge had sent it spiking, a dagger through my guts. The box warned me that two was the maximum dose: I swallowed three of the little white capsules. It hardly mattered now.
I wouldn’t be able to drive for a while, so I made myself comfortable. And thought things over.
I’d lied to Overton. Archie Black had not had a peaceful death.
He probably would have had, if he hadn’t sent me that letter. But Archie couldn’t help himself. He’d had to have one last gloat.
“Dear Mark” he’d started it – as if we’d ever been on first name terms. ‘Congratulations on your retirement from the Force. After what- twenty years? Or more than that?’
It had been twenty seven. As he well knew.
“A pity that you’re leaving now, not long after finally achieving the rank of Detective Chief Inspector. And how sad that you never made it to a more senior rank, after all that faithful service! But then, to be fair, you did have your failures, didn’t you? Never did have the success you worked so hard for!”
He meant himself. He meant my failure to put him away.
“Well, sometimes you just have to accept your limitations, don’t you? As I have accepted mine. Of course, mine are more physical. This body is quite worn out – probably from all the years of low living! I won’t be around to bother you much longer. But I wanted you to know that I leave with no regrets. Why should I have any? After all, I won. Every time. And I shall be finishing my journey – oh, forget the euphemisms, I shall be dying – in considerable comfort, surrounded by my accumulated possessions. Which I like to think of as trophies of my success, but perhaps you could consider them indications of your failure?
I understand, Mark, that your own health isn’t that good. So perhaps you’ll be following me soon. Well, I do hope you have as comfortable a departure as possible. Do let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with that!
No hard feelings, eh? Not from me, anyway! It’s been fun!
Thanks for all the laughs you’ve given me,
Archie Black.”
I didn’t know how he’d found out about my diagnoses. Archie always did have good information. He must have been keeping a closer eye on me than I’d realised, even while I was watching him as well as Police resources would allow. Which was never well enough.
But he’d gone too far with that letter. It was just too much for me. And after all, what did I have to lose?
He’d thought himself safe, with his big house and all the electronic security he’d had installed. But I had learned a few things in those twenty seven years. I’d learned a lot about Archie in particular. Such as his alarm codes.
All alone in that big house - because he never trusted anyone - he was more vulnerable than he knew.
He was sleeping when I found him. He woke up when I put the tape over his mouth, but it was too late by then. I was still stronger, well able to hold him down and put the padded restraints on him. Which would leave no mark.
And then I told him what I was going to do, and gave him the injection.
It wasn’t an easy death at all. Wasn’t meant to be. But I think the worst for him was that I kept the tape on his mouth. He couldn’t say anything, so I got the last word after all. And I could see how furious that made him.
Afterwards, I tidied up and left. Of course his death was no surprise, and I’d left nothing to indicate it had been anything but the natural result of his condition.
But I hadn’t know about his will. All his tarnished money left to the Hospice that I’d already booked into.
Perhaps that was what he’d been trying to tell me. That I was going to end up indebted to him, using facilities he’d paid for, tended by staff he had provided. That he’d had the last word after all.
Well, there were other hospices. Other places to go.
“To hell with you, Archie Black,” I whispered. “I’ll die in a ditch before I take anything from you.”
The pain was subsiding a little. My head was muzzy, but I’d driven on worse. I started the engine, put on my seatbelt and opened the window for fresh air.
Overton’s card was in my pocket. I took it out and looked at it.
The Art of Dying Well.
I’d find my own way.
I threw it out of the window, put the car in gear and drove off.
As I was opening the door, I was accosted by a tall, thin man. Middle aged. Dressed in a dark suit and tie, suitable for the occasion. Smart but not sharp. He had been at the crematorium, but I didn't recognize him as one of Archie's regular associates.
"Do you know if he died well?"
The question seemed inappropriate. Perhaps my expression showed that, because he hastened to apologise.
"I have what you might call a professional concern," he explained. "Archie Black was a client of mine."
He handed me a business card.
'Martin G. Overton. The Art Of Dying Well. Consultant on Preparing to Move On'
I gave him a speculative look. "Are you a Minister?"
