A Coffin for Charley

by Gwendoline Butler

  That must mean that the killer was not a man picking at random, this killer was working deliberately, choosing victims and casting suspicion on purpose.

  This killer was at home among them.

  The wind blew from the river bringing dampness on its breath. He got up, walking down the path to the gate.

  Out there, the police machine was working on. Interviews were being taken and recorded, telephone calls made, and all details passed to the Locating Officer. The computers would be working overtime (if they didn’t break down) and now it was an inter-force investigation, the Metropolitan CID would be involved.

  With all this concentrated work, they ought to nail the killer.

  But luck came into it too, you always needed that special bit of luck.

  He walked back to the office, checked the latest letters and faxes and calls that had come in. All routine, nothing fresh as yet from Archie Young and his team.

  He went home, his mind calling up his other current worry: sister Letty. He had a key to Stella’s flat, so he let himself in to listen to Letty’s message on her recording machine.

  Letty had not had much to say and had probably chosen her time when Stella would be out so that she would not speak to her directly.

  Don’t worry about me, she said, I’m all right and will be in touch. Trust me.

  He listened carefully. She had been speaking on a public telephone in a noisy place.

  He ran it again. Voices and movements in the background. A voice speaking on a public address system. The speaker was making an announcement of some sort.

  A railway station? And if so, where?

  He left Stella’s place and climbed his own staircase. It might be possible to bring up the voice, hear what it had to say, and identify the location.

  Possibly. Science was magic. But then Letty herself was still on the loose and doing what?

  The whole place was dark with no sign of Stella. The dog was asleep on the bed and the cat was looking out of the window, so there was life around.

  He made himself some coffee and considered a strong nip of whisky but he had gone that way once too often in the past and it was better avoided.

  As he went to the refrigerator he found a note from Stella stuck to the door. ‘I will cook dinner,’ it said.

  Fat chance, he thought, looking around the bare room. There might be food there but it was well hidden. He sat down in the kitchen to drink his coffee and continue to think.

  But when Stella arrived within the hour, she confounded him: she was followed by a trio of helpers from Max’s Delicatessen, each bearing dishes.

  She smiled at him and kissed his cheek. ‘Friends?’ She had never quite understood why she had been cast into darkness after telling about Job Titus, but she was glad to be back in the warm. She felt sure she was.

  ‘Did you say cook?’ said Coffin, looking over her shoulder.

  ‘It counts as cooking.’ She waved her hand as her supporters deposited dishes on the table. ‘Beef en croûte, salad and garlic bread. I think there are mushrooms in that dish.’ She lifted a lid: ‘And orange pudding in this.’ She distributed tips and smiles lavishly to the dish-bearers, then took up the conversation begun in the Underground as if they had only just parted.

  ‘So what about Harrison’s of Bond Street?’

  Coffin broke off a lump of garlic bread. ‘I don’t know yet. Just an idea … There’s enough garlic in here to keep off vampires.’

  ‘Perhaps that was my idea.’

  He looked at her sharply. ‘What’s that?’

  Stella sat down, facing him. The cat leapt on to her lap where she stroked it. ‘My follower was back today.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, just as I came out of the Tube … Must have been waiting. There’s a dark corner there, good to lurk in.’

  ‘He, she or it threw something at me.’

  She saw the alarm in his face. ‘No, it wasn’t a bomb although it could have been. It was this.’ She reached into her pocket and put a rose on the table.

  ‘If that’s from Charley, then I think it’s goodbye.’

  CHAPTER 14

  In the murky river

  No one disturbed them that night except the cat demanding to be let out and then in again.

  ‘Stella, I am going to take the tape from your answering machine and see if I can get the background noises brought up. It should be possible, technically … It might help to work out where Letty is.’ God knows what she was up to.

