Joe Coffin Season One

by Ken Preston

  Corpse giggled.

  Coffin watched them walk down the drive and followed their progress down the road until they had disappeared from view. Had they walked here? Coffin couldn’t imagine them catching the bus. Did they own a car? Could either of them even drive?

  And then his next thought, as he shut the door: Emma Wylde.

  What had she been doing in his house?

  And why the hell had she been carrying packs of baby wipes with her?

  Coffin took the stairs two at a time and ran into the bathroom. He searched for baby wipes, but couldn’t find a single pack anywhere. Had Steffanie still been buying them while Coffin was in prison? Michael hadn’t been a baby when he died, but he was still very young, still needed cleaning up sometimes.

  But why would Emma Wylde want to break into Coffin’s house and steal all the baby wipes?

  let's get this party started

  Tom parked the car around the back of Angels. He checked the clock on the dashboard. Three o’clock. The club was open, but it would be quiet. The light was fading as the clouds, heavy and dark with rain, gathered overhead. Middle of the afternoon, and the cars had their headlights on. According to the weather report on the radio, they were in for a heavy downpour. Police were advising motorists to cancel all but absolutely necessary journeys, especially this evening when high winds were predicted too.

  None of that mattered to Tom. He was planning to be warm and snug and dry, holed up in Mortimer Craggs’ office by that point. Maybe with Velvina cuddled up with him. He could do with a warm woman, after that cold bitch, Steffanie. Having sex with Steffanie was like being raped by a corpse. Tom had decided it would be good to be in charge again. Back on top, so to speak.

  He took another swig from the bottle of Jack Daniels, relishing the smooth heat as it slipped down his throat. He held the bottle up and gazed at it. Bloody thing was more than half empty. When the fuck had he drunk all that?

  Dutch courage. Wasn’t that what it was called?

  Tom took another swig, wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

  Yeah, Dutch fucking courage.

  Tom glanced in the back of the car. The old man, who was looking disconcertingly younger now, and Steffanie, were huddled under a blanket, keeping out of the way of the weak daylight. The burns and blisters that had erupted on Steffanie’s skin the last time she had been exposed to daylight had healed now, and she was taking no more chances. They had crept out of the hotel and found the Ford Mondeo just as Stump had promised. The car was filthy, the floor and seats covered in crisp and biscuit crumbs, empty crisp and sweet packets. The dashboard was covered in a layer of dust, and there were greasy finger marks over the windows. Tom assumed the car was stolen, but Stump had said it would not be missed for at least a couple of days, so Tom had to take her at her word.

  Despite their weirdness and their filthy appearance, Stump and Corpse could be relied on to deliver on any job they accepted. Tom was sure that Stump would not have wasted any time in fulfilling her promise to kill Coffin. With Joe Coffin out of the way, this next part of his plan would go a lot easier.

  Tom got out of the car and opened the rear door. A breeze tugged at his hair and jacket, and he staggered slightly.

  “Wakey, wakey,” he said. “The party’s about to start.”

  Steffanie lifted a corner of the blanket. “Are we here?”

  “Fucking right we’re here,” Tom said. “I think you can lose the blanket now. It’s like the middle of the fucking night out here, looks like we’re in for one hell of a downpour.”

  Steffanie climbed out of the car. The old man, the thing that Tom thought of as a corpse, followed her.

  Tom took an involuntary step back and clamped his jaws together with an audible click. The Father, as they called him, still looked old and frail, but he was younger. The flesh on his face was still stretched tight over the skull, but his eyes were no longer dull and cloudy, and had an alertness to them. Where only yesterday a few wispy hairs clung to his scalp, now there was more hair, and his lips were no longer permanently peeled back from his long, sharp teeth.

  He stood beside Steffanie, holding onto her, his skeletal fingers with their long, dirty nails, wrapped around her forearm.

  “Where is this?” he said, looking up at the rear of the club, the dark brickwork just visible in the gloom. His voice was dry and rasping, and he couldn’t seem to be able to form the words properly, his question sounding like, “err us ish?”.

