Coffin's Game

by Gwendoline Butler

  ‘Does look like that. So she didn’t die straight away?’

  ‘No, although the killer may have thought she had. Who found her?’

  ‘I did, less than an hour ago.’

  Dr Marriot, the police surgeon, who knew Coffin, pursed his lips. ‘This is pure speculation, and I wouldn’t like to go into court without a better check, but I think it was not much before.’

  ‘And the cat?’

  ‘I haven’t inspected the cat, and I’m no vet, but I make a guess it died soon after. Poor beast, just got in the way, I suppose.’ He knelt down to take a look, prodding the little corpse with a gentle finger. ‘Stabbed, like the woman.’

  Dr Marriot prepared to depart. ‘I’ve done my bit: it’s for the pathologist and the forensic lads to get on now …’ He looked round the room. ‘She struggled a bit, I guess. Not a lot, though. Think she knew who killed her?’

  ‘Very likely,’ said Coffin, who did think so.

  ‘What was the motive? All right, don’t answer. You don’t know.’

  The doctor got himself out of the room in a good-humoured way.

  ‘So why do you think she was killed?’ Archie Young asked Coffin. Any real motive, he was asking himself, or just some nasty murdering bugger?

  ‘I think she was going to tell me who she gave the clothes to that we found. I don’t know how the killer knew she was going to do this, but I think that was the motive.’

  ‘Maisie may have warned the killer herself.’

  ‘Wish she could speak now.’ Coffin moved towards the telephone which was still on the floor, awaiting the full attention of the photographer, who was still busy with Maisie, and the forensic team who were looking for scraps of this and that and dusting for fingerprints. He looked at the bedtable. ‘I see she has an answerphone.’

  Archie Young studied it. ‘No calls waiting.’

  ‘Sometimes you can hear an earlier call if she hasn’t wiped it off but just let the tape run on. I’ve done it myself.’

  ‘Haven’t we all?’

  ‘Let’s listen.’ Coffin put a handkerchief over his hand to tap the buttons.

  Quietly, a voice was speaking. Coffin felt his neck stiffen.

  There was a certain amount of noise from the comings and goings of the SOCO outfit and the forensic team gradually working their way round the house.

  ‘Turn it up louder,’ requested Archie. ‘I can’t hear.’

  A moment later, for the Chief Commander’s sake, he regretted having asked.

  Stella’s voice could be heard speaking softly. Coffin said, without much expression, ‘I’ll turn it back.’

  Stella said: ‘John will be coming round to speak to you, Maisie. I won’t be coming myself, but you know what to say.’

  There was a pause while Archie Young first looked away out of the window and then straight at Coffin.

  ‘She couldn’t have done it better if she’d tried for years, could she?’ said Coffin, in a no-expression voice. ‘But it was spontaneous. I wonder if we have it all? Didn’t quite finish.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean anything, you can ask her.’

  You bet I will, thought Coffin. Before I strangle her myself. ‘Let’s see what Maisie’s last call was.’

  ‘She may not have the last call check on her phone.’

  ‘She has,’ said Coffin. ‘And guess where she dialled? The theatre.’

  He met Archie Young’s embarrassed gaze, and shook his head. ‘Let’s go downstairs.’

  I suppose I could always shoot myself, he thought, and then he began to laugh. Oh Stella, Stella. What am I going to do with her?

  Archie Young heard the laugh. He was glad the boss felt like laughing.

  In the hall, Archie saw that the picture Coffin had knocked down was on the floor again. Two of the forensic team were there, Jem Sider and Al Jansem, he knew them both.

  ‘Oh that’s down, is it?’ I knocked it down earlier. It’s awkward, seems to stick out.’

  ‘Yes, and I know why. You didn’t look at the back.’

  Jem showed the two men the back of the picture on which was taped a large brown envelope.

  ‘Get it off,’ said Coffin, ‘and see what’s inside.’

  ‘Might be a bomb,’ Jem was a joker. He had it off and handed it to the Chief Commander. ‘Wait a minute, sir.’ He held out a pair of white rubber gloves.

  Coffin put on the gloves, and opened the letter. It might very well be a bomb, but if so it was likely to be of an emotional nature.

