He decided to help, even if brutally. ‘You mean he had his eye on you because of me?’
She smiled at him, and he saw that he had given her what she most wanted: a moment of relief. ‘I didn’t see it then, but yes, looking back, yes, it probably was … He liked me, though,’ she added quickly. ‘I could tell, he was a good actor, but not that good.’
She stopped again, so he gave her another prod. ‘Go on. I suppose it was hot and strong while it lasted?’
Stella sighed. ‘It was; short, though, I went to London and then on tour and forgot him. Well, more or less. Our paths didn’t cross, and though I thought he might seek me out, he didn’t. I went on to Australia.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He dropped out. Did a bit of telly, nothing much, and then nothing at all … I think now he was under orders.’ Another pause which, this time, Coffin did not interrupt. ‘Then he telephoned me.’
‘When?’
‘About a month ago … can’t be sure of the exact day. He left a message on my answerphone. Then he telephoned me at the theatre, spoke to me there.’ She plunged on. ‘Not loving, nothing like that. Quiet, but … I don’t know what to say: threatening, but quietly, so quietly that I didn’t grasp at first what was happening. No, that’s not true, I did, but I couldn’t believe it.’
‘Threatening what?’
‘Threatening that if I did not do what he wanted, he would sell photographs of me to the media.’ She looked at him piteously. ‘I want you to believe that these photographs were doctored … I was in them, yes. Pip did take some photographs of me, he was good, but these –’ she shook her head.
‘And what did he want you to do?’
Instead of answering directly, Stella said: ‘I always knew he had a political side.’
She looked at her husband and read his expression. ‘You’re not surprised.’
‘Your name had come up.’
She covered her face with her hands. ‘Oh, God. So you knew.’
‘Not all of it. Not as much as I hope you are going to tell me.’
‘He intended that I should be a channel to you, that through me he could both feed you information and gather it.
‘I wanted to get away and hide, just for a little while. That’s why I told those stories about where I was going. Confusing my trail. But I didn’t get that far: Pip was outside when I left, he got me in his grip.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I mean, he pulled me to his car and drove to where he lived, a rather nasty flat in a road off the main road leading through Spinnergate towards the City. I could see where we were going, he didn’t attempt to stop me seeing. I was a prisoner, or at least I felt like one and I certainly couldn’t get away easily. He said he would not let me go until I had agreed to do what he wanted.’
‘Which was?’
Stella shrugged. ‘To spy on you, to let him spy on you and all your dealings with any terrorists. Stupid of him really, since I could say yes and then go away and renege on it. I didn’t say yes.’
‘How long were you there?’
‘I don’t know. I got a bit confused about time, as if I’d been drugged … I was given food and drink. I think there was someone else there … man or woman, I don’t know, but I am sure I heard low voices. Then he started to threaten me. I thought he was going to hit me, so I hit him first.’
‘You mean, you had a fight?’
‘A sort of scuffle. No, it was more than that. He was wearing a shortsleeved shirt and I bit his arm.’ She sounded puzzled, as if she wasn’t sure what had really happened. ‘I suppose my teeth were the only weapons I had. He had a knife and my arm got hurt, and I think he got stabbed too in the scuffle …’ She sounded puzzled again. What had happened? ‘There was blood …’
Coffin said, ‘You aren’t talking like yourself, Stella. More like a badly written play.’
‘If I am, then it’s because it is the only way I can talk about an experience that seemed unreal to me. It was real, I suppose. I knew that when I hit him.’ She was frowning. ‘I think I got hold of a knife; I seem to remember it was a bread knife – you know, the sort with a jagged edge …’ She saw Coffin looking at her with a frown. ‘I was a fool to let him get me into his car, but the truth is I can be gullible sometimes, act without thinking. I did so then.’
He saw she was trembling, and he put his arms round her. ‘It’s over, Stella. So what happened then?’
‘He shouted and went out of the room. I daresay it was painful, I meant it to be. He was gone a long while. I may have gone to sleep, I have wondered if there was some dope in the tea he gave me. Then I realized I was on my own, the flat was empty, so I left in a hurry in case he came back. I walked down the road, and soon I had an idea of where I was.’
‘But you didn’t come straight back here?’
‘No, I was near where Maisie lived. I went there and she tidied me up and gave me a cup of tea … I came home then.’
‘I shall have to get hold of Pip Eton. He’s not your friend, Stella. I don’t know if he knew the man whose body we have, but he certainly provided the photograph found with him.’
The telephone rang at this point, and Augustus leapt away in alarm.
‘He doesn’t like sudden noises,’ murmured Stella.
‘He’s going to have to get used to it,’ said Coffin, as he picked up the telephone. He listened for a moment, not saying much. ‘Right, thank you. Let me know if and when you have an identification. Cause of death, too, if you don’t know it already.’
He turned to Stella. ‘There’s another body.’
Stella made a surprised noise. ‘They don’t alert the Chief Commander for every body found, surely?’
Coffin was silent for a moment. ‘This one is different. I think I shall have to go and look at it.’
It was late evening, but a fine, bright one with a moon, and the body was not far away.
