Coffin Knows the Answer

by Gwendoline Butler

  ‘You are going to see a doctor,’ said Coffin firmly.

  ‘I’m never ill,’ Stella could be firm too.’ Actresses are never ill, they can’t afford to be.’

  ‘No, I know that. But you had a blow to your head.’

  ‘My feet hurt a bit but not my head.’

  ‘Did you walk here?’

  ‘I did. Once I worked out the way home … the park where I hid … not sure now why I hid, but it seemed distinctly the right thing to do at the time.’

  ‘That was the blow on the head. You really must go to Dr Fielding … Or I will get him to come here.’

  ‘No, I am going to have a bath and change. My memory is coming back and I know I have a script I must look at.’

  Coffin watched his wife with concern but also admiration. You couldn’t beat Stella. ‘Would you be able to identify these two men?’

  Stella considered. ‘Don’t know. I hope so. If I get the chance.’

  She disappeared up the winding staircase for her bath, taking the cat with her for company. As soon as she had gone, the Chief Commander telephoned Paul Masters with the news that Stella was back. Masters thought it more tactful not to say that he had seen Stella. Nor did he say, although he knew he must soon, what Dr Carmichael thought of the collection of pictures.

  ‘Thank God. What happened, what had she to say?’

  ‘She was taken deliberately. Just chance and a great mercy that she got away. She’ll have to make a statement. Tell Phoebe Astley, will you please? And set up some security for Stella.’

  ‘Of course, I will.’

  ‘And it better be good: I think the current serial killer wanted her for one of his victims. We’ve got to remember there was that dummy … that was aimed at Stella somehow.’

  Abruptly, Paul Masters said: ‘Dr Carmichael thinks the paedophile pictures are a put-together collection and he believes that they are also part of the murder investigation. The cases are connected.’

  Later that evening, Superintendent Jack Miller and Inspector Winnie Ardet were having a coffee together. News got around and by this time, they had a pretty good idea of what had happened to Stella Pinero and were putting their own gloss on it.

  ‘We have to tell the Chief Commmander our suspicions,’ Winnie swigged her drink. ‘Wonder what he’ll make of it?’

  ‘That’s what we are sitting here discussing.’ said Miller. ‘He’s a decent sort, he’ll listen. Believe we’ve got it right, I think. Probably worked it out already. He’s clever, you know.’ He spoke with respect. ‘It’s all one case.’

  ‘It deserves a place in the history of crime and murder,’ said Winnie Ardet, who had her academic side. ‘I might write it myself.’

  ‘We shall have to get an interview with Stella herself,’ said Miller.

  ‘Sure. I’ve always found her easy to talk to, haven’t you?’

  ‘How many murders have we had?’

  ‘More than I care to count,’ said Winnie, although she had counted and had set up the Incident room with many desks, one for every dead woman and another called Idea and Extras.

  Amy Buckley

  Mary Rice

  Phillida Jessup

  Angela Dover

  The body in Pepper Alley as yet nameless.

  And Stella Pinero could have been one more.

  ‘It’s quite a list,’ Miller said. ‘Makes it a horrible case, I think it’s going to turn into the case of the century.’

  ‘Right, then let’s ask for an appointment with the Chief Commander and tell him what we think.’

  Miller finished his drink. ‘I’ve already done it. I fixed it up with Paul Masters … He understood and we have an appointment tomorrow. He knew the Chief Commander would want to see us.’

  Although Coffin and Stella were tired when she got back, sleep and peace would not come easily. ‘I’m going into the theatre tomorrow,’ Stella was emphatic.

  ‘I knew you would do.’

  ‘There is something I want to show you now though.’

  She produced from a pocket a pornographic photograph of a child.

  ‘This was stuck in the back of my trousers when I got of the car. I don’t know how it got there.’ She looked at her husband. ‘It must be all one case.’

  After a pause, Coffin said, half to himself: ‘I shall want to see everyone.’

  Chapter 7

  ‘I knew the Chief Commander would want to see everyone working on the various cases,’ said Paul Masters. ‘I took the liberty of calling a meeting.’ This was one of the occasions when Masters’ slightly pedantic way of speaking was effective.