  Inside was a thick wad of twenty-pound notes.

  ‘Not a bad place to keep your savings,’ said Jem, ‘when you live round here where you might be broken into. Who’d think of looking behind a picture?’

  Outside in the street was Jack Lowerly, the local CID inspector who would be handling the case. He looked awkward, if not surprised (since he had been well alerted), to be confronted with the Chief Commander and the Chief Superintendent. Both men were liked and respected, but rank told. You watched out, and checked how you were doing.

  A darkened ambulance was waiting at the kerb to take Maisie’s body to the mortuary where it would be given a careful examination by Dennis Garden. Since this seemed a safe observation, he said: ‘Be getting the deceased off, sir. The Prof will be taking a look, but I don’t suppose he will have much to add. Clear enough how she died.’ Lowerly allowed himself to go on as his audience seemed to be listening. ‘A real tragedy, a nice lady. My wife worked in the theatre for a while, in the office, and saw a bit of Maisie.’

  Coffin nodded.

  Lowerly, always a talker, went on: ‘We’re trying to locate the next of kin, but no luck so far, a solitary lady, her life was the theatre. Would Miss Pinero have any idea?’

  ‘I’ll ask her.’

  ‘There will be a bit of money, I expect. My wife said Maisie liked to turn an honest penny.’

  ‘Robbery doesn’t seem to have been a motive for her murder.’

  ‘So I gather, sir.’ A foxy look came over Lowerly’s sharp-featured face. ‘There will be money in it somewhere.’ He decided he had done well, and was moving away before he fell into trouble.

  ‘You’re a philosopher, I can see, Inspector,’ said Coffin. ‘But with murder there has to be something else as well as money.’

  Lowerly left wondering whether he had done well or badly after all.

  Coffin and Archie stood by the Chief Commander’s car; Coffin shrugged.

  ‘All the same, he wasn’t far wrong,’ said Young. ‘Not always a straightforward motive for a murder, however much we try to show there is.’

  There’s no need to listen, he said to himself, watching his chief’s withdrawn eyes. I’m only talking for the sake of talking, as I guess Lowerly was too – and making a better job of it than I am.

  Coffin had heard him, because he gave him a wry smile. ‘You and I know that sometimes there isn’t a motive for murder – not a credible one – and that all we have is a killer and victim.’

  ‘More than one killer, do you think?’

  ‘Forensics ought to be able to utter on that … fingerprints.’

  ‘If any.’

  ‘If any. Body traces, fibres … There’s always something if you look hard enough.’

  Archie thought that you sometimes had to look mighty hard, but he kept quiet.

  ‘I think just one killer, but that’s a guess.’

  ‘You’re usually a good guesser.’

  ‘Thank you. Experience, really, I suppose …’ He paused. ‘I have had a high-level warning to keep out of it.’

  Archie, to whom all things were soon known, had heard about Sir Fred’s visit.

  ‘Stella will have to make a statement. And I would like her to make it to you, not Astley. Lodge will have to be present, I suppose. It’s his territory.’

  ‘Right.’ Archie Young recognized that in certain circumstances Inspector Lodge had to be accepted as important. He did not much like the man, but he understood that it was not Lodge’s game to be li
ked.

  Coffin said quietly: ‘If Stella is seriously involved, I shall have to go.’

  Archie was later, when he talked about this to his wife, to feel ashamed that his first reaction was where would it leave him? He had had John Coffin’s support all the way through his career. They had worked together as a team, with Archie respecting the flair and intuition (not to mention plain luck) of his boss. With him gone, what would happen to Archie? His wife, robust and practical as ever, had poured him a large whisky and told him to grow up and be a big boy. He had not been quite sure what she meant by that, except a strong feeling she supported the Chief Commander, but women were always on the side of John Coffin.

  Except possibly the one he had married. What was Stella Pinero up to?

  He said goodbye to the Chief Commander and went back into the murder house. Then he rang Phoebe Astley on his mobile to tell her what was going on and to ask her about Fish Alley. He listened without comment to what she had to say and then, without mentioning this to Phoebe Astley, went off to take a statement from Stella Pinero.