Stella watched her husband depart with foreboding. All those things I am going to have to talk about that I would rather keep quiet, she thought. She could see her face in a looking glass on the wall and knew that it needed rebuilding.
Actresses could disappear and come back as someone else, and now was the time for her to do this. If she could manage it.
She knew she was going to have to answer questions, even if so far she was being handled with kid gloves, but the time would come when the gloves would be off. She thought of Archie Young and knew he would be getting ready for her.
Chapter 8
This one was different.
It was a fresh body, not long dead, that much was clear even to the first person who found it that evening where it was nestling in an alcove outside the old St Luke’s Church, presently a theatre.
That first viewer was the theatre security man, Luke Locker by name, who was taking his usual end-of-performance look around. He did it in a relaxed way, since except for the odd drunk and the occasional pair locked in lovemaking in the shadows (which he tactfully ignored), there had been no trouble. His wife was away and, not being able to afford Max’s prices, although Max could be generous with the odd sandwich, he had been living on fish and chips. He was just meditating whether, if you kept eating fish and chips, you ended up smelling like a fish. Fried at that. Was that sexy or not? His wife had been away some weeks, so his mind ran along those lines.
What he saw ahead of him, lit up by his torch, awoke him from his comfortable fantasies.
A guy?
But no, it was not November, nowhere near Guy Fawkes’ night, nor did this figure have that jolly, jokey look of a good Guy. Sinister, this one.
At first he had thought the figure was leaning against the wall of the alcove between two buttresses of the former church. After a closer look, he decided the right word was propped up.
He drew nearer and saw flesh. It might be one of those acting kids putting on a performance. They did such things, but this time … he shook his head. Although he did not like actors, he h
ad observed that they did not fool about with their craft.
He made himself take another look. He put out a hand to touch the face under the paper hat … Then he jerked back.
‘Bloody hell, a deader!’
He could just make out the writing on a card pinned to the chest, and what he read there made him even more uneasy.
The theatre manager and the big girl, Alice, took over the telephoning, and he waited by the figure until the police arrived, being careful not to touch.
First a patrol car, soon followed by a detective sergeant with a woman detective.
Then the SOCO team.
Then the police surgeon to certify death but not to move the body till the pathologist and the forensics had done their bit.
There was quite a crowd now, sidelining Luke, who was obliged to hang around because they were going to question him later. He knew one of the uniformed police. He had been at school with her. A nice fat girl she had been then. Now she had thinned down into being big and muscular. Elspeth Butt.
He sidled up to her. ‘Funny business.’
The body was by now lying on the ground being examined by the police pathologist attended by the police surgeon. The pathologist was a man Luke did not know, but did not think he would like if he did. He noticed the man was treated with great politeness. Did someone call him Dennis? Or was it Sir Dennis?
‘Funnier than you know.’ She hardly looked at him, too intent on watching the pathologist, who was making a delicate first examination.
‘Yeah?’
‘Not the first body we’ve got.’
‘I heard.’
A burst of laughter from a trio of her peers interrupted anything she might be going to say.
‘And whose body are you?’ one of them sang out, while the others roared with laughter.
Then fell silent.
‘It’s the big man himself,’ said the singer, falling silent as the Chief Commander came into the light.
Coffin looked down at the figure. It was dressed in a jacket and kilt, but both were made of newspapers, cut and pinned. Coffin studied them, observing the dates to be various. A paper hat sat on the dead man’s head, looking indescribably jaunty. The man’s face was partly obscured by the newspaper, but enough was visible to see he was not old. A thinnish face with dark hair.
A big label with printed letters was fixed to the dead man’s chest; A PRESENT FOR STELLA, it read.
‘I see why you called me in,’ said Coffin. A photographer had stood aside politely as he arrived. The SOCO officer was dusting the wall of the alcove for fingerprints, muttering to himself that there was nothing to be got from rough stone.
‘Thought you’d want to see.’ Archie Young stepped back so Coffin could get a closer look. ‘The MO said he’s been stabbed, as far as can be observed. Whether he died from this wound is not clear yet, but he will do a proper examination when the photographer and the SOCO are through. We don’t want the newspapers removed yet and there may be other injuries.’
‘Any identity?’
‘None at the moment. I expect we will get something soon. There was a crowd from the theatre buzzing round him when he was found. They had been eating in Max’s restaurant. None of them identified him. Max doesn’t know him either. Wouldn’t expect it, really.’
Coffin met Archie Young’s eyes and did what was required of him. ‘I have to tell you that Stella is back. I can get her down to have a look; she may know him.’ He nodded at Young. ‘Do you mind if we don’t go into this in detail now?
Young nodded, thinking: You might be suprised how much we all know about you and your wife’s movements. ‘I don’t like the way her name is cropping up lately,’ he said. ‘Seems all wrong, somehow.’
‘You can imagine how I feel.’
‘We’ll get it sorted out, sir. You know how it is: when you’re as well known as she is, your name gets dragged into all sorts of dramas.’ He was trying to choose his words carefully; he was more moved than he wanted to show.
Coffin looked down at the body. ‘Why the skirt? Mean anything, do you think? See any symbolism?’
