Midnight Runner - Jack Higgins [59]
Grant was close to tears and half embraced him. "God help me."
"Maybe he will."
They watched Grant go and moved out through the foyer to the pavement. Ferguson said to Quinn, "Now what?"
"Well, if you could give me the address of a crematorium, that would be good. I'd like to take her ashes home. If you've any influence in that area, General, I'd appreciate it."
"Superintendent?" Ferguson asked.
"Leave it with me, Senator."
"Why don't you join me in my car, Superintendent, and we can get started. I'm not looking for a funeral--I'll arrange that back home--but a Catholic priest would be appreciated."
"Consider it done," Hannah said.
"I'll come with you, too." Dillon turned to Ferguson. "We'll see you later."
"Running things now, are you?" Ferguson asked.
"Don't I always?"
T hey drove to Park Place, Hannah huddled in the corner, making one call after another. She was still at it when they arrived. Mary opened the door and Quinn led the way into the drawing room.
"Coffee, Mary."
"And tea for me," Dillon said.
She went out and Quinn said to Dillon, "He was good, friend Dauncey, very good."
"Yes," Dillon said. "But he'll trip up yet. There's something there. We just have to find it."
Hannah clicked off. "I've arranged for an undertaking firm we use to pick up your daughter. The ceremony will be at North Hill Crematorium at two o'clock. A Father Cohan will meet you there."
"Meet us there," Dillon said. "I'm going with you."
"Then I'll come, too," Hannah said. "If that's all right with you."
"Of course it is," Quinn told her. "I'm very grateful."
"That's what friends are for, Daniel," said Dillon.
F ather Cohan was a London Irishman and the only good thing about North Hill Crematorium. The whole thing was a bad experience, and the taped celestial choir in the background didn't help, but Cohan was as robust and sincere as anyone could want.
"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live."
I wonder, thought Quinn. A total waste of a young life and to what end, to what purpose? No, I can't believe, not any longer. Let those who will do so, but not me. And yet, for some strange reason, he thought of Sister Sarah Palmer and Bo Din all those years ago in Vietnam.
Father Cohan sprinkled the coffin, it moved on the conveyor belt into the darkness beyond, and it was over.
One of the undertakers said, "We'll deliver the ashes this evening, Senator. Park Place, I understand?"
"Number eight." Quinn shook hands. "I'm grateful."
They moved outside and Father Cohan went with them. "You have a car, Father?" Hannah asked.
"Yes, I'll be fine." He grasped Quinn's hand. "Give it time, Senator. There's always a reason. You'll find it one day."
They moved to the Mercedes, where Luke waited. "That's it, then," Dillon said.
Quinn shook his head. "No, there's one more thing I want to do before I leave. I'm going to drive up to Oxford and retrieve Helen's things from her room at St. Hugh's. I'll drop you two off."
"Her room?" Dillon lit a cigarette and thought. "You know, I never looked at her room, or Grant's. You don't mind if I come, too, do you?"
T hey made Oxford in an hour and a half. Quinn gave Luke directions, and they turned in through the gates at St. Hugh's and paused at the lodge. The porter emerged. "Can I help?"
"You may remember me, Daniel Quinn? I'm here to collect my daughter's things."
The porter stopped smiling. "Of course, sir. May I say how sorry I am. She was a lovely girl. I'll phone the principal to let him know you're here."
"That's good of you."
They drove on and Luke dropped them at the entrance. Quinn led the way into the entrance hall. "We'll check in with the principal and then get on with it. His office is this way, just beyond the Junior Common Room. That's where the kids hang out."
By the entrance there were rows of pigeonholes. Each one had a slot with the student's name, in alphabetical order. They paused and Quinn found his daughter's. There were three letters. He examined them and sighed, holding