A Coffin for Charley (11 page)

He eased himself away from Dr Foss who showed signs of giving a lecture on serial killers and their ways, and got into his car. To his surprise he found Bob there, asleep in the back of the car as he drove off.

‘Forgotten you, old chap.' He hesitated. He was late already for a meeting and Bob was a problem. ‘Right, you can go into the club.' He put a leash on Bob's collar, and led him across a courtyard to a white-painted building.

One of the Chief Commander's innovations had been a club, open to all ranks. A small building on the edge of the complex of offices and communication centres which made up his headquarters, growing all the time, had been turned into this club. Although on the small side, it was well set out with good carpets and comfortable chairs, nothing cheap or sordid. You could drink there, beer, whisky, fruit juice, anything (and at a lower price than in a pub) and get a light meal.

Although Coffin had no illusions that it would wean his Force from their favoured pubs, it was a place to which they could bring their wives and where he could drop in.

He did not do this often, he knew he had to keep certain rules, but he did so now and again. Coffin couldn't have mates and must never get drunk but he could meet people there and talk like a human being.

The club manager was a retired CID officer with a nose for good wines and the food came from Max's Delicatessen
which now had a catering subsidiary. Despite competition from bigger concerns, Max was proving that a well-run family business could flourish.

Bob was deposited here with the manager, together with the promise he would ‘be collected'.

Police work can be like a thick soup, you get stuck. Coffin had a deputy but he did not delegate as much as perhaps he should have done. As the day went on Coffin got stuck in several committees, dictating one report, and talking to the high-ranking civil servant from the Home Office. At the back of his mind all the time there rested the deaths of Didi and Marianna Manners like a dark shadow.

He went home, late as usual, forgetting all about Bob as he so often did. He pushed open his front door, and knew at once by the smell of Guerlain that Stella was there. Home. He still found it hard to believe that they were married and this was his home.

He ran up the stairs. She was sitting on the floor in suede jeans and a silk shirt enjoying the crackling of a log fire. It was blazing away merrily, smoking as well, he noticed, in defiance of the clean air zone in which St Luke's Mansions rested.

‘How did you manage to light the fire?'

‘Just laid it,' she said dreamily. ‘One of my landladies taught me ages ago.'

‘That chimney hasn't been cleaned for decades.'

‘I know that, it's why it smokes, but wood smoke is lovely.'

He was so pleased to see her happy and relaxed that he buried all thoughts of newspaper headlines proclaiming POLICE CHIEF BREAKS SMOKE REGULATIONS and also of the voice of the architect who had helped create his apartment pointing out that the fireplace was decorative and that the chimney, what there was of it, had once led down to the furnace in the crypt of the old church.

Then he saw Bob, sprawled at her feet, and remembered. ‘How did he get here?'

‘Walked.'

On his own?'

Stella put on a large pair of spectacles and picked up the month's copy of
Vogue.
‘Well, I didn't carry him.'

‘Ah, so they telephoned you to say I'd left him?'

‘The great detective. Yes, that was it.'

She stood up, threw her arms round his neck and kissed him. ‘You work too hard.' She took one look at his face. ‘What sort of a day? No, don't tell me, I can guess.'

He told her anyway, it was what wives were for, hearing the moans and grumbles, as he had discovered to his comfort when he married Stella. Of course, she had the right to grumble back and if he got too boring, then she did. The way it worked was they took turns: tonight it was his turn.

He didn't tell her about the day's routine of letters, reports and meetings, but went on in some detail about what had really galled him: the behaviour of the mandarin from the Home Office.

‘He taped the whole conversation, the bastard.'

‘I suppose I'd better not ask what the conversation was about?'

‘Oh, the fashionable butt of the moment: police handling of evidence, suppression of evidence and lying and backing each other up.'

‘And that doesn't go on, of course?' She made the inquiry gentle as if she knew the answer must be no in the case of the Second City Force. Loyalty demanded it of a wife. In one of her more politically active periods, Stella had marched, waved banners and shouted at meetings against all forms of prejudice and corruption: Men against women, women against men (she was open-minded), ageism, racism and tokenism. She had enjoyed herself but now she was quiescent, with just the odd ripple of scepticism appearing on the surface.