  “Fuck,” Tom whispered.

  A fat drop of rain hit Tom on the forehead and ran down his face.

  He put the whisky bottle to his lips and upended it, draining the last of the amber liquid.

  “Let’s get inside,” he said, and tossed the bottle across the car park, where it smashed against a wall.

  The three of them hurried across the car park as more drops of rain fell from the heavy sky. Tom punched in the six digit security code on the panel set into the wall and pushed open the heavy door. He ushered the other two inside and let the door slam shut behind them. A strip light flickered overhead, illuminating the corridor. On their right were the toilets, to their left a door leading into the stockroom, and the cellars. At the end of the hall was a door leading into the club.

  The dull thump of rock music reverberated through the walls. Angels was open, but it would be practically empty. Towards the end of the week they did good business on a lunchtime, but the busiest times for the club were the evenings, and into the night. Right now, in the late afternoon, there might be a couple of losers in there hoping one of the girls would dance for them so they could have a crafty wank under the table.

  But if there was nobody dancing, the club might be empty, apart from Addison at the bar, and a bouncer on duty.

  “You two ready for a nice drink of fresh, warm blood?” Tom said.

  Steffanie licked her lips, her eyes alight with a fire he had seen when she was fucking him.

  The old man pushed his way between them and began shuffling down the corridor towards the music.

  “All right,” Tom whispered to himself. “Let’s get this party started.”

  * * *

  Emma hated hospitals. The smell of a hospital, that combination of bleach and hospital food, tensed her up, and made her feel slightly ill. And those smells brought back memories of her childhood, and with those memories all the feelings of resentment and guilt that accompanied them. It was almost thirty years ago since she had spent all that time in hospital, visiting her older sister, and yet, although the hospitals had grown bigger, more modern, looked cleaner and more clinical, they still smelt the same.

  Wendy was three years older than Emma. Aged eight, she had been diagnosed with leukaemia, and so began a gruelling round of hospital stays, chemotherapy, radiation treatment, and blood transfusions. Emma could remember sitting in the ward, quiet and unresponsive next to her parents, as they fussed over Wendy. Emma was five years old at the time, and it already seemed to her that her big sister was the ‘special’ one of the family.

  Even before the leukaemia had struck, casting its shadow not just over the family, but over her parents’ faith in God and the power of prayer, Wendy was always the one talked about in glowing terms, and how she was doing so well at school, and how she was going to go on and do amazing things as an adult.

  Whatever these ‘amazing things’ were, was never specified, never put into words or named. But Wendy was special, so of course she would do ‘amazing things’.

  But then the BIG C came for a visit, and suddenly it seemed that Wendy might not grow up to be an adult doing ’amazing things’ after all. Of course, this possibility was never actually articulated, never spoken out loud, at least not in front of Emma, and she doubted very much if it was spoken of in private, either. Because their parents were Born Again Christians, and Born Again Christians believed in the power of prayer, and an interventionist God.

  So, in between hospital visits, and prayer vigils at their local church,
Emma spent her days at home with her mother and father, heads bowed in prayer, that her wonderful, precious sister might make a full recovery. Even now, all these years later, Emma could still taste the bitter resentment she felt at not being allowed to have friends around to play, or being given the time to show off her paintings, and cereal box and Sellotape constructions that she had made at school to her parents.

  Oh, that’s lovely, Emma. Now get your coat on, we have to go to the hospital to visit Wendy.

  Tell me later, Emma, after prayers.

  Not now, Emma, can’t you see how tired I am?

  Then one day, Emma’s parents’ faith in God was vindicated, and Wendy started making good progress, until finally she was pronounced completely clear of cancerous cells. There was a big party in the church hall, and, when Wendy was strong enough, she stood up at the front of church on a Sunday morning and gave her testimony to the congregation, explaining how God had healed her.

