Murder is always noticed locally. People come to stare at the home of the victim, some take photographs. The media is always there, although they melt away as a new story breaks. The police take their time in measuring, photographing, and taking samples for forensic investigation.
The body of the victim seems forgotten.
Not in this case, however, since she had a beautiful and much photographed body and that body had been loved by a well-known MP.
Used, said the local feminist organization, used and abused and finally sacrificed. This group of women who had a club room in Spinnergate admired Stella Pinero, deplored her marriage to John Coffin (A policeman, just think! She was better free!) and disliked Job Titus, MP. They were pretty libertarian, this group of Feather Street ladies, and did not advocate sexual austerity for men, women or beasts; they liked sex themselves, they just hated Titus’s way of going about it. They thought he was a coarse fellow.
Coffin was soon made aware that the murder of Marianna Manners was not going to be an easy one to handle. The appearance of Job Titus on various TV news flashes, of Job Titus as he left his flat to go to the House of Commons or walked his dog in the park, reminded him of this even if he had felt like forgetting. Apart from anything else, Titus was demanding police protection from the harassment of the media while issuing threats of legal action if his name was mentioned as a suspect.
Because of the sensitivity of the case, Coffin kept himself informed of all that went on in the Murder Room which had been set up in a church hall in Swinehouse on the border of Spinnergate, close to where she had lived and been murdered in the block of flats in Alexandra Wharf, near to Napier Street where Annie Briggs lived.
There had been a good many changes in the Serious Crime Section in the last year or so as Coffin had worked through his senior police officers and weeded out the weaker members of the team by means of early retirement, sideways promotion, and in one case by death. The unit was now smaller but more efficient.
Archie Young headed all important cases, and had taken personal charge of this one. It was important for Young as well as John Coffin, he was a very ambitious man. His wife, Alison, knew this trait and used her influence on him to moderate an open show of it. She was cleverer than he was and knew that ambition had to be masked. She valued her friendship with Stella Pinero which both of them used to communicate worries about their husbands and to put a brake on the men when it seemed wise. Both of them were convinced that without their efforts their spouses would be dead of overwork.
‘She was strangled and stifled but there was no rape, no semen traces, nothing like that … All the same, the pathologist thinks there might have been some sexual satisfaction involved.’
‘Why?’
‘He thinks the killer took his time about it, that’s all. Getting some kicks.’
‘How does he know? About the going slow?’ It was not a picture he was going to cherish.
‘I don’t know. Something to do with the bruising, the flow of blood. Or perhaps he’s just guessing. Percy’s good at guessing.’ Professor Percy Peters had worked with them, on and off, for some years now. They knew him well enough to value his intuitions. He had been at it so long that he seemed to have developed a sympathetic link with both killer and victim.
It was that or black magic, Young said, and he was a rationalist by long habit. Inside himself, he admitted that Percy could make his flesh creep.
‘Been turning up some things about her lifestyle. She was a good dancer and an actress as well, apparently they all have to do everything now, even a bit of singing. She was unemployed a lot.’
‘Aren’t they all?’ Coffin had been well schooled in the politics of The Profession by his wife.
‘She took what work she could get.’ He paused. ‘Did a stint at Karnival in Ladd’s Alley.’
Coffin raised an eyebrow.
‘Yes, the transvestite club. No evidence that she was into that, for her it was work. Or probably.’
He said probably because, unlike Percy Peters, he was no mind-reader and how could you know what went on inside people? Maybe Marianna had found it agreeable to dress up as a man. She was a tall, muscular girl and would have looked the part.
Karnival was a club for those who wanted to dress up and dance. It also offered a cabaret.
Fun, Fizz, Frou-Frou and Frolic, it advertised.
It was well run and although probably seedy-looking in the hard light of day, in the evening managed to be most of the things it promised.
‘Ever been there, sir?’
