Coffin Knows the Answer (15 page)

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Authors: Gwendoline Butler

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âHave you had this feeling with other murders?' asked Winnie.

Phoebe shook her head. âNo.'

âI have. Once, and in fact that killer
was
watching me. But he was caught.'

There was a pause, then Phoebe said: âYou don't think he could be a doctor, do you?' Phoebe knew that Mercy was having a tough time with doctors at the moment. But she kept silent.

All the pictures of the victims were now lined up on the screen.

âMy wife has looked at all these faces,' said John Coffin. âAnd she is sure that she knows several of them. She feels it is most likely that she saw them in one of the theatres.'

A voice called out: âPerformers?'

Stella put her head down and did not answer. Coffin did so for her.

âNo, she thinks not, but she feels she saw the victims in or around the theatre.'

âDoes this mean the killer is â¦' the speaker fumbled for words â â¦close to the theatre?'

Coffin shrugged. He did not answer.

Superintendent Miller intervened with the sort of bland no-answer response that could madden his colleagues.

âAll the teams are, of course, going into the background of the victims. Lady Coffin's help will not be forgotten.'

Inspector Ardet muttered audibly; âAs if we haven't been doing that already.'

And this is where the Chief Commander ought to admit that he is going to do a lot of it himself, was the Superintendent's quiet internal comment. He was one of those who, while admiring John Coffin's skill as a detective, could not help resisting or resenting his equal skill at inserting himself into an investigation. Miller felt that circumstances somehow helped him into it.

In as commanding a voice as he could manage, not easy with both the Chief Commander and Stella Pinero present, Miller asked if anyone had anything further to say.

There was a short silence. Then Les Henderson stood up. âSergeant Henderson, sir. I think we can make a good guess at the age and workings of the killer.

âHe is not a young person. Middle-aged.

âHe has help.'

There was still silence.

âAll right: it may not seem much, but I think it is: I reckon we have a shape and an age and a
companion
. That is something.'

Five homes to visit, five mourning families to talk with. The investigating teams thought about this as they filed out.

There had been some discussion about Les's description of the killer. To his surprise, it was accepted by most of those who spoke. Yes, it seemed reasonable that the killer was a middle-aged man with a helper. âNot a youngster's crime,' one officer said. âToo bloody organised,' was another comment. âAll have the same sort of look, those women â¦ I don't know what it is, but it's there. It's why they were chosen.'

âIt's because they're dead,' said one cynic, âand because we know they were chosen.'

The Chief Commander heard this floating on the air as the cynic marched out.

âGood comment. But no future in acting on it.'

Coffin and Stella were the last to leave in company with Superintendent Miller.

âThat do any good, do you think, sir?'

âMight have stirred up some ideas. All the women, except possibly the last victim, looked as if they came from the same sort of background.'

âMiddle class, you mean, sir.' The Superintendent was well
known to be a man of highly conservative views although surprisingly he always voted Labour.

âI suppose I do.' Coffin added: âBit of background's useful sometimes, I think, don't you?' It wasn't quite a question but Miller knew he had to give the right answer.

âI suppose it is.' He added: âSir' after a pause.

âYou had a look at the homes and houses, I suppose.'

âOnly the victim I was working on, sir.'

Stella knew her place on most occasions. This was one in which to keep quiet. In fact, she wanted to get back to the theatre. Sometimes John seemed to think the theatres, all three of them, ran themselves. Far from the truth. There was a minor crisis on at the moment as the news got around about the three dead bodies. For herself, she had been more disturbed by the deaths than she found it easy to admit.

This mood had been deepened by an excited and emotional call from her sister-in-law, Laeticia Bingham. Letty was coming to the Second City. Expect her, was the message.

She looked at her husband whom she had not yet told of the impending arrival of his explosively powerful sister. She thought when he found out he would not be best pleased.

âI'd like to take a look around myself,' he was saying.

Oh yes, thought Miller, saw that coming. You want in, Sir John? Well, you're welcome. âDo you want me to come with you, sir?'

âA couple of men, do you think?' Coffin was thoughtful.

âTaking a woman officer with you, might be wiser,' volunteered the Super.

You always jump the way he wants, he thought, and that must be why he has the position he has and you are where you are.

âChief Inspector Phoebe Astley might be a good choice.'

But before John Coffin had a chance to do anything, another woman came onto the scene.

She was not alive. Nor, for that matter, was she dead. She
had never been alive. She was the model woman that had been deposited in no very friendly way in the tower of St Luke's. She was not exactly a murder victim herself but she was a preamble to, an announcement of, violence. She was hate personified.

Or that was how she had seemed to John Coffin.

Her origin, who had bought her, for she was not a woman who had come free, had not been discovered.

But DC Peter Gittings, young and eager, had now found out where she came from and been eager to pass on the news.

Direct access to the Chief Commander himself was, of course, denied him, but he got as close as he could by telling Paul Masters. He was sitting in the canteen, drinking a big cup of coffee with milk and biting on a hot bacon sandwich, considering the good luck that had fallen upon him, when Paul took the only seat in the room which was next to Peter.

