A Debt of Honour – Episode 13
A Debt Of Honour
« Previous Post- 1. A Debt of Honour – Episode 01
- 1. A Debt of Honour – Episode 13
Want to listen to this instalment of our Daily Serial? Click the play button of our official audio player below:
In a coffee shop she had discovered near High Blantyre Cross, Shauna nursed a mug and tried to think coherently.
If the Caldwells were dead, then it was likely that their funerals had been arranged by their son, Neil.
So which undertaker had he used? Would their funeral director be willing to pass on the address of the person who had booked the funeral?
They should have it in their records – but would they be able to disclose it?
She stared out of the café window: it was raining again.
How could she start the next phase of her search while she was in the area?
She could visit local funeral directors until she discovered which one had arranged the funerals.
Picking up her handbag, she walked over to the waitress who was clearing the tables.
“Excuse me,” she began. “I’ve been living in Australia for almost thirty years.
“I came back this morning to find that some people I wanted to meet again have been buried in the cemetery here.
“Can you tell me where to find a funeral director locally?”
The waitress frowned.
“We used the Co-op, down on Glasgow Road, for my dad’s funeral. Do you know Glasgow Road?”
“I know where it was, about thirty years ago. It should still be there. Thank you very much.”
Shauna went back to collect her car. Everything seemed easier now that she had made a start.
She found the Co-op Funeral Care offices without any trouble and went in.
By now her explanation came readily, and the receptionist told her to take a seat while she got the manager.
A few minutes later she was ushered into the manager’s office to repeat her request.
A long pause followed her explanation.
“Irregular,” the manager finally replied. “Quite impossible, without permission, under data protection laws.
“But I happen to know we didn’t make these funeral arrangements.”
He paused.
“You won’t get very far without authorisation from the person who contacted the funeral parlour.”
Shauna sighed.
“That’s just the problem. I don’t know where he lives now – and I have only a few days before I go back home to Australia.
“Can you tell me the names of other local funeral directors?” she asked.
The manager drummed his fingers on his desk.
“They’ll face the same problem as us. Why don’t you go to the council offices in Forrest Street?
“They hold the detailed list of all local burials, but any access will be difficult because of data protection.”
In the council offices, there was another marathon of telling her story and appealing for help.
After checking their burial records, they came back to her.
“The burial wasn’t arranged in Blantyre at all, but in Hamilton,” the lady told her. “It’s an old family firm.
“We must warn you that even if you visit them they won’t be able to . . .”
“Yes, I know.” Shauna sighed. “Data protection. I’m starting to feel like an old-time grave robber.”
“You don’t look like either Burke or Hare to me,” the woman said with a smile.
Then she drew a rough map of how to reach the undertakers in Hamilton.
“Good luck,” she finished.
Shauna thanked her. The woman’s help had brought light into the day, making her feel less of a threatening stranger.
Better still, the rain had gone and the sun was out. Shauna’s spirits rose to meet it.
Her first impression of the family funeral business was how small it was.
She was ushered into a quiet room by a woman in her sixties, who seemed to have judged that this was unlikely to be new business.
The two women weighed each other up from opposite sides of the desk.
“How can we help?” the woman asked. “I’m Jean Ferguson. I handle the office side of things around here. What do you need?”
Honesty, Shauna thought. She would accept nothing else.
“I need you to bend the data protection regulations,” she began.
A small quirk of humour showed on Jean’s lips.
“A promising start,” she said. “Can I ask what and why?”
“I understand you did the funerals for Neil Caldwell’s parents in 2015 and 2017,” Shauna declared.
An eyebrow rose slightly.
“From memory, yes. I would have to check our records for the dates.”
“I’m not interested in the dates,” Shauna explained. “I’m trying to find the man who probably buried them. Their son, Neil.”
Jean’s eyebrows rose.
“Why?”
She sensed that this was one very sharp cookie who would not only see through any excuse, but would boot her out of the office as well.
Total honesty was her only hope – and a slim one at that.
“Have you ten minutes to spare, Mrs Ferguson?”