‘Yes, once. I was watching a female impersonator. He was good, the whole act was good, even I thought he was good and I knew who and what he was.’ He had had to arrest him, though, but for theft not for dressing up. ‘Of course, I think some of them get the most kick out of a man who doesn’t manage to look quite like a woman. Or a woman who doesn’t quite fit together as a man, however butch she is. The other sex still hanging out seems to give more of a thrill.’
‘And that’s where Titus seems to have met her.’
‘Good lord!’ Coffin breathed in sharply. ‘Now you have surprised me. What was he doing there?’
‘He’s straight as far as we know.’ And the Special Branch usually did know that sort of thing and had been approached by Young. ‘He may be a bit of a voyeur. I think he visited for the hell of it. Just to look and pry.’ He didn’t like Job Titus. ‘Anyway, he picked up Marianna there. So maybe they both had something in common.’
‘A lovely man.’ Coffin considered. ‘How did you get this?’
‘Judy Kinnear, Special Branch. She keeps an eye on him, just in case. I knew she’d be on to whatever there is to know, it’s her job. And I’ve known her for years. Worked together once. Before she moved over to Special. Do you know her, sir?’
Coffin shook his head. ‘Know the name.’
‘She looks like a hard-faced bitch, but when you get to know her she’s one of the best.’
‘I don’t suppose Titus is a security risk?’
‘No,’ said Archie Young regretfully. ‘Not much chance. He’s not in the government nor likely to be. He might be a killer, though.’
‘Worth having a look round at Karnival. Marianna might have run into someone there who killed her.’
‘Or she could have met a man anywhere and taken him home. Or it might be an old friend that we know nothing about yet. Or she might have been watched and followed, as she said. If Titus didn’t make that up.’
‘Interesting that he was seen talking to young Creeley.’
‘I’m told that the young Creeley is a reformed character and could never harm a woman. That’s the latest word on him.’
‘The entry book is wide open,’ said Coffin, ‘and we don’t know the names of the runners.’
‘She auditioned for a production at the St Luke’s Theatre; an amateur affair. Do you think Miss Pinero would know anything about her?’
They were all careful how they brought in Stella’s name; the Chief Commander had been known to be savage, and he was not a man whose bark was worse than his bite.
‘She has nothing to do with that production,’ said Coffin. ‘But I did ask her.’ He added: ‘I’m worried about her.’
‘I had heard. Don’t you worry, sir. We won’t let anyone touch her.’ If there was an ‘anyone’ and it wasn’t Job Titus.
Stella had said no, she had not been present when Marianna was auditioned, the producer of the play with a colleague from the Drama Department at the University had that task. A lot of hopefuls were coming to be auditioned because it was known a Drama School was being established and that this was a kind of pre-run.
The news had been on the local radio, and she herself had been interviewed on Docks TV. In a time of recession it was good news. Yes, she was able to say all the groundwork had been done, the constitution of the school settled: it was to be registered as a charity, the Rector of the University was going to be one of the trustees, and Lady Barningham, another.
The school had already been accepted by the local education authorities so students would be eligible for grants. Yes, they expected some mature students also. The name was going to be the Pinero School of Dramatic Art.
Yes, they had the premises: the old Rectory of St Luke’s which had housed a private secretarial school, now defunct, would be converted. Later, they would build.
‘Might be a lot later,’ said Letty gloomily. She flexed her hands nervously, she had long delicate fingers which she loaded with rings. She favoured heavy smooth gold. ‘Money’s tight.’
Her gloom might have been entirely due to the economy but Stella knew her sister-in-law better. ‘No news about Elissa?’
‘No, I am having an interview with Tash tomorrow and he’s going to report progress but from what he said on the telephone there isn’t any.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘I do miss her so, I loved her even when we quarrelled.’ A tear appeared in her eyes.
‘Here.’ Stella went across to the drinks table and poured out a gin. ‘Drink it up, mother’s ruin but I reckon it helps.’
Letty looked at the glass. ‘Is there any ice?’