  ‘I wish you would. I’m worried about her.’ Stella studied her face in the looking-glass on her dressing-table while she considered what shade of lipstick would give her most uplift today. Sometimes a bright colour destroyed you, whereas on another day it was just what you needed. Soft colour today, she thought. Then she said, as if one decision made released another, ‘About the smell. It wasn’t totally masculine. Men and women do smell differently, you know, and I don’t just mean aftershave and toilet water. It’s the hormones.’

  ‘I know,’ said Coffin. Did he though?

  ‘And the figure that came near me that day … Well, the clothes smelt of a man, smoky and masculine, but there was the smell of a woman too.’

  ‘And that’s what you picked up in the Karnival Club?’

  ‘Yes. Similar.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. He knew where that thought led him.

  But in the morning, as soon as he arrived in his office he got the telephone call he had been hoping for about Caroline Royal.

  ‘Yes,’ said Chief Inspector Young. ‘Yes and yes. Harrison’s of Bond Street do know Caroline Royal, they have employed her for years and she still works for them. I don’t know how you knew.’

  ‘Just something I saw.’

  ‘It’s a pity my lot didn’t draw the right conclusions, eyes and no eyes,’ said Archie Young somewhat sourly. He did not enjoy being set on the right track too often by the boss. Just once, he prayed to his anonymous God who sounded very like his former headmaster at school, just once, let it be me.

  ‘And you have an address?’

  ‘We have an address for her. South London.’ Then he added: ‘They haven’t seen her for some time. She’d been on a business trip to America and since then has had a bit of leave.’

  ‘Have they spoken to her?’

  ‘Not recently.’

  ‘Well, good luck to you.’ Coffin hesitated and the Chief Inspector crossed his fingers. ‘I wish I could come with you but I can’t.’

  The Chief Inspector uncrossed his fingers and said cheerfully that he would keep in touch.

  Middle of the day and the river running fast

  Caroline Royal was not expecting a visitor, she was lying in bed reading. By her side was a mug of coffee and some fruit. Breakfast as a meal was out; she was a tall, well-built young woman who dared not put on weight. She wore trouser suits a lot, all the travelling she did made it convenient, but her clothes were tailored, made for her at Harrison’s and she could not risk expanding out of them. No one was allowed to get fat at Harrison’s.

  She looked down at her legs stretched out on the bed. Nice around the ankles, a bit thick on the thighs, put on more weight and she would look like a middle-aged man in that latest tweed. Lovely colour, of course, like ripe mulberries, and delicious texture, you couldn’t beat the Italians.

  But not to look like a man, although she did admit that she had had fun once or twice, wearing a tie and putting on a felt hat. Which had been a mistake in one way, clearly a mistake, because it gave certain people the wrong idea. One certain person, anyway.

  I am Caroline Royal, she said to herself. She said it again, like a mantra. Caroline Royal, Caroline Royal.

  It was as well to remember it, because she hadn’t been christened it, had sort of invented herself. The fashion world was a tough business and the power to invent yourself and reinvent yourself was important.

  She had done it more than once and thought she might soon be moving on again.

&nbs
p; When the doorbell rang she was under the shower, she considered ignoring the summons, but it rang again with the sort of energy that forced an answer from you.

  She wrapped herself up and got there before the next ring. ‘What do you want?’ she said aggressively. The sight of three men there both alarmed her and got the adrenalin rising at the same time.

  Chief Inspector Young and a sergeant from the Second City investigating team, together with a man from the local CID because this street was in the Met’s territory, stood there. Politely he identified himself before asking if she was Miss Royal and could they come in?

  ‘Why me?’

  He murmured something about a murder inquiry but he was watching her with interest. As Caroline stepped back into the room, he summed her up as a masculine-looking girl who could probably look after herself.

  ‘Wait while I get dressed.’

  She returned wearing a pleated skirt with a silk shirt in which she looked entirely feminine. Women could always surprise you, Young thought.

  She seemed startled to be asked about Napier Street and Annie Briggs, who had not, she implied, been an ideal landlady.

  ‘No,’ said Caroline Royal. ‘No, I haven’t lived there for weeks. Months. I paid my rent and cleared out. I didn’t like my landlady, she was creepy. And no, I didn’t leave male clothes behind. And I didn’t have a man there. Not once, not ever.’

