‘And the man?’
‘He disappeared into the dark.’
Coffin put the telephone down slowly. ‘I’ll be in,’ he muttered. ‘We will talk it over then.’
When one question bothers you, there is always another one weighing on your mind.
There was one way of getting an answer to one problem.
He rang the Home Office man who had urged him so persuasively to investigate the pharmaceutical problem for Ed Saxon.
‘Tell me straight: why was I picked for the job?’
There was some silence. ‘You stand high, Chief Commander, you have a great reputation.’ Then he added carefully: ‘And of course, we both know Humphrey Gillow.’
‘Did Ed Saxon want me?’
‘He was very glad to get you.’ That came quickly. ‘You’d worked together before. In fact, he said that Harry Seton had named you as a good person in trouble.’
Oh yes, old friends. ‘Had he got a choice? I mean, did you have a list of suitable names?’
Silence again. An answer probably brewing up there, but taking its time.
‘So it was just me?’ And wasn’t I lucky with Harry naming me and everything. ‘But there was a special reason. So let me guess: something to do with the Second City.’
‘Yes, there is reason to believe that an important connection of this outfit is in the Second City.’
One question answered brings another right out. ‘So why did you not tell me straightaway.’
‘We wanted you to approach it unbiased, with an open mind.’
So it wasn’t me that was so wanted, it was the place I came from. I knew Ed Saxon wasn’t being straight with me. I could tell it in his eyes.
There was something else too; I shall find out.
He put Augustus on his leash, and set out to walk with him through to his own office in the police headquarters not far from Spinnergate tube station.
The Second City, created out of old dockland London, with a long history behind it, a town before the Romans came, a city to greet the Normans, so large and rich by the time Napoleon was defeated that the Prussian General Blucher cried out in envy: ‘What a city to sack.’ Hitler thought it might fall to him too, but was disappointed in his turn.
Now the Second City, its four districts of Spinnergate, Swinehouse, Leathergate and East Hythe had clung on to its character while absorbing banks and newspapers, watching old warehouses converted into expensive flats and eighteenth-century dock houses become cherished dwelling places again. Meanwhile, the indigenous population resisted rehousing in tower blocks as far as it could, preferring, with an obstinacy that had served them well in the past, to live in the old terraces of houses that had survived the bombs.
There were bombs sometimes now, although planted overnight or delivered in person by hand or mortar and not dropped from the air, but these bombs too the Second City could cope with and survive.
Coffin was most familiar with Spinnergate because this was where he lived in the tower of the old St Luke’s Church, now secularized to provide him a home, as well as being the site of St Luke’s Theatre complex. His wife, Stella Pinero, was the theatrical brain behind the theatre, while his half-sister, Letty Bingham, a much-married wealthy banker and lawyer, helped on the money side.
Dog and man strode through Spinnergate, companionable and silent. Augustus encouraged his master to walk as much as possible on the grounds of health and pleasure: he was thinking of himself, but he had noticed that master (not a word Augustus accepted, food giver, walker, protector, these were how he thought of Coffin in a wordless way) needed little persuasion. Augustus had a few words: his own name, walks, dinner, these sounds he recognized, more complex emotions were known but not given labels.
But Augustus recognized the route they were taking and felt a tinge of depression, he was going to the ‘other place’, this being how he sensed Coffin’s office. It was a kind of home to him, he was welcomed, he had a warm corner, there was a bowl of water, even food on occasion, but that said, he was ignored. This obliged him to plant himself across Coffin’s feet to remind the man of his existence.
Coffin strode in, was greeted politely at the door, and took the lift to his offices. In the outer office, were two secretaries who changed constantly, usually through a career move or a baby. One woman, the tall, well-dressed Sheila, had been with him for some time now and he had hopes she would stay. Coffin valued constancy in his relationships.
He nodded and spoke to Sheila, then looked across to the corner of the room where his valued assistant, Inspector Paul Masters, had created a kind of personal territory.
Paul got up and came across. ‘Good afternoon, sir. Letters and messages as usual on your desk.’
‘Right.’ Coffin was already walking towards his own quarters while Augustus was sidling across to Sheila, a known and secret source of chocolate. ‘Anything special?’
Paul Masters hesitated. ‘You’ve spoken to the chief superintendent … I don’t know more than he will have told you then.’
‘He told me a boy had been found, dead, and identified by his father. One of the missing boys. And parts from another.’
‘That’s right, sir. It’s all that’s known at the moment. The chief superintendent was off to see the father, but he wanted to get in touch with you first.’
Coffin advanced to look at his desk where Paul Masters had arranged a display of files and papers. He had an aesthetic sense, Coffin always felt, so that papers, although grouped logically, were fanned out in a neat presentation. He even managed to control the faxes, while keeping them in a separate group. All the same, they represented work, work and work, and there was always a special collection marked URGENT.
‘He will be in to see you, sir, after he has seen the father.’
‘Who is running the investigation?’
‘The chief superintendent is in overall charge, of course – he’s keeping a watching eye on things.’