‘Oh, you Americans. Yes, I’ll get some.’
She came in with a bowlful of ice lumps and some sliced lemon. ‘I’ll have one with you. I don’t feel too jolly myself.’
‘Your daughter? How is she?’
Stella’s daughter was in The Profession but had recently married.
‘She telephoned from Edinburgh this morning to say she is expecting twins. I can’t believe it. I didn’t even know she was pregnant. I’ve only just got used to her being married.’
Letty dabbed the tears from her eyes and managed a grin. ‘Hello, Grandma.’
‘Yes. I won’t be called Gran or Granny.’
‘What will John say?’
‘Grandpa?’ Their eyes met and they both began to laugh. ‘Serve him right for marrying a woman of my age.’
She was slightly, very slightly, older than her husband whom she had first met as a raw young detective, had loved, quarrelled with, and left. Only to meet him again and repeat the process. They had met for the third time and this time had married. It had to last.
‘He’ll probably be very, very pleased.’
‘He’s lucky, very lucky, to have you,’ said Letty. ‘You keep him this side of sanity.’
‘Oh, he’s very sane.’
‘I don’t think his is a job you stay sane in, you see so much that’s corruptible and devious and horrible. I’ve seen him have terrible rages.’
‘Not so much as he used to have.’
‘They were nearly all inside, I don’t suppose he let them show. We’re a very odd family.’
‘That diary,’ said Stella.
‘Exactly.’
A few years ago a diary kept by the mother of the three, John, Letty and brother William, had been discovered in an attic. It revealed a life even more full of lovers, strange adventures and alarming anecdotes than anyone had suspected. None of the three had memories of their mother, whose habit had been to see each child was looked after by someone else as she moved on. Moving on was her speciality.
Letty had handed it over to Coffin to read and edit with the idea of publishing it. A film had been talked about. She might put money in herself. That was when she had money, she thought regretfully, that lovely liquid stuff.
Stella had her regrets too. ‘I read some of it when there was this idea of a film. I wouldn’t have minded getting the part of Ma but I thought she was a liar. Did you believe it?’
‘Believe, what’s believe?’ Letty nodded tolerantly. ‘But it was fantastic and a marvellous read. I thought: Well, if that’s my mother, I hope I have inherited some of her flair. She could live, that woman.’
‘Several lives at once,’ said Stella.
Letty leaned forward. ‘You know the thing I dread most … and it’s why I gave up the idea of a film: she might still be alive. She might be alive and come forward and say, That’s me. I began to have dreams, nightmares, in which she came back; she tapped me on my face and I woke up and there she was, standing by my bed. That was when the nightmare began.’
‘I think John has a nightmare like that,’ said Stella. ‘Perhaps that’s why he married me.’
‘No, oh no.’ Letty’s lips curved in a smile of great sweetness which yet echoed some expressions of her brother’s face. ‘He married you for one reason only: that he loved you and could not see life without you.’
Stella shook her head. ‘We all have our own nightmares, and mine is that one day he will say, Well, that’s it, Stella, sorry it didn’t work. Goodbye.’
‘He’s worried about you at the moment,’ said Letty abruptly. ‘But he’s taking measures.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen the patrol cars going past. But they can’t watch me all the time. One day I might go round a corner or get in a lift and there he is with a knife or a gun, and no one to stop him. And sometimes I have an even worse fear: that he horribly, terribly likes me.’
This time it was Letty who poured them both a strong gin.
Then they turned to discussing the appointment of the Principal of the School of Drama for which they had several good candidates.
It was not until Letty left that Stella went back to look again at the ring of white roses found on the mat before her front door.
It was a small ring of blooms, more funeral than celebratory, with a chewed and torn appearance as if it had been about the world a bit. Tiddles the cat had been on it and may have been responsible for the depressing, even menacing look.