‘I think a kilt – let’s call it a kilt – is simply easier to make out of paper than trousers. It’s all mad, I don’t think we can describe this killer as sane.’
‘But why the paper at all?’
Young shook his head. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. It might mean something or nothing, according to how mad the maker of the clothes – if you can call them that – is.’ To himself he thought it was just another way of getting at Stella Pinero. Like the message. He looked at Coffin: ‘I hate to ask, but …’
‘Yes, well, as I just said, Stella must be asked whether she can identify the body.’
‘I don’t suppose she’ll be able to, but you never know,’ said Young. ‘Anything she might come up with will help.’
‘She may have something to tell us.’ She is going to have to talk, he told himself, regardless of whether either of us likes it.
Archie Young looked at Coffin expectantly.
‘She will tell you herself,’ said Coffin. He looked at the body again. A thin, tanned face under the paper hat. ‘Is there a wound on the arm?’
‘Yes, professionally dressed from the look of it. Possibly in a hospital. But the MO has only had a peep so as not to disturb the wrapping.’
‘It hasn’t been examined then?’
‘No, not yet. For now, the cause of the wound or whatever is unknown.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a bite,’ said Coffin. Or several bites, he added gloomily to himself. Young looked at him in surprise. ‘In that case, the identity of the man can be established quite soon. Stella had better come down straightaway; she hasn’t got far to come.’
Stella had showered, got into jeans and a silk shirt, and restored her appearance. One thing about being an actress, she thought, it does teach you how to create a face. With lipstick, cream rouge and eyeliner, she had made herself look like a lady ready to face the world. Perhaps a lady who’d had a shock recently but had come through and was prepared for the next one. Not exactly a tough lady, but a lady on guard.
She took the summons to view the corpse with apparent calm. ‘Right, I’ll come now. If you think I can help.’ She walked down the staircase, out of the door, and swung left into the quadrangle that fronted the theatre.
The area had been screened off while the dead body itself, after being carefully photographed in situ, had been lowered to the ground for examination before being carried away. Otherwise it had not been disturbed.
A policewoman ushered Stella through. ‘This way, if you please, Miss Pinero.’
Coffin stepped forward. ‘Sorry to drag you here, Stella, but I think you can help us.’ He spoke without looking anyone in the face. ‘Stella will, of course, tell you anything you want to know.’
Stella nodded without speaking. She looked down at the dead face. She read the notice saying that this was a present for Stella and shuddered. ‘Yes, I know who it is. I know him as Pip Eton.’
‘Was that his real name?’ asked Archie Young.
‘I don’t know. He was an actor. Actors have many names.’
Somehow, Inspector Lodge had sidled past the screens to be among those present. Late as it was, there are always people around in the theatre so that an audience was half-formed, although kept back by the police. Stella could see the tall figure of Alice, with Max and one of his daughters edging forward. Max caught her eye, moving his head in something between a bow and a nod. Alice stared straight ahead as if she couldn’t believe what she saw. The girl who stood next to her, one of the wardrobe staff – a dogsbody called Frankie as Stella remembered – was laughing. Theatre people were not like the rest of the world.
Stella knew she had to say something to Archie Young.
‘I know his name, I can tell you a little about him, I wish it were otherwise.’ She paused, and took a deep breath. ‘But how did he get killed and why is he dressed like that?’
No one answered.
Coffin said: ‘You’ll have to tell him the lot, Stella. And we had better do it in our own sitting room. Come up, you two.’
Stella looked at him. ‘I’ll go first and make some coffee. Can I have your key? I didn’t bring mine.’
She was thinking as she climbed the stairs ahead of the others. Tell a straight story, she told herself. Archie Young will believe you, but Lodge may be difficult.
She made the coffee carefully, taking her time. She heard feet pass on the stairs, then she carried the tray up. Voices were talking quietly in the room ahead.
She listened for a moment. He’s already told them everything; all I need do is answer any questions.
They were sitting waiting for her, with Augustus sprawled across Coffin’s feet.
Good for you, boy, she thought. ‘Good dog,’ she said aloud. Augustus looked at her steadily with his round black eyes. He liked Stella, who was kind to him, but he preferred Coffin. There was something about his smell that suited Augustus, whereas Stella’s smell was lighter and sweeter. Augustus knew a few words if not many, and one of the words he knew was ‘dog’ which he applied to himself.
Stella hesitated at the door, then Coffin stood and came over to take the tray. ‘Thank you, love.’
‘You’re ready for me?’
He nodded. ‘I’ve run through what you told me.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I thought you would prefer it.’
Stella poured the coffee and handed it round. ‘Well, you know all now, all I can tell you. It’s hard for you to believe, but I don’t know who killed Pip or when it happened, except that I didn’t do it.’
‘Never thought it for a minute,’ said Archie Young. ‘You did well to hold out the way you did.’
‘He was stupid to think I would help.’
‘He didn’t know you as well as he thought he did,’ said Coffin.
‘He wanted me to be a channel through which he got information … Unluckily, I was wild in the days when he knew me.’ She looked at her husband. ‘You wouldn’t have been proud of me then. Not the wife for a leading police officer.’
‘You’re a different person now.’
Coffin's Game Page 10