  Emma, even then, at such a young age, couldn’t help thinking, I thought it was the doctors made you better?

  Here she was again, in hospital, those smells opening the gates in her mind for all those memories to flood back, and with them the guilt, the resentment, the confusion.

  In her parents’ eyes, Wendy had gone on to do great things, working for a missionary organisation in Tanzania for many years. She was back in England now, still working for the same organisation, but on the strategy and planning side.

  Emma, on the other hand, had disappointed her parents by entering the seedy world of journalism, and ‘living in sin’ with Nick.

  Was that why she hated hospitals so much? Because these smells and sights were a constant reminder of how much she had disappointed her mother and father, and how they so often looked at her in a way that suggested they wished that Emma was more like Wendy?

  Burying these thoughts deep into her subconscious, which was where she tried to keep them, Emma headed for the lifts, not even considering the stairs today. What Karl had said earlier, about the possibility of her being pregnant, had rattled her. She took her pill every day. She couldn’t be pregnant.

  Could she?

  The lift doors slid open and Emma stepped inside, punching the button for the second floor.

  Standing waiting for the lift doors to slide closed, Emma gazed out at the collection of shops in the hospital concourse. She noticed the pharmacy next to the mobile phone shop.

  The doors began sliding closed, and Emma hit the button to open them again.

  Didn’t move. Just looked at the pharmacy, at the female staff inside, in their white coats.

  Maybe she should buy a pregnancy test kit. Put her mind at ease. No need to say anything to Nick just yet, though. Knowing him, he would probably get all fired up at the idea of having a baby and then, when they found out she wasn’t pregnant, he would be disappointed, and start pushing Emma to start a family with him.

  Oh no, Nick!

  He had been calling her all day, and she still hadn’t got back in touch with him. By now he was probably going crazy with worry. Although he’d spoken to Karl, hadn’t he? And Karl had told him she was fine, and that he would pass on the message that Nick had been calling.

  Emma pulled her mobile out of her bag. The elevator doors began closing again. Emma punched the button to open the lift doors again and put the phone back in her bag.

  Later. I’ll call him later.

  She stepped out of the lift and headed for the pharmacy.

  * * *

  It was visiting time on the ward, and Emma was let in without too many problems from the staff at the nursing desk, after they had spoken to Laura, who said it was fine for Emma to visit Jacob.

  “How is he?” Emma said, looking down at the frail little boy, swallowed up by the large hospital bed. He was so pale, he looked white, and his thin arm was encased in bandages. His face had the drawn, thin look of a corpse. This was the first time Emma had actually seen Jacob, and the horror at what Tom had left his son to endure washed over her like a wave of filthy sewer discharge.

  “The doctors say he’s growing stronger,” Laura said. “They’ve reduced his sedation, so I’m sitting here, waiting for him to wake up. The police want to talk to him as soon as he’s conscious, but I’m not going to tell them right away.”

  Emma tore her gaze away from Jacob, looked at Laura.

  “I want some time alone with my boy, when he wakes. I want him to know he’s safe now,” Laura said, her eyes brimming with tears.

  Emma clamped down on the guilt suddenly filling her stomach and chest. She should have told someone about Tom’s involvement with his own son’s kidnapping. No one else knew, apart from Joe Coffin, and he wasn’t going to the police. She should tell Nick, or make a phone call, keep her name out of it.

  But no, not yet. The police were after Tom anyway, for that assault at the service station. It wouldn’t make much difference right now what she told them, and it would only hurt Laura to know the truth. Why cause her even more pain than she was already experiencing?

  Still, she could ask her a few questions while she was here.

  Emma looked around the ward. “Is Tom here? I thought he would be.”

  Laura shook her head, sat down on the hard plastic chair by the side of the bed. “No, I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him since yesterday, when you were looking for him then.”

  “Did you know the police are looking for him?”

  “No. What’s he done now?”

  “He assaulted someone, stole their car. It’s been all over the news.”

  “Bloody typical,” Laura said.