  I have no sex life to speak of, except in the odd hotel room in Paris or Rome or New York. I am always on the move, and even then it is usually to cement a deal. They are not celebrations of sex but a kind of business arrangement.

  ‘She had a man about the place, more than one possibly. I caught the odd glimpse.’

  Caroline did not think she could identify the man, just the odd flash, they knew how it was.

  ‘No, it was not the reason I moved, it was not my sort of place, not as near the City Airport as I’d thought, and miles from Heathrow. I travel a lot, just back now … It’s how I come to have heard of the murder. I liked Didi.’ She frowned. She was right to have got out. It might have been her.

  ‘Was it Annie?’ she asked. ‘I mean … is it Annie who killed Didi and the other one?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  Caroline paused, shrugged and looked doubtful. ‘Don’t know. Just came into my mind. She’s that sort, could be anything.’

  Late afternoon. Low tide on the Thames

  Archie Young went back and made his report to the Chief Commander. ‘So Caroline is alive and well, has not lived in Napier Street for some time, and she fingered Annie for the murders.’

  ‘You thought she was honest? Telling the truth?’

  ‘I did. A tough young woman, but honest.’ A touch masculine, but attractive.

  And Annie had lied. Lied up down and round about. Had them for fools. Coffin found he resented this treatment, and he knew what to do about it.

  ‘Better see Annie, then.’

  ‘She’s playing the same card as before. Won’t see anyone if you aren’t there.’

  Coffin looked at his diary: ‘This evening, then. Keep her in play until then.’

  It was true that the Chief Commander was busy with the routine duties of his office, but he needed time to think. He hoped Archie Young was doing the same.

  He allowed himself an hour which he called his Think Session.

  He read through the file that contained all the up-to-date reports on the deaths of Marianna Manners and Didi Dunne. He had nothing yet on the new and unidentified victim.

  As far as he could see, there was no circumstantial evidence that connected any known suspect with the death of either girl. No fingerprints, no discernible body traces, no forensic evidence of any kind. The killer had been clever or lucky.

  Job Titus was clever, Eddie Creeley was not. Job Titus might be lucky, Eddie Creeley belonged to a family that passed on bad luck like a legacy.

  He knew what Young would say. ‘When we know who it is, then we will get the forensic evidence,’ and he would think: Oh, Archie, Archie, those days are done. Evidence first, please, and then the arrest. Not the arrest and then dig out the evidence that convicted. Tempting but dangerous.

  So they had two dead bodies, and a third, and nowhere to look. He knew the police machine was rolling on and any moment now might produce a vital piece of information.

  But at this moment there was nothing but questions.

  The tape with Eddie’s name on it.

  The chewed fingernails.

  The fact that the last victim had been the first killed.

  These were interesting facts that had to be explained.

  In all cases, there were left questions unanswered, puzzles with no easy answer, and perhaps this was what they had there.

  He drank some cold coffee which tasted rank on his tongue. A long while since he’d dealt with a poisoning case, he thought, but cold coffee would be a way to administer it. If you could get the victim to drink.

  What was he thinking then: that the three deaths were connected, one killer involved? Yes, he accepted that as real.

  So they had a serial killer?

  Why then did he have this uneasy feeling that this was not a serial crime in the classic sense?

  Because he had the strong feeling that all the deaths were meant to be discovered and the first death was to be found last.

  It might be they had found the last girl too soon for the murderer. Was that a feasible thought?

  The power of analysis and then of synthesis that had given him such power as a detective was forcing him now to break down the events into various pieces, not just as previously seen, and he was putting them together in another mosaic.

  A killer with a plan. A Charley, not sexually driven but otherwise motivated.

  What motive? Love, hate, revenge, money, malice, these were good sign words.

  He supposed you could fit Annie out with revenge. She had long given signs of wanting revenge on the world.

