A Coffin for Charley (16 page)

‘As these things go,' said Coffin savagely.

‘Do you mind?'

‘I'm furious.'

As he was. Hurt and deeply angry.

Stella nodded, and decided to say no more. It was up to him now. ‘Coming up to bed?'

‘Later.'

Stella hesitated, then picked up her jacket and left.

He sat on. It was something he would have to accept in Stella. And after all, it was in the past.

No comfort really. You can be jealous of the past. He went across to the bureau where he kept drinks and poured some whisky. He might have more than one drink, he felt he needed it. Deserved it. And what was this about the smell of Charley? Was Stella imagining it? Or even inventing it because she was disturbed by the sight of Job Titus?

No, Stella did not invent things, a certain bleak honesty was more her style. As now, for instance, in telling him what she had. She needn't have spoken. In a way he wished she hadn't.

He wished, too, that she did not have her name juxtaposed to that of Charley in the diary of a girl who had been murdered.

He thought about Eddie Creeley, named on a tape by that girl about to die. Just his name and the distant sound that might be traffic. It was puzzling.

Had Eddie Creeley killed Marianna Manners for money, and then killed Didi as part of an old family feud? Eddie certainly had his name in there, but there was no real evidence, circumstantial or forensic.

Not yet.

The blood in his room was being analysed and grouped, all its constituents laid out ready to be labelled. It might prove to be Didi's blood but Coffin guessed it was probably Eddie's own.

It was a point to think about: why had Eddie drawn his own blood? There was something about blood that excited the imagination. Perhaps Eddie was drinking it.

Eddie the Vampire?

I'm drunk, Coffin thought and put the whisky bottle away. He had been down that road before and come back. Eddie was no vampire killer. Or was there a serial killer out there who might be stalking Stella?

He picked up a photograph of her that he liked a lot. She had been appearing in a Coward revival of
Private Lives.
The production had been dressed in the full ‘thirties style. Stella wore a long, bias cut satin dress, he knew it was a copy of a Molyneux original of the period. Black and white with a silver bow on the shoulder. Her hands held a long cigarette holder. He could see her slender fingers and painted fingernails. Stella had lovely hands; she did not bite and never had bitten her nails.

The chewed battered nails of both Marianna and Didi. Did the killer need that?

Or was it a signal to him to choose this one? He walked
to the window, enjoying even in his present restless and angry mood the sight of his bit of London spread out before him.

And he never once thought of his sister, Letty, absent now for some days.

In the morning Coffin went into his office early. He took Stella a cup of coffee in bed. At first he thought she was not going to speak. Then she raised herself on one elbow.

‘Friends?'

‘A bit more than that.' He sat down on the bed and studied her face with pleasure. Even first thing in the morning, she was good to look at.

‘I'm too truthful, that's the trouble.'

‘You can hardly be that.' He felt a strong urge to stroke her hair as it fell about her face. ‘I've fed the cat and the dog. Tiddles has gone out but you'll have to walk Bob. I don't want to take him with me, he's fallen in love with the leg of my desk and it gets embarrassing.'

‘He is a pest,' said Stella fondly. ‘I don't know why we keep him.'

‘Look after yourself.'

‘I will, I always do, and I'll take Bob with me.' Bob was a keen guardian of Stella.

‘And if you have any more thoughts about the smell … Let me know, will you?'

‘You thought it was important?'

‘You were upset. That was real, that meant something.'

‘Yes.' Stella thought about it. ‘It did hit me. But now it's faded.'

‘Try and remember what really got to you. Analyse it.'

She nodded. ‘Do something for me: think about Letty. I'm worried about Letty. Don't forget Letty.'

‘I've got a busy day.' Several committees, two reports to read and absorb and one to write. As well as a diary heavy with appointments. In addition to a meeting with local journalists from newspapers, Radio Spinnergate and TV London, on whether his Force was dealing with racism and promoting enough women. He didn't delegate enough, he
knew it was a fault. ‘But when I've got time, then I'll think about Letty.'

