‘Go there for another swim, put on your best bathing trunks and an innocent boyish smile and see what happens to you.’
‘I don’t think the Chief Commander would like that. Isn’t there something called entrapment?’
‘I wish I knew where he was, I’d like to speak to him. He can be really helpful on a bad case like this if you catch him at the right moment.’
‘He’s got some great enquiry on, that’s the word.’
‘I’d like him here.’
‘There’s the chief super.’
‘Oh, poor Archie is all wound up at the moment, judgement gone.’ She did not call him Archie to his face.
‘Brings it close,’ said Tony.
‘It is close if the killer is one of us,’ the inspector reminded him sharply.
‘Yes.’ Tony tried to read her face. Did she, didn’t she? ‘What do you make of that story?’
‘I haven’t made up my mind. It is one of the things I would like to talk to the Chief Commander about.’
‘You never know where you are with children.’
‘Children never know where they are with adults,’ she said sharply.
Sergeant Tittleton could see his chances of promotion disappearing rapidly. ‘I only meant you have to take care with a child’s statement,’ he blundered on. He could see by his inspector’s face that he was not out of trouble, and might even be deeper in. ‘Oh damn,’ he ended.
To his relief, Paddy Devlin laughed. ‘Stop talking and take a deep breath.’
The fax machine spoke again, then began sending out a silent message. The officer working on the computer next to it let his eyes fall on the message coming out.
‘Bloody hell.’
Inspector Devlin walked across the room. ‘What’s this? What’s going on?’ She could swear herself when she had to; in the macho world in which she lived and had to make her way, it was almost a rite of passage, but otherwise she was a careful speaker. She had discovered that to be prim of speech, with an infrequent and even outrageous obscenity when the occasion demanded, worked well with her masculine colleagues. ‘I can do it,’ she was saying to them, ‘so watch your step.’
She picked up the fax. ‘Oh God.’ She stared at it, then passed it over to Tony Tittleton, who read it silently, frowned and handed it back.
‘There’s always a price to pay, isn’t there?’
‘What does that mean?’ she asked with irritation.
‘I just meant there is a price to pay for being coppers. And no one knows that more than the Chief Commander, I guess.’ It was generally agreed that John Coffin had paid more than once for being what he was: incorruptible but occasionally fallible, but always a survivor. You have to be a great man to make mistakes and come through to success like Coffin’s, Tittleton, a natural admirer, proclaimed to anyone who would listen. Tittleton didn’t see himself emulating that career, but in spite of his modest words to the inspector, he was young and had hopes. ‘I suppose what I mean is that I know Jeff Diver and I can’t believe …’
The door opened to let in the tall figure of Archie Young. His normally cheerful face now looked drawn and harassed. ‘I guess you know why I am here, we’ve both heard the same news.’
‘Just this minute, sir,’ said Paddy Devlin. ‘Just taking it in, trying to assess it.’
‘What I came to say’ – Archie Young sounded quiet and despondent – ‘is that we must take this quietly: not jump to conclusions until we know exactly what happened to this officer. Remember, we do not know where he is, and until we find him, in whatever state, we can’t make a judgement. In particular, great discretion to the media. I think the local Second-City press and radio and TV stations will handle it that way, can’t say about the nationals.’
He paused. ‘The Chief Commander is driving home and I have spoken to him on his mobile and asked him to get in touch as soon as he gets back. I will tell him myself.’ He had not told Coffin much, just the bare news that a detective constable was missing.
He paused again.
‘Mrs Diver had the good sense to come straight to headquarters in Spinnergate, and the officer on duty saw the importance and brought her straight to me.’ Another pause. ‘She gave me this letter that her husband had left behind when he went.’
He held it out to Paddy. She saw it was a photocopy. All it said was: I am sorry, so sorry. I could not help myself. I must atone.
When she had read it, she looked at Archie, who gave a small nod of assent, then she handed it on to her sergeant.
‘How long has he been gone?’
