Coffin's Ghost

by Gwendoline Butler

The truth was that Hamish, to use his trade name which was not one his mother would have recognized, although he liked beef cooked, could not stand the sight of blood.

  The business side was soon done, and the money handed over. A satisfactory sum. He felt inspired to do some more business with this nice chap.

  ‘I’ve got some lamb just come in. Are you interested?’

  Darren expressed keen interest, and patted his pocket again. ‘Knew to come with some spare cash. Show me what’s on offer.’

  Hamish threw open a freezer full of legs of lamb. Darren bent over to examine what was there while Hamish moved on to the next cabinet.

  Darren heard a strange noise from Hamish and then a crash. He looked round to see Hamish slumped on the floor. Then he took a look in the cabinet.

  ‘My my,’ and he took out his mobile.

  DC Geoff Little and WDC Eleanor Brand were the first lucky arrivals after the squad car had radioed in to get to the Felix Freezers.

  They knew at once what they had got there. ‘This is too big for us,’ said Eleanor, reaching for her mobile.

  The news sped up the chain of command fast, and reached Coffin as he was drinking some coffee before having a shower. He had taken Gus for an early-morning walk and felt ready for action.

  Perhaps he hadn’t expected it quite so fast.

  ‘We have the torso, sir.’ Phoebe Astley tried not to sound triumphant. ‘There’s no doubt it’s the right one, arms and legs gone, but the pathologist is on his way.’

  ‘Who else have you told?’

  ‘Chief Superintendent Young, sir, he’s on his way too and I am just about to leave.’

  ‘I’m coming.’

  ‘Are you sure, sir?’ She nearly said, There’s no need, but prudence held her back.

  ‘Tell me where.’

  Back of Drossers Lane, just off Chopping Tree Lane, easy to find, the old warehouse with the word Felix Freezers painted on it. But she would send a car.

  ‘We’ve had worries about the place and the Health and Food people passed on their suspicions. It was one of our men who phoned us. He was pretending to be a buyer . . . there’s more, sir.’

  ‘Tell me when I get there.’

  He took Stella a cup of coffee, and put it on her bedside table. She opened her eyes. ‘You’re going out?’

  ‘Yes, I know it’s early.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘The body has been found . . . the torso, I mean.’

  ‘And the head?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ For the first time, he realized that Phoebe had not said whether the head was there with the body or not. ‘No, I think it isn’t.’

  Stella sat up to drink her coffee. ‘That’s odd, isn’t it?’

  ‘Everything about this case’ – if it was one case and not a trio of cases – ‘is odd.’

  Phoebe Astley, together with Archie Young, was waiting for him outside Felix Freezers.

  The police surgeon had been and gone, certifying that the woman was dead, not a difficult diagnosis since she was frozen and headless.

  ‘I’m glad,’ said Coffin at once.

  ‘Not all good news, no head, so identity is still tricky.’ Archie Young was frowning. ‘We’ve had our eye on Hamish Scott for some time, hence the fact we had our man in there . . . He was the one who telephoned in. Hamish fainted. I don’t think he’s our killer, seems as shocked as anyone.’

  They were walking forward into the big room lined with freezers. Hamish was sitting on a chair, his face white. Darren was talking to a uniformed constable and laughing as he did so. Hamish looked at his betrayer morosely. ‘Heartless git.’

  ‘Something else you won’t be pleased about, sir,’ said Phoebe. ‘We’ve had a quick look at some papers here and it looks as though some police names come into it.’

  ‘How many?’ said Coffin in a sharp voice.

  ‘Three . . . Radley, Ron Ryman-Lawson and Grimm.’ Phoebe was not pleased herself to issue that roll call. ‘All from Cutts Street.’

  Bloody Cutts Street, always a trouble, and one he thought had cleaned up. ‘Right, well, lay into them hard. They are suspended from now.’

  He could see Phoebe had more to say. ‘It looks, sir, as if the man Dave who works for you is in with Scott too. We will have to get him in for questioning.’

  ‘Oh God,’ said Coffin, thinking of Stella. ‘Let him do the dusting first.’

  The body was still in the freezer, rigid, and discoloured. Blue and red blotches disfigured it here and there. There was no head. It was the body of a mature woman, heavy breasted and with well-rounded hips. In life, although not looking fat, she would not have seemed slender either. He tried to think of this as a body he might have fondled, kissed and entered, but there was nothing.

  As Coffin looked down, trying to remember Anna, he admitted that you can remember a face but you cannot remember a body.

  Or he could not.

  He turned away. ‘At least we will now know how she died.’

  ‘Of course, we will have to wait for her to thaw out,’ said the police surgeon.

  Coarse brute, thought Coffin. He heard Phoebe draw her breath and respected her for it. ‘She’s not a leg of lamb, but a human being,’ he told the doctor coldly. ‘Get on with whatever has to be done, but leave her a bit of dignity, please.’ The word please had the crack of a whip in it.

  He turned away. ‘What are you going to do about Hamish Scott and the rest?’

  Chief Superintendent Young looked at Phoebe, who spoke for them both. ‘Take them in and question them. Suspend Radley and Ryman-Lawson and the same for Grimm? He’s on sick leave at the moment.’

  Coffin looked bleak. ‘You know what they said of the early Bow Street Runners? Private speculators in crime. Things don’t change.’

  He was driven back to St Luke’s where Stella had got up and was taking a shower, he could hear the rush of water.

  He considered telling her about Dave, the house cleaner, and decided to leave it for the moment.

  Gus met him at the foot of the stairs, looking up at him hopefully.