‘And what about Job Titus?'

‘Let's agree to forget him.' Not that he could, professionally, do so. He knew he was doomed to have Job Titus, MP, cropping up in his life. Someone might always kill Titus, of course.

There was a large pool in which swam assorted fish. There was one called Eddie Creeley and another called Charley and another called Tom Ashworth who was swimming side by side (and possibly in competition) with two other fish called John Coffin and Archie Young. And the biggest fish with the sharpest teeth was a shark called Job Titus. He could sense the presence of other fish but not name them.

And floating in the pool were two dead fish, bellies up.

Stella drank her coffee and watched him go through the door. Think about Letty. He probably would and that would be all. But she was worried. She had got to know her sister-in-law pretty well over the formation of St Luke's Theatre and its allied institutions, and the one thing she had learned was that Letty kept her eye on her business.

‘Money has to be watched,' she had said to Stella once. ‘Or it gets away from you.'

And it was just on this point that Stella was troubled.

She lay back on her pillows and looked at the ceiling. What she saw there was a question-mark.

In the Murder Room where two separate but linked teams were investigating the deaths of Marianna Manners and Didi Dunne, Chief Inspector Archie Young, who was the link, knew that he might have something important.

He had the report of the community policeman for the area in Spinnergate where Annie Briggs lived telling him that the neighbours had seen a strange man outside Annie's house in Napier Street. Coming or going, they were not sure which. A favourite television programme, from which not even neighbour-watching could distract them, had
claimed them at the crucial moment. And a quick look later he had gone.

But they had minded enough, felt nervous enough, to complain to PC Jimmy Fraser, whom they knew. Archie Young knew Jimmy Fraser also and trusted his judgement.

Jimmy had gone to Annie Briggs's house, asked to see over the flat on the top floor where the tenant Caroline Royal lived. Miss Royal was absent but Annie had, under pressure, let him look around.

Not much trace of Miss Royal but signs of a man. He had left clothes there. Jimmy thought this worth a mention.

Did they have Charley here?

He wanted to concentrate on all this but he couldn't think.

The bustle of the room had gone quiet. They were all listening.

Even in here he could hear the screaming.

‘Archie,' he said to himself, ‘you made a bad move there.' His wife had told him many times that he was less than perceptive in his handling of women. ‘Gentle yes, subtle no.' Kindly but heavy-handed, she had summed up for him.

I played the tape so she could confirm it was her sister's voice and she went mad. It was unfortunate but I had to do it. Who else could I ask?

Suddenly he realized the noise had stopped. He walked to the door and looked across the ground from the Murder Room to the main building. The woman detective whom he had left with Annie Briggs when she became hysterical saw him and walked across to him.

‘The doctor came?'

‘Yes, sir. He's quietened her down.'

‘I'll go in and see her.'

Detective Winnie Baker hesitated. You didn't usually tell your boss what to do (especially Archie Young who was no angel), or in this case what not to do, but now it seemed wise. She had had half an hour of Annie in full cry and it was nothing to start again.

‘I shouldn't, sir,' she said. ‘You'll only get her going again.'

‘I need to go over Miss Royal's flat. Annie's got the keys. And I'd like her with me.'

He did not say why.

Detective Baker said nothing but her expression said a good deal.

‘Go in and ask her.' He just stopped himself saying, ‘There's a good girl.' He was of the generation that wanted to say kind and helpful things to women but he knew it was no longer correct.

They ought to invent an expression like the theatre's ‘break a leg'. Did people still say that? Probably that was wrong now.

Winnie Baker came back. She shook her head. ‘She says only if the other one comes.'

‘Who's the other one?'

Winnie hesitated. ‘I think it's the Chief Commander, sir.'

Whether you liked it or not, and Archie didn't very much, preferring to be in total control of his own cases, that man got everywhere. You had to admire him. Archie did, and unconsciously modelled himself upon Coffin.

So he would telephone John Coffin or send a message and the great man would come in and say the right thing and ask the right questions and see what was to be seen and everything would be cleared up.

