I wailed as I watched the large-scale procession on TV. Thousands of people had turned out to follow Radivorski's funeral to a small cemetary on the outskirts of London. His coffin was carried in a black, horse-drawn hearse, and the hangers on who walked behind it cried. I was crying too.
I had given up everything for that man and his party! Everything! Cath had left me, with Ben and Ryan... another tug on the red beating thing in my chest. I got off my chair and switched off the telly, heading to the kitchen to make myself a coffee.
How could that bastard go and die? Before delivering me from this? The walls of my poky flat closed in around me, and it seemed even smaller without the kids and my wife. I snarled. The investigation into his death was just beginning. I'm not a detective or anything- I'm PC Plod on the local beat- but down at the station the bigwigs were going mental. I thought... if I took up the case, and helped them... I could find out who did it!
My kettle whined a high-pitched moan, bringing me firmly back to earth. Of course DCI Maxwell wouldn't let me on her team! This was the highest-profile investigation Starthclyde Police had had since the Ice Cream Murders! I anked the kettle off the boil, and went about dissolving the instant granules.
But then.. there was no harm in asking...
The LMM had worked so hard to get where they'd got. They only started out in the 80s- as an opposition to Thatcher's iron fist- and since then they'd campaigned endlessly for victory. Radivorski's face was everywhere, and everyone knew he'd win this election. I had to ask to get on the tam for the enquiry. For Marcus, for the LMM.
And for me.