‘Not in my lot.' Or not while he kept his sharp eye on them. He had gradually managed to weed out those of the old flock whom he had reason to distrust. But there were always a few that were doubtful, you couldn't count on everyone even in the best of Forces. People cut corners, got lazy or were just tired. The naturally corrupt were easily
sussed out and got rid of, much harder to pick out the good man who had had a bad day.

Stella's political activity had been due to the influence of her most ferocious and marvellously talented actress friend, brilliant child of a theatrical dynasty, but out to reform the world. She was in Moscow now, acting in a new International Theatre and probably creating havoc.

I'm just naturally lazy, thought Stella.

‘But that's not what's really nagging at you?' she said.

‘Oh, there's always this and that,' he said evasively, not willing to talk about Didi yet, relegating her to the back of his mind. Almost he could feel himself pushing her face back into the mud. ‘Shall we eat?'

Was there anything to eat? No smell of cooking.

Triumphantly Stella took him downstairs to the kitchen. ‘Bob and I drove over to the special fish and chip shop in Greenwich when you were so late, and we brought back a helping each.' Four helpings, one for Bob too and for the cat Tiddles, already on the alert. ‘They have special boxes now that keep it hot and crisp … but I thought we'd eat in the kitchen because it does smell so.'

She was setting out the meal and handing out their portions to cat and dog. She stood back to admire her work. ‘I could make some bread and butter and a pot of strong tea, that's the classic accompaniment, but I expect you would prefer wine?'

‘I think I'd rather have beer.'

‘You shall.' She opened the refrigerator. ‘And I shall have wine.' She pushed Tiddles's face away from Bob's dish. ‘Eat your own food, you monster, and leave his alone.' Bob licked her foot. ‘Oh, Bob, you sycophant.'

Coffin accepted his beer and sat down. She was talking too much, nervous probably.

‘Would you like the cat's chips?'

‘No, thank you.'

Nor Bob's, no, she put them in the bin. They didn't eat all their chips. No one ever does. The last clump of them have usually descended into sogginess. Probably that was what the bread and butter had been designed for in the
classic menu: to mop them up. And then the tea took the taste away.

Still, she was talking too much. And he was too silent.

‘And what's the special worry, the one you don't want to talk about?'

‘Is it so obvious?'

‘To me.'

The fish was settling heavily on his stomach. ‘Another body turned up today. A girl. Strangled like Marianna Manners.'

‘Oh, that's bad. Where was she?'

‘The body was found near an arch, near the river in Spinnergate. She was probably killed underneath the arch. It would give shelter, you see.' Now he was talking too much.

‘A local girl, was she?'

He hesitated. ‘Yes. You might know her: Didi Dunne. Diana Dunne.'

‘No, don't think so.'

He had acquired a few facts about Didi before coming home. He felt he owed something to her sister Annie.

‘She auditioned for a part in a play, part of the Drama School's warm-up.'

‘I haven't had all that much to do with that side of it. Letty and I have been so busy setting up the essentials … Poor kid.'

‘Yes, she's a member of a famous family in a way. Her sister saw the Creeleys burying their body and gave evidence. She was just a child at the time, so it made legal history.' As well as filling the newspapers and inflaming what was left of the Creeley family.

Stella was quiet as she made some coffee. She had lately got the art of it quite nicely. It was quite easy if you bought the best and freshest coffee you could and used plenty of it. ‘Did the same person kill them both?'

‘Too early to tell yet.'

‘But you think so? … There's a name for that sort of killer, isn't there?'

‘Yes, serial killing. Jack the Ripper was a serial killer.'
Probably not the first but the first to make the headlines.

‘Do you think one of the Creeleys did it?'

‘There's only one possible suspect from that family now,' said Coffin. ‘And I have to say his name is up there.'

‘I suppose that let's Job Titus out?' Stella said. ‘A pity. I rather fancied him for the killing. But that's because I don't like him.'