  There they all were: Superintendent Miller and Inspector Winnie Ardet sitting near each other, Sergeant Mercy Adams and Phoebe Astley facing each other across a small table.

  ‘I think we’ve all thought for some time now that it was all one case,’ said Phoebe. ‘Felt like it, somehow.’

  ‘You’re not usually one for intuition,’ said Paul.

  ‘Growing on me,’ She grinned at him. ‘Comes of working with you.’

  ‘Joe will be sorry to miss this,’ said Mercy, to no one in particular. She had worked with him, and although not an easy colleague (which was not telling everything, by any means) she respected his mental powers. Mercy was back at work but looking pale. Had she come back too soon? A few more days off?

  ‘Still not up to much?’ This was Paul, never much of an admirer of Joe since they had worked together in the early days. Bit of a hypochondriac he had decided. Likewise a grabber. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Didn’t speak to him. Always hard to get through Josephine.’ Joe and Josephine, thought Mercy. Is that why they married? ‘His wife said he was having a bad day.’

  ‘Having one myself,’ said Paul. He stood up as Coffin came in. ‘Morning, sir.’

  Gus had come with his master.

  ‘And how is Miss Pinero?’ This was Jack Miller who never minded asking questions, which made him a good detective, if a difficult friend.

  ‘Gone into the theatre, but she is going to see a doctor,’ said Coffin with decision. ‘Might go myself. It’s been a bad time.’ He looked around at the team, assessing their mood. ‘You all know what happened to Stella and the photograph she came back with.’

  ‘Do you think she was allowed to escape on purpose?’ This was Miller again.

  ‘Not the way she tells it.’

  But does she know? thought Miller. This time he kept quiet, although he caught Phoebe’s eye and guessed she was thinking the same.

  ‘She got away, but she was dazed. She’d had a blow to the head which is why she is going to see the doctor whether she likes it or not. And I may say that she does not.’ Coffin allowed himself a grin.

  ‘She’s a brave woman,’ said Phoebe, who had known what it was to be in awe of Stella.

  ‘She’s an actress,’ said Coffin. ‘I think she’s frightened enough which is why I want these two men caught.’

  ‘If it had been a genuine black cab, that should not have been too difficult,’ said Phoebe, but she said it doubtfully, her doubts accentuated when Masters said at once that it must have been stolen.

  ‘The man could never have been a genuine, licensed cab driver.’

  ‘That shows a nice feeling towards London cab drivers, but I agree with you. He was a phoney, a fake. He told Stella I had sent him’.

  ‘An actor, do you think?’

  There was a silence.

  ‘Worth thinking about,’ said the Chief Commander. ‘Capable of putting on an act, anyway.’

  Coffin knew all about theatre folk. In theory, they knew little about what had happened to Stella, but he was betting the word was already buzzing around. She had been kidnapped, she had been raped, she had been murdered. How the stories got around, he never knew, but circulate they did.

  Some people looked surprised when Stella walked in, others, so she complained, looked disappointed. She herself felt less confident and cheerful than she was prepared to admit: someone out th
ere was after her. She knew she was protected; without telling her, Coffin would have sent at least one person to guard her. She had not identified that person yet but give her time and she would. He would certainly be in and out himself on one pretext or another, and she might even encourage it. It was not going to be easy to check the comings and goings of strangers in the complex which included one large theatre, a smaller experimental theatre, and a tiny space used by schools, not to mention an even smaller one work had just begun upon. In addition there were two restaurants, one more casual and easier to walk in and out of than the other.

  Stella had invented the theatre in the old, disused church of St Lukes and then she had moved with her husband into the former church tower which, to both their surprise, had converted well into a home. She took pride in the success of her theatre in the Second City of London. She was inclined to congratulate herself on the way the Second City (once the home of empty factories and derelict docks) had prospered.