‘Since yesterday morning. She saw him at breakfast. Found this note in the bedroom, she waited all day, and when she realized he was not coming back, she came to me.’
‘Brave of her.’
‘A woman with a conscience. She may know more of her husband’s life than she is saying yet. It’s clear that she thinks the worst.’ He had got the impression that she was anxious to keep herself and her daughter well out of trouble. She had been a touch hysterical, to tell the truth, and he hadn’t handled her well. ‘One daughter,’ he said to himself, thoughtfully, wondering if he could think the unthinkable … a daughter could be vulnerable to a lusting father.
He took a deep breath. ‘Do either of you know Mrs Diver?’
‘No,’ said Inspector Devlin at once.
‘Yes, I do,’ said Tony Tittleton. ‘A bit.’ He had known Belle Diver before she married Jeff, and had admired her as a natural beauty with good legs.
‘Go and see her. She needs someone to talk to. Let it be you.’
To himself, he said: I want the lid kept on until John Coffin gets back. Mrs Diver may be wrong, we may all be wrong, the man may just be having a perfectly straightforward nervous breakdown. I might have one myself any minute.
So what had the Chief Commander said to him on his mobile? ‘Archie, don’t tell me any more now. I am passing Maidenhead and I will be back with you soon. Tell me then.’
To himself, John Coffin thought: My mind is full of Coventry and the people there, from Leonie Thrupp to the young pharmaceutical researcher, and all the time there is the thought of Harry Seton dead.
So I am coming home to the Second City where, so I am informed, the chief suspect in the phoney pharmaceuticals lives, the city which may indeed be the centre for the whole lousy enterprise. It’s an old city which has known smuggling, fraud, rape and murder, so why should it not have this honour too?
And there are the dead children for me to think about. Oh, Stella, how could you stay away?
Augustus rose in his seat and looked around, and, as they approached where he lived, he gave small excited barks.
So Sergeant Tittleton set off on his dreaded interview with Mrs Diver, while Inspector Devlin applied herself to the list of names and pictures and records that had just come through on the fax from PETS, while morosely running over in her mind the list of locals. Arthur Willows, the offender that Tittleton had suggested? She must tell him he had her orders to interview Arthur Willows after Mrs Diver. From what she remembered of Arthur, he never went to bed, which, as he lived in an old tunnel, was understandable, so he and Tony could have a late-night meeting. Or should she interview Willows herself?
And John Coffin drove home knowing that one of his detective constables had gone missing, leaving a letter that sounded like a confession.
On one of the quieter stretches of the Spinnergate bypass system (it circled round a pleasant, for Spinnergate, residential area), he passed a gang of some half a dozen young boys and a couple of girls, who were even younger, skateboarding, eyes down, feet and legs moving smartly.
Dangerous, he thought, they haven’t seen me, and tooted his horn. Augustus joined in and gave a peremptory bark.
But they had seen him.
The country of children has many tribes, but communication between them all is swift. News, useful information and even jokes, pass between groups with speed as by osmosis. They seem absorbed with the air that is breath
ed in, words are hardly necessary.
It was a long time since Coffin had been a boy, possibly owing to the vicissitudes of his childhood he had never been such as these, and had forgotten that they did not need mobile phones to be instantly informed about what went on. And where.
‘Back then, he is.’ It was a comment from the eldest skater and not a question.
‘Knew he was coming. My mum cleans his office. He’s got the dog with him.’
The group stopped and drew into the kerb, then mounted the pavement for a silent consultation. The girls were kept on the edge, but joined in the communion anyway.
After a while, they resumed skating.
The burden of their silent agreement was that They Knew what He did not Know. Or seemed not to know, you always had to remember that sometimes the grown-up world knew more than you thought. This time though, they thought he was in trouble.
There was no agreement to tell him more yet. They valued their own security and it might be dangerous to talk until they saw what would happen.
They had done all they could for the moment. They knew the limitations on the power of their tribe.
Skate on.
Coffin too thought he was in trouble. Or knew he had troubles.