  Emma pulled up a chair and sat down on the opposite side of the bed from Laura. “Have you any idea at all where he might be?”

  Laura took one of Jacob’s hands in hers and held it lightly. “No, and I don’t care. I’m finished with him now.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. The miserable bastard will come crawling back at some point, I’m sure, but he’s not coming anywhere near my boy. He should be here for Jacob now, but he keeps pulling these disappearing tricks, always with the excuse that he has something he needs to do, that he’ll be back right away. But he never is. He’s gone for ages, and then when he comes back he sits in the chair, fidgeting, and sighing and swearing, until finally he jumps to his feet, and he’s off again.”

  “Any idea where he goes?” Emma said.

  “No. And that’s the way it’s always been. Ever since I first met him, there has always been something else he needs to do, somewhere else he needs to be. It’s like he’s got this secret life, and I will never be allowed to find out what it is.”

  “He assaulted you once, didn’t he?”

  Laura nodded, the tears spilling silently down her cheeks. “We had a blazing row one afternoon. It was a Saturday, and Tom had been at the pub, and he came home and he was drunk, so drunk he could hardly stand up straight. Things hadn’t been good between us for a while.” She let out a ragged sigh. “A couple of weeks before, I’d told him I was pregnant again. Tom hadn’t even wanted a baby the first time round, and when I got pregnant with Jacob, he begged me to have an abortion. But I couldn’t do that. No matter how much he pleaded and shouted, and tried everything he could to get rid of the baby, I refused. Tom hated being a father, hated seeing that bond between me and my baby. He was jealous, like he was excluded from a club he used to belong in, and all his mates were still there. I could see it in his eyes, every time he looked at me and Jacob. And Jacob wouldn’t have anything to do with him. I think he was scared of him from a very young age.”

  Laura pulled a tissue out of the box on the bedside table, and wiped at her eyes, and blew her nose. Emma thought she might continue with her story, but she didn’t. She sat in silence, the crumpled up tissue in her hands, clasped between her knees.

  “What happened?” Emma said, eventually.

  “It was spring, a lovely warm day after all those cold, dark days of winter. And I should
have been feeling happy, you know, the weather getting better, and me being pregnant again. But I wasn’t, I was in the kitchen, washing up the dishes from lunch, and Jacob was sitting upstairs in his bedroom, reading I think, and I was at the sink, and I was crying, and I felt so miserable and unhappy. Tom had been drinking heavily for a few weeks now. He drinks heavily anyway, but once I told him I was pregnant again, he was out doing the rounds of the pubs more than he was at home. But sometimes that was all right, because it was a relief to get him out of the house, not have him wandering around scowling at me and Jacob, filling the house with his cigarette smoke and beer fumes.”

  “I don’t understand why you put up with him,” Emma said. Or even less why you would want a child with him, but she kept that thought to herself.

  “I don’t understand either, sometimes,” Laura said. “When we first got together, I was on the rebound from having split up with Joe. He was my first true love, you know.” She giggled, a short, sharp burst of quiet laughter, and put a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, that sounds so corny, doesn’t it? Like something out of a cheesy movie. But it’s true, he was. He still is.”

  “You sure know how to pick them,” Emma said. It maybe wasn’t the most tactful thing to say, but Emma couldn’t help herself. This woman mixed with gangsters and killers, married a notorious killer and then, when she’d divorced him, married an alcoholic thug instead who, (surprise!) turned out to be a wife beater too.

  “I know how it sounds,” Laura said, her hands twisting in her lap, ripping the tissue up into shreds of ragged paper. “But Joe’s different. He’s tough, and he’s hard, and I know he’s done some terrible things, but he’s not mean, not like Tom. Tom just wants to be part of the gang all the time, hang out with the big boys, but he’s not cut out for that kind of life, not really. He’s like a little boy, and the other boys and girls don’t want him to play with them. It’s been the same way all his life, and I think that’s what makes him so mean.”

  “What was so attractive about him after your split with Joe?”