He shook his head. "Not at all. Of course, I realise that preparing for death has traditionally been the province of the Church, but in this day and age many people have little contact with formal religion. When they come to face their own mortality, they may not be inclined to break the habit of a lifetime."
I nodded. "Archie would certainly fall into that category. But then, I can't imagine him caring much about how he died anyway."
Overton hesitated. "Forgive me for prying, but did you know him well?"
I scratched my chin, wondering how best to answer. Instinct made me want to know more, so I was guarded in my reply. "I wouldn't say I was a friend of his. But we've had a professional relationship for nearly twenty years."
He smiled gently. He had the sort of face that radiated gentleness and understanding. I could imagine people easily coming to trust him. I suspected a con.
"You came to his funeral. That says a lot. Not many did, after all."
And a lot of those just wanted to make sure the bastard really was gone, I thought. But I kept it to myself, and simply nodded instead.
"Well then, perhaps you know that he had health problems?"
"Health problems?" I struggled not to laugh. Archie had not lived a healthy lifestyle, and had reaped the rewards. "It was only a question of which 'health problem' killed him first!"
"Yes. Exactly. That was why Archie contacted me. He had found, as many do, that facing this alone was harder than he realised. He wanted to talk things through, to find the best way of coming to the end of his life with dignity and control."
"Archie always liked to be in control," I agreed. "But I hope that didn't extend to assisting him in any way?"
"Of course not! That would be illegal! I do get asked about that sometimes, but I make it entirely clear that I am there to help them face death, not to achieve it!"
I nodded, accepting his statement, though with reservations. "So what exactly do you do?"
"I listen, mostly. Offer advice sometimes. Practical things, putting affairs in order. Helping people look back on their lives, assess them."
"Indeed? Assessing Archie’s' life must have been interesting!"
Overton looked uncomfortable. "It's not for me to make judgements. I know that Archie had a... chequered history, if you’ll excuse the cliché. But that was not my concern. I was helping him to deal with the end of his life, that's all."
I gave him a stony look. "Archie Black was a lifelong criminal. An extortioner, a blackmailer, a con man, a crook. He ruined lives for his own profit. Do you think he deserved a good death?"
"I know he was accused of all those things. He told me that he'd never been convicted, though."
"That's true. But did he also tell you that he was arrested five times?"
"Six times, he told me. Five times by the same officer. He claimed it was a record!"
I turned away, not wanting Overton to see my expression. He was correct. It had been six times. I'd forgotten about the first one.
Overton was still talking. "And although he went to court twice, he was never convicted. So I suppose that he deserved a good death as much as anyone."
"What did you talk about?"
After a slight hesitation, Overton answered. "Money, mostly. He was troubled about what would happen to his fortune after he'd gone. Having no family to leave it to, you see."
I nodded. We'd never found his wife's body. That was the second time I'd arrested him. Suspicion of murder. But without the body, there wasn’t enough evidence to make it stick.
"Plenty of good causes to leave his money to," I said.
"Indeed. But Mr Black had a poor opinion of most of them. It took a while to find a suitable recipient.”
“I’m not surprised. I take it you found one, though?”
“Yes.” He regarded me thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose it matters if I tell you. It’ll be public knowledge soon anyway. He wanted it that way. The bulk of his estate is going to a Hospice.”
I felt a coldness touch me. A threat from a direction I thought secure.
“Oh? Do you know which one?” I asked as casually as possible.
“Laurel House Hospice.”
My guts twisted, but I managed to keep it out of my face and voice. “Oh, yes. I know it.”
Overton was watching me closely. I wondered if I’d let something show after all. “I understand that Laurel House was founded by an ex-Police Officer. And that it has often been a preferred choice for officers or their families?”
“Yes. So I’ve heard.”
“In view of Archie’s history, that seemed to me to be very appropriate. And quite moving. I believe it showed he wanted to find some reconciliation with his past. A way of balancing the books, perhaps?”
I didn’t trust myself to speak. Just shrugged.
“Well, perhaps that was his hope, anyway. But that leaves me with my question?”