Oh yes, and when he got into his office to read all the reports, he learnt for the first time that the Second City had the left leg of an unknown young female.
Another body to be found, another identity to be established, another death to investigate. His cup of joy was full.
Archie Young was there in his office, waiting for him, anxious to talk it over. So there was no getting away from it all.
His telephone rang while they were still looking at each other.
‘Hello, there you are at last.’ It was Inspector Larry Davenport, from London where he was busy with the death of Harry Seton; he was alert and cheerful. ‘Been trying to get you all day.’
‘I’ve been out of the office.’
‘Gathered that. Any progress on your side of things?’ His tone implied that he knew all about Coffin’s task of enquiry.
Coffin was vague. ‘Coming on.’
‘I just thought you would like to know that we now know that Harry was over your side of the Thames twice in the last week of his life. Visiting, we know not where as yet. If and when we flush up a name or street where he was visiting we will be asking you for help.’
‘Thanks for telling me,’ said Coffin, not sure whether to be pleased or not. But he had known from the beginning that the Second City came into it somewhere. It was why he had been pressed into service.
Pressed was the word, he thought. Wasn’t there a medieval technique for wringing the truth out of a suspect. Ordeal peine forte et dure …
‘I suppose you don’t happen to have a dead female, not too old, with a missing leg, where you are? We seem to have one to spare.’
He met Archie Young’s disapproving stare, he did not want this news discussed with Davenport.
‘We do, as a matter of fact. Don’t think it would do much good to you, though.’
‘Try me.’ How splendid if they could tie two cases together.
‘She’s old, very old. Dug up out of the Thames mud. She’s kind of mummified, and the general view is she might have been there for a thousand years.’
Coffin put the telephone down and returned to Archie Young. ‘Sorry, Archie. I think I am what Stella calls overwrought.’
Doing too much, decided the chief superintendent, he always does. He admired Coffin for being hard-working, overworking.
‘Well, come on, Archie, tell me. Fill me in, as they say. All I know at the moment is that Max’s grandson, little Louie, fingered a policeman as the pederast and killer. And that a detective constable, stationed in Spinnergate, has disappeared. You did say Spinnergate?’
‘That’s about it, sir.’ It pleased Archie to remind Coffin of rank occasionally. ‘He left a note, a very short one.’ Here is a copy.
Coffin read it.
‘I am sorry, so sorry. I could not help myself. I must atone.’
‘We are looking for him, of course,’ said the chief superintendent. ‘No traces so far.’
‘What is known about Diver?’
‘His inspector at Merrywell Substation says he was a decent sort and is surprised. Can’t believe he is the killer of the boys. Sergeant Tittleton, who knows the man, has called on Mrs Diver.’
‘I will want to talk to him …’
‘He is waiting. I asked him to hang around.’ He was probably drinking tea in the canteen. ‘Inspector Devlin is carrying on checking other suspects. One Arthur Willows.’
Coffin nodded. The name of Willows had got through to him. ‘I’ll leave her to tackle Willows and Co. She’s a capable woman. Anything else I ought to know, Archie? You look as though there is.’
With some reluctance, Archie Young said: ‘I looked at his record. Diver only transferred to CID about a year ago, before that he was in uniform. One of his jobs was to go round the schools in Spinnergate … So Louie may have seen him.’
Coffin looked towards the window where the light was fading from the sky. Distantly, he thought he heard the roll of drums, the rattle of the tumbrils, the fall of the guillotine and then the footsteps of a headless Diver staggering towards him.
No one knew better than he did that there is more than one way of lopping off a policeman’s head. He had had his chopped off more than once, the trick was to learn to grow it again.
Then he had another look at the head and saw it was not Diver, whose face he did not know anyway, but Harry Seton’s.
Hell and hell again.
