Coffin's Dark Number

by Gwendoline Butler

  ‘He hasn’t done so much with that lately,’ said Dave after a pause.

  ‘You still watching him?’

  ‘I do what I can. See you later, Tony. I’m off to see my girl.’

  He hurried away. But he hated talking about his brother-in-law, of whom he was really frightened, and when he met his girl he found himself unable to talk to her much. He had promised himself to be really gay for her tonight, to really sparkle. But he could only mumble a few shy words.

  ‘Hello, my dear,’ he said. ‘Here’s the ice-cream you wanted. It’s the sort you like, isn’t it? I got it from Cy’s van. Perhaps I shouldn’t say this …’ He hesitated. ‘But keep away from Cy, will you?’ he licked his own ice-cream, it was chocolate. ‘Good ice-cream? Do you know he beat me once? He said it was to punish me, but I think it was because he wanted to.

  ‘And the other person you can keep away from is Tony Young. I can’t tell you all, now, but he’s a bad, bad boy.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  The police, too, were thinking about Tony Young. It seemed to Coffin that his figure was pushing up from the background of the case and quietly trying to assert its identity. This is what a murderer should always fear, that his features will show up, hide them how he will. And there is a good reason for this. He wants to be found. Guilt wants to shout. This is why he leaves behind the things that count. Clues, so called. Clues are just bits of himself that he has left behind as he passes through the scene.

  At this moment the person the police most wanted to talk to was Kim Simpson.

  ‘What, now?’ said Dove. He squinted at the clock. By now it was close on midnight.

  ‘No.’ Coffin considered. ‘Much as I’d like to drag her out of bed, we can’t do it. She’s a tricky enough customer already, that girl. We have to be very, very careful with her. No, we won’t get her up. But tomorrow, that’ll be the day. Meanwhile get a message round to her mother to keep her under wraps. Tell her not to let Kim out. I want her where I can see her.’

  ‘I’ll get the word round.’

  He sent Joan Eames. She had a terse few words with Kim’s hostile and sleepy mother.

  ‘Keep Kim home?’ she said crossly. ‘Let me tell you I always look after my girl. I’m not a careless mother.’

  ‘Well, just keep an eye on her until my boss has seen her,’ said Joan wearily; she too was tired.

  ‘Aa,’ said Mrs Simpson and shut the door with a bang.

  Joan shrugged and walked away. For her the day was over. She could go home and get what rest she could.

  ‘I’ll sleep,’ she thought. ‘I’m so tired, I’d sleep on a pole.’ She slept soundly, not even wondering what morning would bring.

  For Tony Young it straightaway brought a summons to see Coffin. He was up, sleepily drinking tea in the kitchen and thinking about Judith’s white car, when Parr arrived.

  He saw Parr from the kitchen window and went to the door without waiting for him to knock.

  ‘You’re early,’ he said. ‘Jean’s not up yet.’

  ‘Let her stay that way. Where’s your father?’

  ‘Gone to work. I suppose you want me to come with you? You came early to be sure of getting me home. Weren’t you running a risk?’

  ‘I knew you were home.’

  ‘How? Been watching the house all night?’

  Parr was silent.

  Tony walked to the window. ‘Or else you thought I’d never go and leave that car behind. Or you thought that Jean would let you know if I walked out. Is that it? Some little arrangement with Jean? You’d be a fool to trust to that. Jean loves me.’

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t go away.’

  ‘It’s more than I did,’ said Tony, putting on his coat. ‘Know something? I nearly got in that car and drove into the night. But I didn’t. I wanted to come home. Can you beat it? I was a tired boy and I wanted to come home. I should have kept running years ago.’

  He drank his tea and put the cup and saucer neatly on the table. ‘I’m ready then.’

  ‘Better leave a note for Jean.’

  ‘You think shell enjoy getting a note from me saying I’ve been nicked?’

  Parr said: ‘Go up and say it to her then.’ For some minutes he had been conscious of sounds from upstairs. He shifted nervously. He knew Jean was going to beat him to it and she did.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, from the door. ‘Creeping out?’

  ‘We hoped you wouldn’t hear. We didn’t want to disturb you.’

  ‘Some voices I always hear,’ Jean said.

