The Funeral

1

Although at the time of death Force was no longer an employee of the Central Police Department, it was decided to hold a farewell ceremony at that location. On Friday, the doors of the former office of the tactical investigator were hung with black cloth with a gold ribbon, and on the desktop was placed his first black-and-white police portrait in a wooden frame around which nails had begun to appear.

On the same day, Force's parents arrived.

Cord knew that they disliked him, at least the mother, but he did not think that exchanging condolences on duty would throw him into a cold sweat. The woman, without saying a word, stared at him, as if she knew what he had done.

Over the weekend, Cord and Mort worked on Fiddler's stabbing skills. The first knife almost fell out of his hands, but the philosopher nevertheless learned to handle it tolerably well. Cord, however, was more concerned not with the grip of the knife but with the accuracy with which the blow would be delivered. In reality, it would not be an accident that the 'killer' hit near the left lung. However, it would have to look like he, in fact, missed his target. His real aim must appear to be the heart, two-thirds of which is on the left side of the chest. Besides, Fiddler would have to avoid hitting the pulmonary artery if possible. Of course, they carefully studied the layout of human internal organs, but Cord knew: if something went wrong, he would be finished.

Of course, they all wisely decided not to report any of this to Dia. The term of her pregnancy was ending, which meant that there was almost no time left until the birth, and there was absolutely no need to excite her with details like "your crazy husband has a good chance of kicking the bucket."

2

Cord hated funerals. Not even so much because of the mournful longing for the deceased, but because of all the little things you had to do. At the farewell ceremony for Cord's mother, numerous unfamiliar people arrived, and everyone tried to give him their condolences. As a result, Cord cracked under pressure and started yelling at the "condolers". Things almost came to a fight, but no one dared hit the future police officer. It was a shame: Cord would have gladly let off some steam.

On May 18, all work at the Police Directorate almost came to a standstill. On Monday and Tuesday, functions were still being performed, even if only symbolically, and Cord even managed to start active work on analyzing the materials and even got Crane involved in the investigation. However, this morning Chief came into their office and ordered: "Stop, that's enough."

Force's coffin was put on display in the conference room. People were already flocking there. Some of them first going to the memorial, as the former office of the tactical investigator was now called, and some immediately going to pay respects to the deceased. Force's parents never left the side of the coffin: the mother wiped her tears with a handkerchief, then prayed, bowed to her son, then turned to the next condoler; his stepfather politely pushed people aside. At a certain moment, the hall had become overcrowded. This surprised Cord, who rightfully considered Force to be unsociable, but it turned out that his circle of acquaintances, including those from the professional sphere, was very wide.

At noon, Cord was called into Chief's office. Dressed in a black double-breasted tunic, fastened with three gold buttons, the boss looked highly official. Cord, in his dark gray parade uniform, which had been worn maybe twice, looked more respectable than usual but still less official than Chief. Crane, standing at the table in an ordinary two-piece suit with a white shirt, looked like a groom who had run away from a wedding and not a police officer.

"Here you are, Cord," Chief nodded and turned to Crane. "I spoke to your father, and he asked me to decide who will carry the coffin. Since you two are the people closest to Force, I guess this is not an issue. But the coffin, together with the body, weighs two hundred and fifty kilograms, so we need at least one more person."

"Better three more," said Cord, "Sixty some odd kilograms per person is quite a lot."

"Are you afraid you won't be able to do it?" Crane chided him.

Cord simply shrugged.

"I don't know. I have only ever carried the coffin of my mother, but she was light."

An oppressive silence fell in the office.

"Crane, you—" Chief tried to somehow rectify the situation.

"Sorry," the guy grunted.

"Forget it," said Cord.

Chief cleared his throat.

"Okay. We can ask the funeral home guys or our employees."

"Better to ask those with whom Force had dealings with when he was alive," suggested Cord. "Perhaps one of the forensic team."

***

The farewell ceremony ended, and people slowly began to leave the hall and join the crowd of those who were waiting outside.

Finally, Cord could reach the coffin. He got up the courage to finally look at his friend's face. He was clean-shaven, his skin was almost flesh-colored, and his eyes were closed. There was a hole in his forehead where the bullet had entered. Cord knew that the undertaker had offered to cover the hole with plaster and then paint over it with skin tone paint, but Force's mother wanted to let it serve as a reminder that her son had not died a natural death.