  She had enriched herself and the theatre, she believed, through her activities, but Mimsie Marker, that famed local figure and seller of newspapers, had warned her that success brought enemies. And Mimsie, as she pointed out, ought to know, being herself a local success story, reputed to own a Rolls (actually a Bentley, much classier, anyone could have a Rolls) and a handsome house down by the river.

  Stella spent the morning reading scripts, then she had arranged to lunch with Tony Amato, a well known actor, whom she wanted to persuade to sign up for a new play. He was at the same time plain of feature and immensely attractive. To both sexes. In fact, he was practically a third sex in himself. But he never made an advance to Stella because as an employer he found it wiser to regard her as a sexual neutral. Go to bed with someone who is employing you and you can be in trouble. Besides, he feared the Chief Commander.

  Stella knew all this and did not resent his behaviour.

  They ate in the large dining room, at Stella’s usual table in the window.

  ‘I like what you are offering me.’ Tony said as they ate.

  ‘Oh good, I thought you would.’ What was on offer was the part of a sharp-tongued but charming detective who always got his man. There was a certain humour there which all parties recognised. It would run for six weeks, not long, but the productions in St Luke’s Theatre were well thought of and carefully reviewed in all the right places. In addition, a job there often led to a prestigious part elsewhere.

  ‘I’ll have to talk to Freddy, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ Freddy Braun was his agent. ‘I can’t pay a lot.’ Tony grinned. ‘Oh that reminds me … although I don’t know why it should.’ He reached in his pocket. ‘As I was parking the car, a chap asked me if I knew you, when I said I did … didn’t saying I was lunching with you, sounded like boasting … he asked would I give you this.’ He handed over a crumpled envelope.

  ‘Who was this man? What did he look like?’

  ‘I didn’t take much in, I was in a hurry to get to you, Stella. He had dark specs on.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s for me?’ asked Stella. The envelope was crumpled but with no name on it.

  ‘He said so. Sorry it looks like that, but I put it in my pocket and forgot it.’

  ‘I’ll open it later.’

  She did open the letter when she was alone. She read:

  YOU’VE GOT AWAY TWICE NOW. DON’T THINK YOU’LL GET AWAY AGAIN.

  ‘Yes, I will,’ said Stella defiantly. ‘Again and again.’

  Chapter 8

  ‘What does he mean, you got away twice?’ demanded Coffin.’ Once, yes, last night, but the other time?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Stella.

  ‘You must think. Try to remember.’

  Stella walked to the window to look out. They were in St Luke’s Tower, in the sitting room up the winding staircase. It was a room in which Stella always felt safe and happy. Gus the dog, and the cat were with them. She put out a hand to stroke the cat. ‘My comfort object.’ Gus pushed up to her. ‘You too, dear boy.’

  ‘She turned to her husband. ‘I debated showing you the letter. I almost didn’t.’

  ‘Oh Stella, why not?’

  She reached out and took his hand. ‘I think I was frightened what you would do.’

  ‘I’d always protect you, Stella.’

  Sensing her distress, Gus climbed up on to her lap, the cat thought about it for a minute then followed. Stella started to laugh.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I never saw the man who delivered this note, but had a sort of feeling that I knew one of the people in the car. Not the driver, I couldn’t see his face, but the one that tried to get into the car. The one I pushed.’

  ‘I wish you had told me this at once.’

  ‘I was thinking about it, wondering if it was so and, if so, how and where.’

  There was a double ring at the doorbell. Stella looked at her husband in alarm.

  ‘It’s just our dinner … I ordered it from Maxim’s.’

  Gus barked.

  ‘Yes, something for you too.’

  ‘I hope you ordered something for the cat as well.’

  ‘Of course, I did.’

  ‘I do love you.’

  ‘And I love you.’ More than you know, I expect, or want to think about.

  ‘Sometimes, I’m frightened.’

  ‘And do you think I am not?’

  Stella looked at him with those large, lovely eyes, which could express so much, actresswise, of love, support, confidence, but were not doing so now. All he could read there was puzzlement and doubts.

  She really thinks men are different animals, and within that species, policemen are different again.