  John Coffin, meanwhile, drove back to his office, with a sleeping Augustus in the back of the car. He envied the dog his tranquil peace of mind. Then Augustus gave a tiny, muted growl from the depths of a dream. You too? thought Coffin.

  In the office he checked with Paul Masters on all the matters that concerned them both in the day-to-day running of the Second City Force. No more riots, no more bombs and no armed robbery to take his mind off his own problems.

  And then: ‘There’s a message from Chief Inspector Astley.’

  The careful way of handing it over suggested to Coffin that it was not a message he was going to enjoy.

  ‘How does she manage to get a fax out of Fish Alley?’

  ‘Don’t know, sir.’

  Coffin grunted, reading what Phoebe had to say.

  ‘The Todger is round here in Fish Alley,’ Phoebe began without preamble, ‘he has with him his young man, Pete Corner, the one we thought originally had been murdered, and who was the Todger’s hidden man to check on the bombmakers. Not naming any names, but claims to have been following an interesting suspect from the theatre complex to Fish Alley over several days. Again naming no names, he says the evidence he has from the Anti Terrorist unit is that a group of six was responsible: four outsiders and two locally based. Pip Eton was one of the second lot. The feeling seems to be that he was killed by one of his colleagues. Apparently, this is not unknown in the business, so Pete says. Some connection with the old KGB, no doubt, trained there perhaps. Joke.’

  But only half a joke, thought Coffin.

  As an extra, Phoebe added: ‘Found a lot of blonde hairs around, likewise fingerprints.’

  Stella owns the bloody place, Coffin muttered, you know that. My fingerprints must be there, too. And it’s pure chance that hair from my head is not all over the bedclothes, not to mention what are known as bodily fluids.

  Phoebe could be very irritating.

  ‘And we have what looks to be the murder weapon. I’m linking up with Archie Young, just in case.’ A characteristic Phoebe Astley parting comment: ‘Pete’s a lovely lad, I can see we could work together well.’

  Damn you, Phoebe, thought Coffin. For God’s sake keep out of Pete’s bed.

  Chapter 13

  Chief Superintendent Young was sympathetic. ‘What I have to ask you,’ he began, then hesitated. He never knew how to address Stella in a formal way – when they met for drinks or dinner, that was easy but now … Should it be Miss Pinero or her married name? So he kept it professional, Miss Pinero. It did distance the Chief Commander a fraction. ‘Just some questions about today.’

  Stella looked at him, wide-eyed and apprehensive. ‘But I’ve already answered –’ she began. Her face was very pale.

  ‘I have your earlier statement about Pip Eton and your involvement with him.’

  He could see from Stella’s face that she had begun to take in that this was a new and serious inquisition. She was an actress, of course, and knew how to milk a situation. He had to take that into account.

  A picture came into his mind of all four of them at a police dance, and how lovely Stella had looked in a plain black dress with pearls at her throat. All real, too, by the look of them, his wife had said with envy. And how, when he had told Stella a few days later how beautful both of them thought she looked in black silk and pearls, she had laughed and admitted the pearls were real but borrowed.

  He hadn’t wondered then if that was true, but he did now. And then he remembered how, on another occasion, she had comforted his wife when their eldest son was in a coma after a road accident. No silk and pearls then, just a little cotton dress. She had been more help than his own mother, who had sat there weeping; more help than he had given himself. And she had looked after the other child, then cooked an evening meal for the lot of them (well, micro-waved, but who said you had to be a cook?) and stayed the night so the two of them could go back to the hospital.

  No acting there.

  ‘Miss Pinero,’ he said, ‘we can take the statement here or we can go the station, as you prefer.’

  He had brought with him the youngest and mildest of the detectives, Teresa Behr, known, as might be expected, to her colleagues as Teddy Bear. He had thought that Teresa might make Stella feel relaxed. Instead, he saw that Stella was casting uneasy glances at the pretty young woman with her air of quiet competence. Inspector Lodge had been busy in Fish Alley and unable to attend. Good.