  ‘Go back to bed, Jean,’ said her brother.

  ‘It’s not wise to go out without some breakfast,’ she said in a calm voice.

  ‘I don’t have much choice.’

  ‘I’ll get him something to eat down at the station. If he wants it.’

  ‘Jean, I couldn’t eat a thing.’ At the door, he turned and said, ‘Will you stand by me, Jean?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said in a level voice.

  Parr made an excuse to go back to her. ‘Did you mean that? About standing by him? It might not be easy.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Jean, still in the same even tone from which she had not deviated this day. ‘I don’t know what it might mean to him. But this doesn’t seem the time for speaking the absolute truth. Not for me. Not for you. And probably not for him either.’

  Parr still stood there looking at her.

  ‘Better go,’ she said, ‘or Tony’11 be crying out for you.’

  She watched them get into the police car and drive away. Not to her surprise she saw that her neighbours in Harper Road were watching too. She resisted the temptation to poke her tongue out at them, and marched inside to get her breakfast.

  Tony was braver than he looked, and he arrived in John Coffin’s office with composure. At least he had slept that night, so compared with the detectives in the room he looked rested.

  ‘You arresting me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why am I here?’

  ‘You’re always so dramatic, Tony,’ observed John Coffin mildly. ‘Arrest’s too big a word. I wanted to talk with you. I asked you to come to talk and you came.’

  ‘Yes, that was good of me,’ agreed Tony, ‘but I really didn’t have a lot of choice.’

  ‘I wanted to have a look at you.’

  ‘Look, then. Here I am. Am I what you want?’

  ‘That’s what I don’t know yet. I have a picture of a person in my mind and I want to see if you match up to it.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound sensible talk.’

  ‘Oh, it’s sensible.’

  ‘And is it a nice face you’re trying to match me up to?’

  ‘I’m not sure about the features, yet,’ said Coffin, watching him. ‘But I’ll describe the person I’m looking for.’

  ‘That sounds imaginative.’

  ‘No, not imaginative. And I’ve had some help.’ He glanced at Dove, Parr and a third silent detective. ‘It’s something we built up together.’ Then he looked back to Tony. ‘Sit down and make yourself comfortable.’

  ‘I’m comfortable.’ But he didn’t look it.

  ‘This is the person I’m looking for! A man, not old. Perhaps younger than we think, but age not quite clear.’

  ‘Say ageless,’ said Tony.

  ‘You could say that. I would prefer to say a young or youngish man. Secondly he’s local. He comes from this district.’

  ‘Sure about that?’

  ‘Yes, sure. He crawls out of the woodwork round here and knows his way about it. He knows the smell of the place and what’s more the place knows him. He doesn’t stand out.’

  ‘A youngish local funny?’ said Tony.

  ‘I bet he looks quite normal.’

  ‘He sounds really nice.’

  ‘I think a few people like him. Women probably do. There’ll be a motherly figure in the background all right.’

  ‘I don’t know anyone like this person you’re describing.’

  ‘Well, l
et me continue a bit longer. Add a few more details. The motherly thing, now that isn’t just guessing. Someone must be covering up for this character. Deliberately not noticing signs on his clothing, disturbance of manner, even absences. That sounds like a woman. And a woman in a close relationship. Say a mother, wife or sister.’

  ‘I like that bit about close relationships,’ said Tony through white lips, ‘because to me it sounds as though this character can’t have close relationships. Especially with women.’

  ‘Not adult relationships. Childish ones, though. Immature relationships.’

  Coffin waited for a minute as if expecting Tony to say something, and then went on: ‘He can come and go as he wants, this fellow I’m thinking about. So he’s probably known to have outside interests. His family don’t remark on him being out a lot. Or if they do then they know how to keep quiet about it. He’s clever, I should think. Yes, I think we’re all agreed he’s a person of some intelligence. He may be quite good at covering this intelligence up. I suppose you’re thinking that’s not like you, Tony?’

  ‘I’ve been trying not to think about it in relationship with me.’