  As Archie Young met him, walking across the pavement on Napier Street to that tall, ugly house with the empty top floor, he said: ‘One more thing: Caroline Royal said, “Ask Annie about the Karnival Club.” She seemed to think it meant something.’

  ‘I bet it does.’ That place seemed to fit into everything. But Caroline Royal’s words echoed his own thoughts. Young’s too, judging by the look on his face.

  Without another word, they went in to see Annie together. The door was opened by a uniformed woman police officer who had the tired, baffled look that contact with Annie seemed to bring on.

  When they got there, Annie was supported by Tom Ashworth and Alex Edwards.

  ‘Hello, Annie. You wanted me, here I am.’ Coffin nodded towards the two men.

  ‘I asked them to come.’ Annie jerked her head defiantly. Go on, blame me, send them away if you dare, she was saying.

  No one was better at body language, thought Coffin, a natural performer. Or was dissembler a better word?

  ‘So, Annie, you know why we are here? To get the truth about Caroline Royal. She has not lived in the flat above for some weeks, has she? She gave notice and left and you knew it.’

  Annie remained quiet.

  ‘Come on, Annie, the male clothes found there were not hers. Nothing to do with her. Whose were they?’

  Alex Edwards went across to where Annie sat and put his arm round her. ‘Don’t bully her.’

  ‘Am I bullying you, Annie?’

  ‘Don’t Annie me.’

  ‘Let’s go up the stairs and look around, examine the clothes. Shall we?’

  Alex said loudly: ‘I call that bullying. Don’t go, Annie.’

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ said Annie.

  ‘I think we’d better, Annie.’ Coffin’s voice was cold. He held out his hand. Still Annie stayed where she was. ‘Or shall we bring them down to you?’

  ‘Don’t go,’ said Alex.

  Annie stood up suddenly. ‘Shut up.’ The Annie underneath, who was not so docile and go
od and gentle as the Annie on top suddenly showed. ‘Let’s get this over.’

  All four trailed up the iron staircase. ‘You’ve got a key,’ Annie said. ‘Must have. I gave you one.’

  Archie Young produced a key and unlocked the front door. Inside, the flat smelt damp and empty. Easy to believe now that it had been unlived in for weeks.

  Coffin said: ‘Let’s get those clothes from the cupboard. You do it, Annie.’

  She didn’t move.

  ‘All right, I will.’ Coffin went into the bedroom, brought out the dark overcoat, boots and hat. He held them out. ‘Try them on, Annie, try them on for size.’

  She took them and threw them on the ground.

  ‘They are yours, aren’t they? You wore them. My wife and others saw you in them. You like dressing in them. Annie here, Charley at the Karnival Club.’

  Tash said, ‘Say nothing, Annie.’

  ‘My wife saw you. You hung around. You frightened her.’

  In a rough quick voice, Annie said: ‘I didn’t harm her, I love her, I just looked.’

  ‘Looks can be a threat,’ said Coffin.

  ‘I wanted a part of her.’

  Coffin winced. Poor Stella, many wanted a part of her, unlikely vultures. Perhaps he was one.

  ‘Let’s go back downstairs,’ said Tom Ashworth.

  But Annie, having started to talk, could not stop. ‘I knew when I saw those two Creeleys burying the old man and woman that I was different. Not like other children. It took me a time to realize what it was, years really, although I was always worried. Then I knew. I didn’t have one sex, I had two. I could be what I liked. But don’t get me wrong, I was a good wife and mother. Only I suppose my husband could tell … But I’m a good mother.’

  ‘I’m sure you are,’ said Coffin gently. ‘Where’s the child now?’

  ‘She’s with her gran, my husband’s mother. They get on. I sent her away.’

  ‘Annie, be quiet,’ said Tash.

  ‘I’m advising her,’ said Alex Edwards. ‘I do that.’

  ‘You be quiet too.’

  ‘I didn’t kill anyone,’ said Annie. ‘I didn’t, I didn’t.’ She started to scream at the top of her voice. ‘Get out, all of you.’