‘And who’s running the investigation?’ he asked again. He was shuffling the papers on his desk as he spoke. All the information he was asking for would be there, but it was quicker to get it out of Paul Masters, who might also oblige with a few case histories of the officers concerned, and how well they were doing the job. This was done tactfully, but Coffin knew how to read between the lines.
‘Inspector Paddy Devlin is the senior officer in charge, with Sergeant Tony Tittleton … they are both very experienced in dealing with children.’
‘Experienced children-watchers?’
‘That’s it, sir. Paddy Devlin, whom I know quite well, sir, I trained with her, handled the paedophile case in East Hythe last year. She is very, very competent.’ Due for promotion too, and hopeful of getting it.
Red-haired and handsome too, but he did not mention this fact.
‘Yes, I remember now. Nasty case. Is there reckoned to be any connection with this lot?’
‘Could be, but I haven’t heard it said.’ One of Paul Masters’s assets to Coffin was that he heard all the gossip that got held back from Coffin. It worked both ways, because if there was anything an officer wanted Coffin to know then he would take care to let Paul Masters know. ‘But it is one of the things they will be looking out for, of course.’
Coffin handed over to him the computer in its case, and the bag of documents.
‘Get this computer to John Armstrong and ask him to get back, if he can, all wiped documents. It’s urgent.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And the documents in the bag: I want them photocopied. I will think about the next step when that is done. They are confidential.’
‘I’ll do them myself.’
‘Good.’
Paul Masters disappeared tactfully while Coffin turned to the papers on his desk. He did not dislike the task as much as he sometimes let people think; there was satisfaction in running a tidy, tight ship.
He read and signed letters, initialled reports, reflecting as he did so that the end product of a career a
s an ambitious and successful detective was to be an administrator.
However, with some skill and some luck, he had kept his hand in as a detective. Just as well, he considered, in view of the job now handed to him by Ed Saxon.
As to that matter, he had no idea where to start, and the very clear idea that it seemed stupid to separate what he was asked to do from the investigation into the death of Harry Seton.
Not that he intended to do that himself; he would be thinking about Harry’s death with every move he made. And the note found on Harry’s PC suggested that the Met team would be thinking about him.
Maybe they should meet.
The sound of voices in the outer office disturbed him; Paul Masters knocked and put his head round the door.
‘Chief Superintendent Young is here, sir.’
It gave Coffin pleasure that it had been he who had promoted his old friend and fellow worker to this rank, but Archie deserved it. A tall, still thin man (his wife kept an eye on his diet) with a kind heart and a shrewd brain. An invaluable comrade and friend.
Now the man looked sober. ‘Not good news, I’m afraid. You know the outline of the case: over a period of two months, four boys have gone missing.’
Coffin nodded.
‘Three still missing and one found,’ said Archie Young heavily. ‘And the leg of another child, possibly one of those missing.’
Coffin had a list:
Matthew Baker, aged eight years and three months.
Archie Chinner, ten years old and one month.
Dick Neville, eleven years old and a week.
Charles Rick, ten years old and four months.
‘And which one has been found?’
Archie Young’s voice was still quiet and sombre. ‘Archie Chinner was the boy whose body was found. He was hidden in the bushes on that bit of scrubland where the Delaware Factory once was. It’s due for redevelopment but nothing much has happened yet. As I told you, a courting couple found him last night.’
‘Who interviewed the couple?’
‘Devlin. And I spoke to them as well. It’s all on tape, but I have given you the gist.’
‘Have to try and get hold of the man who pointed out the body.’
‘Devlin is organizing it, using the local media to ask him to come forward, but she’s not hopeful, he would have stayed around if he had meant to be helpful.’
‘What was he like?’
‘Just a man with a dog to the couple. They were surprised to see him, not usually anyone around up there. He left the dirty work to them, they found the body and it shook them up. I have looked into them, just what they seem to be.’ His voice was heavy.
‘And his father identified the boy?’
‘Yes, he had been dead a few days but he was recognizable. Easily.’
‘How did you know which father to call in?’
‘We had photographs of all the boys. All four of them went to the same school, the Junior School of the Royal Road Comprehensive – the Clement Attlee School is the full name, and the parents supplied photographs.’
Coffin waited, he could tell that Archie was quietly making his way up to what he wanted to say.
‘So he was identified easily enough,’ Archie went on. ‘No trouble there … the only thing is …’ And here he paused.
Coffin waited. You didn’t hurry Archie when he was taking his time.
‘His father said that the clothes he was wearing were not his own … Not a stitch he had on was his.’
‘Any idea where the clothes came from?’
Archie shook his head. ‘They look newish, may not have been worn much but not shop-fresh. Some boy has worn them.’
‘That may help.’
‘May do … But there was blood on them.’
‘Much blood?’
‘Quite a bit … but the interesting thing is that preliminary tests on the blood groups suggest blood from two people: one the boy’s and the other from an unknown person.’
‘From one of the other boys?’
‘Could be … Or from the murderer.’
‘How was the boy killed?’
‘Can’t be sure until the PM. Smothered, possibly.’
‘So where did his blood come from?’
