This was the third funeral in as many weeks, and the brightness of the day could do little to lighten the leaden weight that seemed to have settled in my guts.The funeral was even better attended than Leon’s. Janet had known a lot of people and I recognized faces from the various papers and television channels amongst the mourners. I also noticed a number of PSNI officers, including Jim Hendry, who winked when we caught one another’s eye.The only conspicuous absence was Karl Moore, and I noticed that the front pew of the church had been left vacant. It was also clear from the priest’s homily that he was struggling to avoid mention of the manner of Janet’s death, or its presumed perpetrator. Indeed, he referred throughout to ‘this senseless, tragic incident’. It struck me, though, that all of the incidents in which I’d been involved were senseless and carried with them their own unique tragic overtones.I hung back at the cemetery after the burial and, as the mourners dispersed, a woman approached me.