  The Chief Superintendent had passed Letty Bingham and Alice Yeoman on his way through the corridors, the first of whom he knew by sight and the second he could not fail to know by name since Letty was shouting at her angrily for not being around when wanted. ‘But who is, in this place?’ she had ended. ‘Actors!’

  Alice had broken away from Letty to ask the Chief Superintendent what he wanted, then made a good guess and told him Stella could not see him.

  He ignored this advice. An interesting woman though, with good deductive skills; they could do with one like her on the Force. He did not fail to notice that she threw off Letty, no mean feat in his opinion, and slid into the room behind them, stationing herself near Stella.

  Guard or protector?

  ‘I will talk here,’ said Stella, her voice unsteady.

  Alice spoke up. ‘Can’t you see she’s crying?’ she said fiercely.

  ‘You’ve heard about Maisie?’

  ‘Of course she has.’

  ‘Let Miss Pinero speak for herself,’ said Archie Young.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Stella quietly.

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘Word gets round quickly here,’ said Stella.

  It was no answer so Archie sat there, waiting.

  ‘I told her,’ said Alice. ‘It’s all over the place, everyone knows. We’re not dummies here, you know.’

  Archie Young took action. He stood up. ‘I think we will talk down at the station, Miss Pinero.’

  Stella did not look at Alice. ‘Hop it, Alice,’ she said wearily. ‘You mean well, but leave me to it.’

  DC Behr held the door for Alice, thus tacitly passing her judgement. Archie nodded his thanks to her. She’ll go far, that Behr, he thought. Mind you, the other one might, too; a fighter.

  He turned back to Stella.

  ‘She’s a protégée of my husband, he got me to give her the job,’ Stella said as Alice disappeared. ‘I have wondered if she was his daughter, but he says not, says she is the child of a colleague, now dead, whom he owed … They don’t look alike, so I believe him. She’s not a theatre person at heart, but she makes herself useful.’

  Archie was not sure if Stella was making a joke about Coffin’s daughter or not. Probably not, he thought, so he allowed himself a smile, a soft-duty answer for everything, then took her through the story of Fish Alley.

  She explained, with a good grace, that yes, the flat belonged to her, that she had suppressed this fact when she first told her story. Yes, she
knew now that Pip Eton had been using it, but she had not realized it straightaway. Yes, she had been imprisoned there, or felt she was, even though in the end she had escaped with ease. She skirted round the nature of her relationship with Pip Eton, but managed to say she had heard a woman’s voice, and Archie let her leave it there.

  For the moment.

  Then they talked about the bloodstained clothes, the jeans and so on. Stella seemed quite willing to discuss this matter. He moved on.

  ‘You knew that the Chief Commander was going to visit Maisie about the clothes, your clothes, that were found under the bed in Linton House?’

  ‘Of course, I knew. He told me. I wanted to go myself, I would have done, but I got caught up with things here.’ She looked around her. ‘It’s always like that in the theatre, set one foot inside and the tasks descend on your head … I expect it’s the same in your job.’

  Archie agreed that it was.

  ‘Did you make a telephone call to Maisie?’

  Stella said: ‘If you ask that, then you know that I did. I don’t know how you know.’ She considered. ‘The answerphone, I suppose, she had it on, although she answered.’ She shrugged. ‘Oh, well, you know what it was about: the clothes.’

  But we only know the tail end of the conversation, the bit that didn’t get wiped. Erased, that’s the word.

  ‘What did you mean when you said to her: “You know what to say”?’

  Stella studied her hands. ‘Ah well, you see, I had told my husband that I passed on clothes that I no longer wore to Maisie for a charity shop. That was not quite true.’

  ‘What was true?’ He was aware of DC Behr quietly taking notes.

  ‘I sold them. Some of my clothes were expensive and not much worn, and you know the theatre … we never have any money, a lot of us sell clothes, shoes and handbags even … Maisie did it for me. She took a rake-off, of course.’

  Of course, she did, with knobs on, more than you knew, probably, hence her hidden money.

  ‘And you didn’t want the Chief Commander to know?’

  ‘No, he has to know now … but I wanted Maisie to handle it tactfully. He’s so generous himself, I didn’t want to seem mean.’ Stella shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I was all mixed up.’