They took the coffin out of the room, loaded it into the vehicle waiting outside, and then drove off. In the hearse, Cord felt uncomfortable: besides him, there was only the Force family. Force's mother continued to glare at him in silence, and Crane was whispering about something to his father.

Few made it to the cemetery. Cord saw the familiar faces of everyone who had been investigating the Villain case, as well as an old lecturer from the Police Academy. Besides them, there were seven other people whom Cord did not know.

When everyone gathered at the freshly dug grave, Chief, standing to the left of the coffin, began his speech:

"Today, we are gathered here to say goodbye to our colleague, friend, son, and brother—Force Majeure. His cruel and untimely death shocked many of us. As you know, the last case he investigated was the case of the Villain, one of the most dangerous criminals of our time. Cord, would you like to tell us more about this?"

The practical investigator stepped forward and stood to the right of the boss.

"I will not go into the details of the investigation, but I will say one thing: without Force, we would not have been able to advance as far as we have. Unfortunately, we did not perform the job flawlessly, and as a result, there have been too many victims. One of them includes the son of our Chief. I know we are not gathered here for him now, but I ask you: let's have a moment of silence in memory of him."

Nobody objected. After about a minute, Cord continued:

"I want to address Force's parents." Cord turned to the family. "I know you dislike me, and of course you have a reason, but you should know that without your son, I would not be standing here right now. I would have died without his support, and I could have ended up in prison…" Cord's voice faltered. "I couldn't imagine, and I still can't believe, that our paths will now forever go their separate ways. Especially like this."

Sobs were heard in the crowd. Force's mother no longer looked at Cord with hatred. Crane turned away to hide his tears. The stepfather bowed his head.

"Like any person, Force made mistakes. But unlike everyone, he tried to correct them, even to his own detriment. He fell in love with a woman but could not be with her precisely because of his adherence to his principles. She did some bad things, and his conscience tormented him. When he confessed this to me, I called him a fool," Cord brushed away tears, sincere ones, "but in fact, Force was not. You should all know that he almost uncovered the identity of the Villain—a dangerous killer whose penultimate victim was Force's love and whose last Force himself. Unfortunately, my friend did not have time to complete his investigation. And I swear, I swear I will finish everything for him, and the criminal will be caught and punished!"

Cord went to the coffin, squeezed the cold hand of his friend, and quietly, but audibly, said:

"On the day of your death, you shared your guess with me. It seemed to you that the answer should be sought in the life and death of Flaminga. That if she was the elusive Villain, she clearly did everything to secure her life and that she could give us a hint as to the identity of the killer, but I don't understand, Force…" Cord shook his head in disappointment. "I am sorry, my friend. Crane and I spent two days trying to figure it out, but we couldn't do it. You know I do not believe in mysticism, but if you hear me, somewhere out there, in heaven, please: give me a sign."

Upon arriving at the cemetery, Cord had sent Mort a pager message: "After the funeral." This meant that fifteen minutes after receiving it, he had to drive past on his motorcycle with an old muffler. However, there was still only silence here, broken only by sobs.

"Thank you for everything, buddy," said Cord, and squeezing his friend's hand goodbye, returned to Chief.

"Those were good words, Cord," he said. "And now—"

His words were interrupted by the loud roar of a motorcycle engine. Crane's father snorted:

"Have these bikers completely cut loose?"

"Hmm. Sorry. Now, I think we should give the floor to—"

And Cord, "thunderstruck", looked from the road to his boss and muttered:

"What's with these bikers?"

Chief stopped again.

"Cord, you—"

"Crane, we studied Flaminga's articles yesterday. One of them was about bikers. What month?"

"Uh-uh…" Crane shrank in embarrassment under the glances of his parents. "September, it seems."

"But what do bikers have to do with this? Why did the journalist write about them? We suspected no bikers."

"Cord, now is not the time—" Chief made another attempt to interrupt Cord.

"Chief, wait a minute. Bikers… Why them? Force and I found a motorcycle trail near the site of your son's death but did not attach any importance to it. And that old man, who saw Force being taken away, heard the noise of a motorcycle. Do you think this is a coincidence?" Cord lifted his head to the sky and smiled. "Man, have you given me a sign, after all?" Then the investigator looked at his boss. "Chief, I think I know where to find the killer of Force and your son."

"Cord, I'm with you," he heard Crane's voice. "Mom, Dad," Crane turned excitedly to his parents, "I just realized what Cord is talking about."

"Son," said the father sternly. "Do you want to leave without saying goodbye to your brother?"

"He would rather I tried to find his killer. Say goodbye to him for me."