  Coffin smiled, and went on: ‘Still, you can’t help thinking about it a bit, can you, Tony? Now the other thing we know about this person is that he’s probably not too strong physically. I mean not a real he-man. Slightly built, shall we say? Now how do we get at this? Well, maybe there is an element of guessing here, Tony. It’s just that he has never attempted anything that requires great physical strength. He didn’t dig deep holes for the bodies.’ Tony looked sick. ‘Yes, there are bodies. But not bruised. Treated gently, we think. Not a rough killer. Did you say something? I thought you made a comment.’

  ‘He didn’t say anything,’ said Dove. He was sitting with his arms folded, staring at Tony Young. He looked grim and sombre: this was his professional look.

  ‘One other thing about this person (and it fits in with him being local) is that we are sure the girls all knew him. He was someone in their lives. Either they knew him directly or they knew his mother or his sister or his wife.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ said Tony. He had pulled himself together a little and seemed steadier.

  ‘Yes. They trusted him, you see, Tony,’ said Coffin softly. ‘They must have done. He was a friend. Perhaps a friend of the family.’

  ‘That’s rotten,’ said Tony. He was definitely more confident now.

  ‘All these girls were girls who wanted a bit of affection. Nice kids, but ones that felt they had some love coming to them. This made them vulnerable.’

  ‘I reckon it was the same for him too,’ said Tony. ‘You’ve got to see his way too.’

  ‘Is that an admission of knowledge?’

  ‘You know it isn’t,’ said Tony defiantly. ‘At first, when you started, I thought well perhaps it will be me he’s drawing a picture of, but as you went on I knew it wasn’t.’

  ‘It has a lot of you in it.’

  ‘The way you arranged it, it has. But I could do it for you, too. You live round here, you could be trusted, maybe you knew the girls and perhaps you aren’t all you seem. Question and answer, that’s what you were treating me to. It’s a treatment.’

  ‘Don’t get so noisy.’

  ‘I’m not noisy,’ said Tony. He had been shouting. ‘I’m defending myself.’

  There was a knock at the door. Joan Eames poked her head round the door. She looked bright-eyed and rested. ‘I’ve got her here,’ she said. ‘Do you want her in?’

  Coffin nodded.

  Joan opened the door wider, beckoned and a small figure wearing a bright summer dress and white shoes came in.

  ‘Good morning, Kim,’ said Coffin.

  Kim flicked him a bright professional smile. ‘Here I am,’ she said. ‘You said you wanted me. What do you want? Mum’s outside.’

  ‘Oh, she’d better come in,’ said Coffin quickly. The Simpson family struck him as skilled barrack-room lawyers who might easily bring trouble to a poor policeman. He went to the door himself. ‘Come in, Mrs Simpson.’

  ‘I’d like a seat if it’s not too much trouble,’ said Mrs Simpson, looking round in a hostile way at the room full of men. Parr pushed forward a chair and Tony Young stood up nervously, as if now she was sitting he must stand. Kim’s eyes flicked at him. She smiled.

  ‘A friend of yours?’ said Coffin.

  ‘Yes, sure. Hello, Tone.’

  ‘Hello.’ There was no doubt about his nervousness now.

  ‘Tony’s not quite in your age group, so you don’t play together,’ began Coffin.

  ‘Here!’ said Tony.

  Kim looked enigmatic. It occurred to Coffin that she would be terrifying by the time she was twenty. If she lived that long.

  ‘But has he ever invited you to go anywhere with him?’ Mrs Simpson made a movement. ‘No, don’t interrupt, Mrs Simpson.’

  ‘Oh well,’ said Kim. She had enormously long eyelashes and she let them fall on her cheek. ‘Well, sort of.’

  ‘Everyone knows she’s the biggest little liar in the business,’ said Tony dispassionately.

  ‘Oh,’ Kim opened her eyes wide. ‘You know what I mean, Tone, you said come and have a walk and meet me at the swings.’

  ‘I was joking.’

  ‘Yes, it was true you never came.’ She too could be detached.

  ‘Anyway, it was years ago. When you were a little kid.’

  ‘Nothing since?’ said Coffin, watching Kim.

  ‘My Kim’d never do anything wrong,’ said Mrs Simpson.

  ‘No, of course not. But she did go missing for a little bit, didn’t she? You reported her missing.’

  ‘But that was all a mistake. Kim came back. She wasn’t missing. But we have to take special care.’