6
‘Yes, sir,’ said Sergeant Tittleton, meeting Coffin’s eye with his practised innocent gaze which came in so useful when encountering his superiors of high rank. (Not such as Paddy Devlin, who would have sharply ordered him to smarten up.) ‘I have been to talk to the boy Louie again. I had been there with Inspector Devlin earlier, then I remembered Diver had been on the school visits. I did a bit of that myself early on, and we had a talk about it one day.’
They were in Coffin’s own office; the outer one, where Paul Masters held sway, was now empty as night came on. Tittleton, who had made an arrangement with a friend while sitting in the canteen that they would go out together for a drink, was relaxed about talking to the Chief Commander himself, but uneasily aware that DC Amanda Harden would not wait around. Also, his wife was at home, cooking the evening meal, so he could not be too late. He hoped the Big Man would get this over fast, but work and promotion prospects had to come first, and Amanda would have to lump it. And if she waited, then it would show she was keen, and that in itself was worthy of a thought.
‘He was a friend was he? Close?’
‘Not close, sir, but we got on.’ Tittleton was quietly observing the room; he had never been here before and might never be again. It was tidy enough but there were papers heaped everywhere on the desk. No flowers, but a photograph of a beautiful woman with a cat: he recognized Stella Pinero. A computer and several telephones.
‘Common interests?’ Coffin was not sure why he asked that question, but he noticed it got a reaction.
‘No, not really, sir, it’s as I said: we just got on.’
Coffin nodded, wondering exactly what that meant, picking up a note of caution, but he didn’t press it. Other things were more important.
‘And when I remembered, I thought that Louie might have seen Diver at school and recognized him. And it was partly something Mrs Diver said that sent me round.’ He looked at Coffin questioningly.
‘Tell me that later. Get on with Louie.’
‘So I went along to talk to him.’ It seemed necessary to say something else. ‘Inspector Devlin was going after Arthur Willows, sir, but she fancied Joe Partoni more. You remember him, sir? A monster, really, although he has been quiet lately, so she was going after Joe too. Just his style, she says, but I don’t know, he’s never killed before. Might have fancied to, thin
k he has, but never done it, might have acted it out in front of a mirror, enjoyed himself that way.’
‘I thought he was dead, drowned.’
‘Oh yes, but she thought he might have done the killings then drowned himself. Conscience, fear of getting caught. She’s been working on it … Anyway, when this news about Diver burst in on us, and it did burst, sir …’
‘I can imagine,’ said Coffin dryly.
‘The chief superintendent told me to go to see Mrs Diver, and then I went to see the boy Louie. I wanted to get clear in my mind what he might have seen.’
‘Right. So you went to see Louie Damant – that’s his name?’
‘Yes, sir. I know Mrs Damant a bit … used to see her in the café.’ He gave Coffin a cautious look.
He got around, Coffin thought, realizing that he was a good-looking, lively youngster. Married, but that might not control the hormones. And Louie’s mother was the one they called the Beauty daughter.
‘She was there, of course, when I spoke to Louie and I took PC Harden with me as well.’
‘That was wise.’
‘I thought so, sir. In the circumstances.’ And, of course, he had a fancy for Mandy Harden, and rather hoped he was inspiring one in her. There had been one encounter already.
He met Coffin’s ironic blue eyes, which decided him to forget hopes of his love life in case it got across to the Chief Commander. He’d only be guessing, of course, but one had heard he was phenomenally well informed.
The sergeant was remembering his visit to the Diver house. One of a row of six, each small, well-kept residences, which lay within easy walking distance of a few shops: a baker’s, a butcher’s and an old-fashioned chemist’s shop, gleaming with great red, green and yellow bottles which he thought charming. Unusual too, not so many about in the Second City. In fact, it was probably the only one, a survivor from the past. Except that he noted it was trim, newly painted and looked prosperous.
‘I wanted to find out if Louie knew Diver from a school visit.’
‘It would have been some time ago, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes. But he would remember, I thought. Or anyway, if he had said so clearly that would have been something … But I didn’t want to push. So all I said was had he seen the man before? Perhaps at school.’
A Grave Coffin Page 10