  Perhaps we are, he thought, drawing back a little. Perhaps we are different animals and don’t know it. You might not. After all, a cat doesn’t necessarily know it’s not a dog.

  Then he saw the young cat observing with bright green eyes, tail flicky. Oh yes, you know you are not a dog … But do you know you are a cat? That’s different again, isn’t it?

  The cat looked at him, eyes lucid and sharp.

  Yes, he decided, he knew he was a cat, and a male cat at that. Castrated too, but one who had been getting amorous with Gus, which puzzled Gus and Coffin. They must take the cat down to the vet’s and do something about that.

  He hurried to the door where one of Maxim’s large family was carrying a tray.

  ‘Oh thanks, it’s Joe, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, I’m Jim, but we all look alike.’ He grinned.

  ‘Now let me see, are you the philosopher or the historian?’ They were a clever family of six boys and one girl, but Maxim demanded that all, whatever their intellectual aspirations, worked as often as they could in the family firm, which, as he pointed out, financed their expensive educations.

  ‘No, I’m the medical student, so I shall be in hock to my father for a while as my training takes so long.’ He grinned again as he took the money from Coffin. ‘Did the chap who was prowling round the theatre bar find Miss Pinero?’

  ‘What man was that?’ asked Coffin alertly.

  ‘Didn’t give a name, just asked for her, said he’d been going round looking for her and he’d lost her twice.’

  ‘Did he indeed,’ said Coffin. Police talk, he thought to himself, you don’t talk like that to Stella or your friends or the cat and dog. ‘What was he like?’

  Jim pursed his lips. ‘We were pretty busy, in fact very busy, so I didn’t look hard. Tall, thin, one of those ambiguous sorts. A man probably, but really androgynous. You wonder if he even had a sex.’

  Coffin thought he was lucky to have got the medical student, who was alert to nuances of sex and behaviour: he hadn’t looked at the man hard, but he had thought him ambivalent and he hadn’t liked him.

  Jim shook his head. ‘Mr Now-you-see-him, Now-you-don’t.’

  ‘Didn’t want you to notice him, maybe?’ tried Coffin.

  ‘Oh, he wanted me to notice him all right. I could tell.
I didn’t like him. No reason, just one of those feelings. I wouldn’t have told him where Miss Pinero was even if I had known, but I didn’t.’

  Coffin picked up the tray of food which he had put down ‘Better start thinking of eating this.’ He wasn’t hungry, nor did he suppose Stella was, but life must go on.

  ‘Sir …’

  ‘Yes?’ he turned back.

  ‘I heard a story that another person had been stabbed … cut up. Murdered. Like the others. But a kid this time.’

  ‘Where did you get that from?’ said Coffin at once. He did not believe it.

  Jim hesitated. ‘I think I heard the old weirdo telling someone.’

  Stuff not to tell Stella, Coffin thought, as he got away. No more bad news, please, he said to himself.

  Coffin marched up the stairs to where Stella sat, carrying the tray of food which he had chosen carefully from Stella’s favourite dishes. Smoked salmon, then cold roast chicken with salad and a chocolate mousse. Stella would eat the chocolate mousse under pressure, murmuring about her weight and waist, but she would enjoy it. ‘You are spoiling me,’ she might say, but Coffin thought she needed spoiling. And as it happened, quite by chance of course, he liked all those dishes himself.

  Even policemen needed spoiling occasionally.

  ‘You’re smiling,’ Stella said as he came into the room. She was sitting up, looking more composed. When she saw what he was carrying, she stood up.

  ‘That deserves the best we can offer it. Give me ten minutes to change into something …’ she hesitated.

  ‘More festive?’

  ‘Something prettier anyway.’ And do her hair and perhaps a little scent.

  Coffin looked at her with pleasure; life was coming back into Stella, and this time she wasn’t acting.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ll get out the silver and set the table.’

  Gus kept his eyes on the tray: he knew that smell and it meant good food. The new cat, younger, more innocent and not so used to the ways of the house, but wise, took her cue from Gus and sidled up to where he was. What he did, cat would do.