He let the momentary pique die away before saying: ‘Right. I'll see what I can do. Stay with her. Have a cup of tea or something.'

But what has he got that I haven't got? he asked himself as he picked up the telephone. A way with women, and a seeing eye. Damn.

Quietened by the doctor's injection and soothed by the hot tea, Annie took them into Caroline Royal's apartment in a calm manner. Just a faint remoteness to her gaze suggested she was focusing on some view far, far away.

She had been driven to Napier Street in a police car.
Archie Young had followed and the Chief Commander arrived last.

Annie met him at the top of the iron staircase. ‘This is a fire escape really, you know.'

‘I rather thought so.'

‘I didn't put it in. It was here. But it was quite convenient because it meant I could let the top floor to Caroline.' She was unlocking the door as she spoke. ‘Well, go in and have a look round, although I don't know why you want to. What's it got to do with Didi? My sister's dead, you know.'

‘I did know.'

‘Well, of course you did. I don't blame you.'

Coffin waited.

‘Although I did tell you Eddie Creeley would kill me. I thought it was me he was after. He got Didi instead.'

Annie's face showed signs of breaking into areas of different expression. Eyes wild, mouth smiling, jaw tense as if inside her mouth her teeth were grinding away.

‘Let's have a look round,' said Coffin quickly. Get it over.

‘I heard her voice,' said Annie. ‘You'll never know what that was like.' She stepped aside. ‘Go on, look around. As if it matters now.'

Caroline Royal had left the place very tidy, a few small possessions like an old copy of
Vogue
magazine, a pair of gloves and scarf lay around but the bed was made, the small bathroom tidy and the kitchen bare.

Coffin looked in the refrigerator; an unopened packet of fruit juice and a small jar of honey seemed to be all it contained.

He went back into the bathroom and touched the soap: it was hard and dry.

‘Miss Royal away a lot?'

‘All the time,' said Annie. ‘She's a buyer for a big London store so she has to travel a lot. Buying stuff all over the world.'

‘Of course.' He moved back to the bedroom, Archie Young with him. He opened the wall cupboard in which the male clothing had been found.

It was still there. So was a woman's tweed suit, top coat and dressing-gown, all well worn and old.

‘She hasn't been back?'

Annie shrugged. ‘I don't know, I don't watch. She could have dropped in.'

And dropped out, Coffin thought.

The drawers of the dressing-chest contained make-up and a small amount of underclothes, and tights.

The three of them walked back into the sitting-room. Annie sat down.

‘Who's the man?' asked Coffin.

‘Don't know,' Annie shrugged. ‘Her man.'

‘But you've seen him?'

‘Not really.'

‘You're not being helpful, Annie.'

Annie turned her head away and looked out of the window.

‘Oh Annie, Annie, Annie,' said Coffin. ‘You aren't trying.'

‘Doing what I can.'

Coffin walked to the window. To the Chief Inspector he said: ‘Does this look to you as it does to me?'

Young nodded. ‘Yes,' he said heavily. ‘Wish I'd been in here before.'

Coffin turned back to Annie. ‘Miss Royal has not been here for some time, has she?'

Annie licked her lips. ‘I suppose not.'

‘In fact you haven't seen anything of her for weeks.'

Annie turned her face away as if she didn't want him to read what was in it.

‘You know what I think, Annie? I think in fact she could be missing.'

He sat down beside her. ‘So we do need to know about that man.'

Back in her own home with Coffin and the Chief Inspector, a new brew of tea was made and drunk. Annie poured the tea out with an air. It occurred to Coffin that she liked entertaining and got little chance to do it.

After two cups of tea she was persuaded to talk. Under probing, Annie produced a little more information about Caroline Royal and her man friend.

No, she didn't know his name. Caroline never referred to him.

‘Didn't like being questioned?'

‘She's a reserved person.'

‘Perhaps she was ashamed of him? Did he strike you as someone she would be ashamed of? You say she's a sophisticated professional woman, so that would be a bit surprising, wouldn't it?'