As she took the roses in her hand, she thought: And they’re not even real roses. A card fell out on to the mat. A small old card which, like the flowers, looked as if this was not its first use. It said: LOVE.
That evening, up the stairs in Coffin’s tower, she handed them over to her husband. He had an apron on and was in the kitchen.
A pleasant smell as of savoury chicken greeted her. They had arranged to cook in turns and her husband was now doing his part. Even acting the part with his striped butcher’s apron. She guessed the food had come from a famous store which specialized in providing prepared food. She congratulated him, she would do the same. She did do the same, had been doing so for weeks. No good pretending that they were an orthodox domestic pair.
Dinner was quiet and attended by both animals, cat and dog, who received their own bowls of food with suspicious pleasure. The cat had taught Bob to inspect what he ate before touching a mouthful in case it was poisoned and the dog had taught Tiddles to eat fast or the chap next to you in the feeding line might get it.
‘I shall be staying the night.’
‘I should hope so.’ He was surprised it had to be mentioned. On the whole, their nights were spent in his tower. At first Stella had called it romantic, now she just called it home which he liked even better.
The wreath of plastic roses rested on a bookcase by them.
‘I feel more nervous than ever. What can you do with the roses?’
He poured her some more wine and looked across at the wreath, sitting in a melancholy way as if it had a life of its own on the bookcase by the window where Tiddles often sat.
‘I don’t suppose the roses take fingerprints well, although you never know, but it shall go off for forensic examination.’ He drank some wine himself. ‘No one saw it delivered?’
‘Who could I ask?’ said Stella. ‘Letty didn’t know anything.’
‘People from the theatre … coming and going?’
Stella shrugged. ‘I’ll try. But I don’t think so.’
‘Don’t worry too much.’ But he was worried himself.
‘But don’t you see, he’s coming closer. Closer. He knows my face and I don’t know his.’
‘Come to bed. It’ll seem better in the morning.’
Stella smiled. ‘The nice thing about being married is that there is the morning as well as the night.’
Coffin traced his finger d
elicately down her profile. ‘You have a very charming nose, did you know it?’
Without warning he remembered the face of Marianna Manners, seen in the police morgue that morning. She too had a nice nose but one now suffused with dark colour.
An actress, like his Stella, but not so talented or successful with her chewed fingernails. Trying, though, to justify her Equity card, taking whatever part she could get.
‘Did you ever hear of the Karnival Club?’ he asked Stella.
Stella looked surprised. ‘Yes, I know about it. Why do you ask?’
‘Marianna Manners had an engagement there. She was at the Karnival a week. It was where she met Job Titus.’
‘I went there once,’ said Stella.
‘You did?’
‘I was producing a play about a transvestite. I wanted to get it right.’
‘Did it help?’
‘So-so. The production was scrapped anyway.’
He wouldn’t question her now, but tomorrow, in the morning, he would get out of her the date and details of her visit.
But he couldn’t resist one question. ‘What did you wear?’ She considered. ‘Well, it was work. I didn’t dress up.’ Hastily she added, ‘Not that way, or any way. It was summer. Jeans and a shirt, I think.’
One more question had to be asked now after all. ‘Which summer?’
‘This summer. When it was hot, in June.’
This summer, not so long ago. Not too long ago for a person to have seen both Marianna and Stella.
Damn, he thought. Damn and damn and damn.
CHAPTER 5
Thursday. Down Napier Street
Morning did not always bring joy. Annie woke up with a headache and a gut feeling of worry. ‘Always worse in the morning,’ she told herself. She battled against misery, always had, she was a fighter.
Annie cleared away the breakfast and took her daughter to nursery school. Didi was still asleep, she seemed to use more than the average ration of oblivion. Annie couldn’t remember if she had been that way herself but she thought not. Sleep, surely, had been a commodity hard to come by after that episode in the garden. Moreover, there had been a generation change and it had happened between Annie and Didi, a matter of some ten years. Girls were different now.
A Coffin for Charley Page 5