‘Probably from the anus … he had been sexually assaulted. Pretty badly, too.’
Coffin tightened his lips. This was a horrible business. ‘That may be why he was smothered: he was too badly hurt to send him back into the world.’
‘And he may have known his abuser.’
Coffin was starting at the list of names. ‘Wait a minute, Chinner … not a usual name. Is the father … ?’ He stopped, letting the query rest on the air.
‘Yes, he’s one of ours. A police surgeon, Dr Geoffrey Chinner, a local GP as well.’
‘I know him, he worked on a case that interested me.’
One of the many, thought Archie Young.
‘We kept that information quiet when the boy went missing because we weren’t sure how it would touch his chances of survival. The media found out but went along with us.
‘That is not all: every one of the missing boys had a parent who was one of ours.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I was coming to you with it.’
Coffin was silent. Ed Saxon’s call had come in yesterday, he had been preoccupied with other problems, there was always something urgent.
‘I am supposed to know that sort of thing.’
‘I am sorry, sir.’
‘Before anyone else.’
Archie Young was silent.
‘All right,’ said Coffin grouchily. ‘I was in Los Angeles.’
Coffin got up. ‘I want to see where the boy was found. Then I want to see his body.’
‘I’ll drive you.’ Archie Young was still prickly with apology, while feeling that he had been unfairly treated: the Chief Commander had been in Los Angeles, a holiday, God knows he rarely took one, and there had been a silent feeling that this break should be respected.
In the car for the drive across Spinnergate to East Hythe, they talked.
Coffin stared about him at the streets as they drove. There was a good deal of traffic, buses and many private cars. His eye was caught by a flash of yellow, red and green in a shop window. Great glass bottles full of colour and underneath a more sober display of packets. ‘What shop’s that?’ They were going down what had once been the main shopping street of old East Hythe and was still the High Street. A memory of the shop stirred inside Coffin. He ought to remember more.
Archie Young took a quick look. ‘Oh, that’s old Mr Barley’s chemist’s shop, he keeps it old-fashioned like that. You should see inside. Doubt if he does much trade, but tourists love it.’
He gave a nod to the west: ‘And you can just see the roof of the school the boys went to. We are trying to keep it from the children – it’s mixed, of course – as much as possible. There’s the Junior School attached.’ The lost boys had gone there, sent by hopeful parents because it had a good reputation.
He drove on quietly, the traffic was heavy here.
‘Miss the old trams,’ Coffin said. ‘They packed the people in.’
‘I don’t remember trams.’ Archie Young was concentrating on weaving his way through the traffic.
‘No, you’re too young. Tell me about the parents of the boys.’
He sounds a bit better, thought Archie with relief, he’s loosening up
‘Not all the parents are officers: the Neville lad’s mother works in the canteen at the Leathergate substation, the Rick lad’s father is a DC in Spinnergate, and Matthew Baker’s dad is a CID sergeant in Spinnergate.’
Coffin looked at him. ‘Archie Chinner?’
The chief superintendent looked away, out of the window. ‘Yes, the boy’s my godson. His father is a police surgeon as I said.’
‘Sorry.’ There was a pause. ‘Would you like to withdraw from any interest in the case?’
Young shook his head. ‘N
o, I couldn’t. In any case, Paddy Devlin is really handling it for all practical purposes, and she’s good.’
‘So I have heard.’ They were passing through a large council estate, the Attlee Estate, which provided plenty of work for the Second City force. The press blamed youth unemployment, but Coffin wondered.
‘From different districts but, you say, all four boys went to the same school?’
‘It’s a very big comprehensive, good academically so parents are pleased if their kid goes there, got an Oxford scholarship last year. A bus goes round picking up the pupils to ferry them there.’
‘It’s worth thinking about the school,’ said Coffin thoughtfully.
‘You can bet we are. Going over the place with a fine comb, nobody missed out.’
The road wound up a hill crested with trees and open land. ‘Plans to turn this into a park, but nothing has come of it yet.’
There were several police cars parked at the kerb, and a uniformed constable talking to a TV camera team. Coffin and Archie Young drove past the group fast.
At the top of the hill there was a thick belt of trees and bushes. Here an area was marked off by tape.
‘He was found buried there.’ Archie Young nodded to where the grass was already dug up. ‘A shallow grave; the couple that found him noticed the flies buzzing around … And the smell,’ he added. ‘Then they saw the top of a shoe … trainer, the sort kids wear all the time now.’
Coffin walked over to look at the grave where white-coated forensic workers were still going over the ground. Other men were slowly searching the little patch of woodland.
‘Looking for anything,’ said Archie Young. ‘Not much to go on so far …’
‘Except the bloody clothes. And the other limb.’
‘Already in the lab being gone over.’
A tall woman appeared through the bushes. “Afternoon, sir.’
Coffin smiled and held out his hand. ‘Inspector Devlin. I believe I saw you at a party my wife gave in the theatre.’
‘I’m one of her fans, go to nearly everything she does – I think she’s brilliant. And I was in the audience for you, sir, when you talked to us about advances in communication-techniques crime.’
A Grave Coffin Page 4