I just looked at him, but he persisted. “Do you know – did he die well?”
“My understanding is that he was found in his bed. Apparently he’d died in his sleep. I would suppose that that is as good a death as anyone could hope for.”
Overton smiled. “Yes. I expect so. Well, then, I can at least hope that I did my job adequately. Thank you for your help.” He shook my hand and went his way.
I got into my car, and sat back, closing my eyes and letting the internal storm subside.
After a while, I got a bottle of water out of the glove box and some pills out of my pocket. The background pain was almost constant now, but the emotional surge had sent it spiking, a dagger through my guts. The box warned me that two was the maximum dose: I swallowed three of the little white capsules. It hardly mattered now.
I wouldn’t be able to drive for a while, so I made myself comfortable. And thought things over.
I’d lied to Overton. Archie Black had not had a peaceful death.
He probably would have had, if he hadn’t sent me that letter. But Archie couldn’t help himself. He’d had to have one last gloat.
“Dear Mark” he’d started it – as if we’d ever been on first name terms. ‘Congratulations on your retirement from the Force. After what- twenty years? Or more than that?’
It had been twenty seven. As he well knew.
“A pity that you’re leaving now, not long after finally achieving the rank of Detective Chief Inspector. And how sad that you never made it to a more senior rank, after all that faithful service! But then, to be fair, you did have your failures, didn’t you? Never did have the success you worked so hard for!”
He meant himself. He meant my failure to put him away.
“Well, sometimes you just have to accept your limitations, don’t you? As I have accepted mine. Of course, mine are more physical. This body is quite worn out – probably from all the years of low living! I won’t be around to bother you much longer. But I wanted you to know that I leave with no regrets. Why should I have any? After all, I won. Every time. And I shall be finishing my journey – oh, forget the euphemisms, I shall be dying – in considerable comfort, surrounded by my accumulated possessions. Which I like to think of as trophies of my success, but perhaps you could consider them indications of your failure?
I understand, Mark, that your own health isn’t that good. So perhaps you’ll be following me soon. Well, I do hope you have as comfortable a departure as possible. Do let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with that!
No hard feelings, eh? Not from me, anyway! It’s been fun!
Thanks for all the laughs you’ve given me,
Archie Black.”
I didn’t know how he’d found out about my diagnoses. Archie always did have good information. He must have been keeping a closer eye on me than I’d realised, even while I was watching him as well as Police resources would allow. Which was never well enough.
But he’d gone too far with that letter. It was just too much for me. And after all, what did I have to lose?
He’d thought himself safe, with his big house and all the electronic security he’d had installed. But I had learned a few things in those twenty seven years. I’d learned a lot about Archie in particular. Such as his alarm codes.
All alone in that big house - because he never trusted anyone - he was more vulnerable than he knew.
He was sleeping when I found him. He woke up when I put the tape over his mouth, but it was too late by then. I was still stronger, well able to hold him down and put the padded restraints on him. Which would leave no mark.
And then I told him what I was going to do, and gave him the injection.
It wasn’t an easy death at all. Wasn’t meant to be. But I think the worst for him was that I kept the tape on his mouth. He couldn’t say anything, so I got the last word after all. And I could see how furious that made him.
Afterwards, I tidied up and left. Of course his death was no surprise, and I’d left nothing to indicate it had been anything but the natural result of his condition.
But I hadn’t know about his will. All his tarnished money left to the Hospice that I’d already booked into.
Perhaps that was what he’d been trying to tell me. That I was going to end up indebted to him, using facilities he’d paid for, tended by staff he had provided. That he’d had the last word after all.
Well, there were other hospices. Other places to go.
“To hell with you, Archie Black,” I whispered. “I’ll die in a ditch before I take anything from you.”
The pain was subsiding a little. My head was muzzy, but I’d driven on worse. I started the engine, put on my seatbelt and opened the window for fresh air.
Overton’s card was in my pocket. I took it out and looked at it.
The Art of Dying Well.
I’d find my own way.
I threw it out of the window, put the car in gear and drove off.