A stark glint of mean sun reflected off the overcast sky. Surreal. The situation did not exist. Someone misdiagnosed Jeff's death. My little boys were at home with my mother. I didn't know the protocol for burying a husband. Well, in the case of Jeff's family, it was indeterminable who would remain composed and who'd make a scene. Jeff's biological mother was known for histrionics and stupid choices. I wasn't about to traumatize my sons any further. I sang the Chariots of Fire song without accompaniment. It was Jeff's favorite. I held my composure. The whole time I was speaking over the casket at the plot, I kept wondering if I was at the head or foot of the casket. I kept thinking it would be embarrassing to be talking at his feet.
I knew that the details the Chief of Police and his wing man Dean Axtell were terribly conflicting. I decided to go to the police department and get Jeff's belongings and see the cell where Jeff died. Bill and Thomas came with me as witnesses.
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