  ‘Yes, she came back. But we never really got to the bottom of that, did we?’

  ‘We did.’ She was flushed and indignant. But Kim was calm.

  ‘Don’t be so protective, Mrs Simpson. You may be covering up more than you know.’ He turned to Kim Simpson. ‘Tell me the truth, Kim, about that afternoon. Where did you go? And with whom?’

  She seemed to appreciate the accuracy of his grammar. ‘With whom,’ she repeated questioningly to herself. She took a deep breath. ‘I was not with whom anyone.’

  ‘Oh, Kim.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t with him, at all events,’ said Kim, looking at Tony Young. ‘Why, I never would.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Tony. ‘And I mean that.’

  Kim gave a pleased wriggle as if she had somehow scored. ‘Oh, Tone,’ she said.

  I bet I could get something out of you if I had you alone, thought Coffin. A certain frail delicacy about her struck him. She had blue shadows under her eyes. She looked full of vigour, but somehow not strong. Coffin had a child himself and knew the difference between the look of perfect health and this.

  He looked at Parr and gave a slight nod. Parr rose, tapped Tony Young on his shoulder and got him out of the room. Coffin knew they were going to the small questioning room just down the corridor and that there Tony would be taken through question and answer again. Or perhaps even just left to think.

  When they had gone, he said, ‘Could I have a word with you on your own, Mrs Simpson?’ He didn’t have to look at Joan Eames; she had already drawn Kim to the window and was talking to her in a friendly way. She was a good policewoman.

  ‘Yes?’ said Kim’s mother suspiciously. She turned her head slightly.

  ‘Your daughter’s all right,’ he said, following her gaze to where it rested on Kim at the window.

  ‘You’re anxious about her, aren’t you?’ he added.

  ‘Oh well,’ she was evasive, willing to shrug off the question.

  ‘There’s something you haven’t told me about her, isn’t there, Mrs Simpson?’ Behind him he could hear Kim chattering away to Joan Eames; heard but not seen she seemed much more childlike. That air of sophistication was illusory, learnt, put on, not really understood by the wearer.<
br />
  ‘I’m strict with her.’

  ‘Yes, I’d noticed that.’

  ‘I love my Kim,’ she said defensively.

  ‘Of course you do.’ All the same, he thought with mounting excitement, there’s something that puts her in the same category as the others. She’s one of them.

  ‘Is it her health?’

  ‘Oh, we don’t talk about that,’ she said at once.

  ‘Still, if there is something, I’d like to know. Perhaps I ought to know.’

  ‘Well, poor child, we don’t tell her the name of it. Just take doctor’s pills, we say. We don’t want her to feel different.’

  She does feel different though, Coffin thought.

  ‘You have to watch her, that’s all. You have to see she doesn’t take too much sugar.’

  ‘She’s diabetic?’ said Coffin.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Simpson in a low voice. ‘She won’t grow out of it. She’s not bad, but you have to watch her. Not let her get at the sweet things too much. No sweets, no ice-cream I have to say to her sometimes. She loves ice-cream. Of course, if everything’s properly balanced it’s all right, the doctor says. But we don’t say anything to Kim. You can’t explain to a child, can you?’

  Coffin glanced across to the window. ‘She seems a pretty intelligent child to me. I should think you could tell her.’

  ‘Oh, I’d rather she just thought her old mum and dad were grumpy.’

  Coffin felt rather sad. ‘Are you right?’

  ‘I want her to think she’s absolutely perfect,’ said Mrs Simpson. She held her head high.

  Kim turned from the window and faced her mother. Coffin, seeing her gaze, half wise, half perplexed, knew that not only had her mother failed to protect her perfection but had infected the child with a terrible doubt. The doubt was growing with her and changing her as she grew.

  The telephone rang. He picked it up, listened for a moment and then said, ‘Wait a minute.’ Once again he had only to look at Joan Eames and she knew what to do. She got Kim and her mother comfortably outside the room in a smooth running movement that didn’t alarm them. They were smiling as they went as if everything had been their own idea and they’d thought of it themselves.

  Only Coffin and Dove were left. Coffin resumed his call. ‘Right. Go on now.’ He listened and as he listened he made notes on the pad in front of him.