A friendly soul and never one to stand on ceremony, Paul said he could quite fancy a bacon sandwich himself now he smelt that one. He was rewarded (if that was what it was) by the prompt appearance of one accompanied by Peter's triumphant saga.

âChief Inspector Astley told me to find out where the dummy came from and get a description of the buyer if I could. I tried everywhere: sport shops, dress shops, health outfits, sex shops,' a delicate pink blush spread over his youthful cheeks. âNo go.'

âSo?' Paul swallowed his mouthful of bacon butty which he was enjoying more than he had expected because he had already had a full breakfast. He'd have to buy a lad a drink or another bacon sandwich, couldn't sponge off him.

âWell, I hadn't much to go on, you see â¦ just a rough guess at the date it might have been bought and that it was probably a man buying. Then I remembered the little junk shop in Ship Street â¦ they sell everything there â¦ it's quite respectable â¦' There was a faint note of doubt in his voice.

Not so very respectable then, thought Paul.

âAnd they had sold one. Within the right period, the right type. They showed me one like it â¦ back up stock, I suppose. But â¦' and his eyes went wide, âthey sold it to a
woman.'
Paul Masters thought about it. âDid she take it with her? Naked or wrapped up?'

âThe assistant packaged it up. Not the first one she'd sold, she knew what to do. But it was bulky and heavy.'

âHow did the woman manage?'

âShe managed all right, she was a big woman and she had a car waiting for her, or so the assistant thought. It's not the sort of shop where you ask questions or rush out to give a hand to the customer.'

âWould she know the woman again?'

Peter shrugged, a little of his confidence falling away. âShe says she thinks she might; But it's if we find the woman first. Can't go combing the streets of London for all women nearly six feet tall.'

âIs that the description?'

Peter nodded. âI wish I could add more.' His bacon butty was beginning to weigh heavily in his stomach. âI'll keep my eyes open â¦'

âI think you've done well. You've put your report in? Good, I'll see the Chief Commander knows.' He stood up.

âOh thank you, sir.'

Peter felt so happy that he was hungry again. He went up to the counter to order another bacon sandwich.

âWhat, another one?' said Edith, the girl on duty, a bonny creature whom Peter secretly fancied. Perhaps not so secretly from the smile she always gave him. âThat's three.'

âOnly two for me.'

âHave to give you an extra bit of sauce then.'

He grinned. âLike always?'

âCheeky you.'

He dropped his grin and became serious. âI could get tickets for this Saturday then at the Palladium â¦ if you'd like to come.'

She looked thoughtful.

âSee you home, of course.'

âWell â¦'

âAnd meet you to take you there â¦ can't be too careful.'

âNo, right. You're on.'

John Coffin got the news about the model from Paul Masters very promptly. He knew the shop too.

âSee the news gets to the Incident Room.'

âHave done, sir.'

âNot that it's worth much.' Coffin was thoughtful. âNot on its own. Need a bit more detail â¦ In fact, all the details.'

Paul grinned. âPete Gittings is a good lad, but he needs a bit more experience in winkling things out of witnesses. Usually the crucial things. That which they wish to hide.'

âDare I suggest you go yourself and take a look round?'

âWell, sir, it's really part of Phoebe Astley's case but we could settle it between us, I guess.' In fact, there was no guessing, he knew already, such was the speed with which information about their colleagues passed around HQ that Phoebe Astley was due to do some work with the Chief. Did he mind? A little, he had always worked closely with the Chief while Phoebe moved around.

But it didn't matter, he had his own ambitions and was marking a path out according to them. Keeping on good terms with John Coffin was certainly part of it, but not working with him forever, much as he liked the man. As he did. Impossible not to.

âActually I might look in myself.' Coffin considered. âI knew the proprietor in my younger South London days. I was surprised when the splendid old cockney turned up here.'

âWe're all cockney's here, sir.' Masters spoke with the polite amusement of ex-Public school and Oxford.

âSo we are.' Coffin knew he was by ancestry and upbringing but life (and Stella) had put a gloss on him. His musings were interrupted by a telephone call from Stella herself.

âThis is just to tell you that Letty is flying in today. Heathrow this evening.'

His beloved but somewhat feared sister. Coffin groaned. âIs she staying with us?'

âNo, Claridges, says she doesn't want to be any trouble.'

âShe will be though, she always is.'

Stella laughed. âShe says she's coming over to help you with this murder business â¦ I think she probably plans a film or TV show.'

Coffin groaned again.

âAnd she hopes we will recognise her, she's had facial surgery. And this trip to us is her treat for being a good patient.'

âOh God.'

âShe'll look lovely, never fear. She'll have gone to the best cosmetic surgeon in New York.'

âI hope you'll never do the same.'

What I do with my face is my own business, thought Stella. âDon't suppose I'll ever have the money.' Then she added thoughtfully, âAlthough, of course, as a performer it would be tax deductable â¦ I must speak to my accountant.'

âNow I know you're joking.'

Over the telephone line, he heard the sound of barking.

âYou've got Gus with you.'

âI wanted company.'

âWould you like to come shopping with me?'

âIf it's the sort of shopping I think it is, then the answer is no.'