Kath’s parents had requested a small personal funeral which was attended by some of the officers she had worked with at the station. They all wore their best uniforms and white gloves, with the detectives in smart suits, white shirts and black ties. It had been a quiet, simple, but moving service and many present had openly cried as Kath had been such a well-liked officer. Jane had forced herself to remain in control of her emotions, but when the organist played ‘Nights In White Satin’ as the service ended, she nearly broke down. She remembered laughing with Kath as she joined in singing the song with Gibbs outside the men’s shower room. She also recalled how Kath had joked with Spencer about playing the same song at her funeral. Seeing Gibbs standing straight-backed, his face etched with pain, Jane knew he was remembering her too. Kath would be hard to forget. Jane had learned so much from her and knew she would always remember her warmth and compassion.
After the service, DS Gibbs introduced Jane to a tall, attractive woman who had been very distressed throughout the funeral service, openly weeping. Gibbs confused Jane as he had referred to the woman as Kath’s partner.
‘She spoke very warmly of you, Jane. It’s nice to meet you.’
‘She was a good friend, I will miss her.’
‘Yes, she was a very special woman.’
Kath had never mentioned her partner and it was some time before Jane realized what their relationship had been. It dawned on her just how little she had really known about Kath’s private life. She now realized Kath’s jovial remarks about good-looking men had been a necessary front to hide her sexuality, from an all too often sexist and homophobic police force.
Gibbs picked up Jane’s puzzled expression although she had covered it quickly.
‘So now you know. I loved that woman, and if she wanted her private life kept that way, that was her business, but there’s one thing I want sorted. The lipstick on the dummy’s gob, when I had to do the first-aid crap, it was bloody Kath, wasn’t it?’
Jane felt the tears welling up and she nodded.
‘I knew it… Christ, I am going to miss her.’
‘Me too, she was getting you back for the Vicks-up-the-nose joke at the post-mortem.’
He turned away, because like Jane, he was near to tears.
Bradfield’s funeral was organized by his widow and Spencer Gibbs. She had chosen the hymns and readings and he had spent hours preparing the eulogy he had been asked, and was honoured, to give. Sergeant Harris and other uniform officers of all ranks lined the streets and as the funeral cortège passed they stood to attention and saluted in their pristine white gloves. Many mourners came from the stations that Bradfield had worked at during his career as well as members of the public, some who didn’t even know him, yet who wanted to pay their respects. Every aisle and pew inside the church was full and officers stood shoulder to shoulder at the back of the church. Bradfield’s coffin was draped in the Metropolitan Police flag and his colleagues, led by DS Gibbs and DS Paul Lawrence, carried the coffin to the altar.
Jane could feel the pit of her stomach twisting as she saw, following behind the coffin, a pretty blonde-haired woman in her late thirties. She was holding the hands of a little boy and girl who walked beside her. Bradfield’s widow wore a well-cut black coat and a wide-brimmed black straw hat that hid her face. The little boy had his father’s red curly hair and the girl had long blonde plaits. They were both dressed in smart clothes and coats, white socks and black patent-leather shoes.