Good, thought Coffin, because I have every reason to believe he likes you and I am as jealous as hell.

‘Let's go upstairs.'

Stella looked around the kitchen. ‘I suppose I ought to wash the dishes.'

‘There is a machine. And aren't we too grand and important these days to wash up cups?'

‘You're never too important once you're a married woman,' said Stella. ‘That's something I've discovered. I expect even the Queen has-put the odd cup under the tap.'

Still talking too much, he thought. ‘And what about you?' He looked at her. ‘All clear today? No one hanging about? I'll carry that.' He took the tray of coffee-pot and cups from her and went ahead up the stairs. All was peaceful up there, the fire had settled down to a red heap and the dog and the cat were already asleep by it.

‘I had a wild, wild telephone call from Letty,' said Stella, not really answering. ‘I mean, we've been working on setting up the Drama School and she's been as good as gold but she rang up and said she was in Bruges. Bruges, I ask you!

‘Nice town,' said Coffin. ‘What's she doing there?' He was not seriously worried about Letty, a tough lady who had proved herself well able to look after her own affairs. Also she wove in and out of his life as it suited her.

‘Looking for her daughter. But she wasn't in Bruges, she was lying.'

Another family absentee, he thought. Perhaps she'll meet up with our maternal grandmother. Or Granny's ghost. Granny had been a notable wanderer too.

‘I need Letty here, there's business things to settle.' Stella sounded anxious. ‘We must have good teaching staff or we
won't get accreditation, and if we don't get accreditation, then the students don't get grants and we don't get students. And if we don't get students then good teachers don't come. It's a circle.' She took a deep breath. ‘And that's not the end of it: Max's Deli is putting in a bid to do the food, but should I consider it? We might need a bigger outfit.'

‘This isn't the sort of business you should be bothering with.'

‘Well, who else?'

‘Letty never neglects business.'

‘Well, she didn't sound at all like herself.'

There was a pause. ‘There's something else, isn't there. The hanger-on, your watcher? Been around today?'

‘Didn't see anyone,' said Stella. ‘I've been in and out and all clear.'

‘Good.'

‘I suppose your patrol car may be keeping him away.'

‘So? There is something worrying you.'

‘Not exactly worrying me,' said Stella carefully. ‘But the telephone rang once or twice and no one spoke. Someone there, though, I could hear breathing.'

He stood up and started to walk about the room.

‘Calm down, it may mean nothing. Don't get too upset.'

‘Because it's you. Because it's you.' He was possessive and jealous and anxious and frightened for her, all the emotions boiled together into anger.

‘I'll have the number changed.'

‘Thanks.' But it seemed no solution to Stella. ‘I'd rather meet him head on and have it out.'

Coffin took her hand. ‘He might be a killer. Marianna thought someone was watching her. Annie Briggs, the other girl's sister, thought the same thing. I can't risk it, Stella.'

The telephone rang; he felt Stella flinch. ‘I'm safe here,' she said quickly.

‘Of course you are. I'll answer it.'

It was Archie Young, trying to forget the Chief Inspector and be the friend.

‘Could we have a meeting?'

Something in his voice. ‘Yes.' Keep it social, unofficial.
‘In the club. Tomorrow.' He thought rapidly. What was happening tomorrow? ‘Around midday.'

He was early at their meeting but Archie Young was already there, standing talking to the barman. He had a folder of papers tucked under his arm.

‘You need to break it, a good sharp break, then beat it hard. One won't be enough, two or three at least.'

‘What was all that?' Coffin asked as they sat down.

‘Omelette … I was telling him how to make an omelette, his wife's gone on a cruise with his daughter. She'd left him a freezer full of food but he wasn't sure how to defrost it. I explained that too.' Young laid the folder of papers on the table before him.

‘I didn't know you were so domestic.'

‘Had to be.' His wife too was a career woman, a police officer of higher rank than his own, and cleverer. Archie knew it and did not resent it. There had been a time when some of his more macho colleagues had encouraged him to resent it, but Archie had seen the danger and drawn back. He was lucky to have a wife like Alison.