  ‘Right,’ he said to Gus. He needed time to think. ‘Walkies, Gus.’

  Gus never minded where he took his walk, every street corner was as interesting to him as the most beautiful wooded stretch of country. He was prepared to pace slowly beside his thoughtful master while Coffin tried to decide what to do.

  He was pretty sure he knew who the killer of Etta was and the same person had also tried to kill Albie. He now agreed with Albie that he had been the prime target.

  Oh yes, this killer wanted Albie out of the way, but that did not answer all the questions in his mind. It was the Chief Commander the killer wanted: to smear and bring into public contempt. Death for him might or might not come later.

  He was hated.

  There was the uncomfortable feeling that this pot of hate had been stewing on the heat for a long while, and had now boiled over.

  He kicked a piece of paper on the pavement, it rose up and floated away, followed by Gus. The wind was getting stronger.

  He and the dog walked on, Gus just alive and happy, Coffin deep in thought. Where did Anna come in all this? Or was it fantasy, just his imagination? It was a fine day, with blue skies but not warm. He walked faster.

  Gus did not bother to keep up with him, he knew from long experience that Coffin would turn, see where he was, then wait for him. He strolled over to a lamppost that needed careful examination for what messages it carried of earlier passers-by. A dog had to know the neighbours. One smell suggested a complete incomer, and on an interesting diet too. He considered, no not something he would fancy on the whole.

  Coffin marched on. Phoebe Astley had done well on this case. Kept her head when others had lost theirs.

  Like the poor victim.

  Without turning round, he yelled: ‘Gus.’ Then he walked on, confident Gus would catch up. By this time, he was near the tube station, and there was Mimsie Marker handing out the newspapers to her regulars, to read as they tr
avelled to the City or the other way towards the estuary of the Thames.

  Mimsie served a customer, sold him some cigarettes and told him that although it was against her own commercial interests, he should give up smoking.

  Coffin strolled across. ‘If he gives up cigs, you will only sell him some vastly expensive chocolates, I’ve never known you a loser. You’re the richest woman in town. We all know that.’

  Mimsie grinned. ‘I wanted to work though, Mr Coffin, sir.’

  ‘Don’t overdo the humble peasant act, Mimsie. We come out of the same basket, remember . . . two old cockneys, hardly any one left but you and me.’

  ‘It was about that poor young girl that was shot dead . . .’

  ‘Go on.’ He was alert now. ‘Did you know her?’

  ‘No, but I had seen her around. And when she was killed and the ambulance collected her, I happened to be there.’

  I bet, thought Coffin. Just happened.

  ‘And I saw her shoes, pretty little shoes, she had nice feet, I thought the shoes might be Italian, they’re the best at the moment, aren’t they? But there was a bit of a stain on one of them, as though something greasy had dropped on it. Pale shoes do mark so, don’t they?’

  Get on with it, Mimsie, he wanted to say, but was too wise to do so. Interrupt Mimsie telling a tale at your peril.

  ‘Well, I remembered those shoes and remembered where I’d seen them, and when I heard that you were finding it difficult to pin down where the girl had been, I thought I ought to say: the Stormy Weather café.’

  She produced the name triumphantly. ‘And she was there with that police feller, I don’t know his name.’

  ‘Try, Mimsie.’

  She gave him a sideways look. ‘Death, would it be?’

  Coffin nodded. ‘Could be, could be. Thanks, Mimsie.’

  ‘Think nothing of it.’ Then she smiled. ‘There’s that dog of yours, back there, sitting under that tree. I reckon you’ll have to go back and get him.’

  ‘How is Alice?’ he asked Mary Arden on the telephone. ‘Robbie hasn’t taken her to the country yet?’

  ‘No, he wanted to, but the doctor at the hospital wanted a last check on Alice. I was glad to keep her here, she helps me and we all like her. I think she’s happy doing something.’

  ‘Is she fit enough to go for a walk?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ said Mary cautiously. ‘If she wanted to.’

  ‘Of course, it goes without saying. But it would help clear up her story. You can come if you like.’

  ‘No,’ said Mary. She hesitated. ‘It wouldn’t be easy for me to come. Nor Evelyn. I trust you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But Alice must say.’

  He turned back into the kitchen at St Luke’s where Stella was drinking coffee. She shook her head. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

  Then Mary spoke: ‘Alice says, Yes. Will you come to collect her? And will you bring the dog? I think she’d like it.’

  Stella shrugged, but went to fasten the leash on Gus’s collar. ‘I want to be sure he comes back with you.’

  Alice was waiting for him in the hall at the house in Barrow Street, she was wearing pale-blue jeans and a blue silk shirt. She was pale but quite astonishingly pretty.

  Gus took to her at once, wagged his tail and prepared to lead the walk.

  Alice smiled but said nothing. But the smile said: I want to come.

  They set off, with Gus in front.

  ‘This is good of you, Alice.’

  Alice bent her head shyly.

  ‘I think it might help me solve something that worries me. You too, perhaps.’

  Alice gave him a blue stare, not unfriendly but sharper than he had expected.

  ‘I think you truly want me to know where you were when your stepfather took you away and –’

  Alice bent her head again.

  ‘And hid you, Alice. But you won’t tell me. He threatened you if you did talk, that’s right, isn’t it?’

  They had got as far as the tube station and Mimsie Marker’s stall which she had closed temporarily while she went for lunch. Papers were laid out and buyers trusted to put their money in a tin. Most did.

  Coffin went on: ‘Let your feet do the talking.’

  He studied Alice’s face, to his relief, she was laughing. She could see the joke. They’ve underestimated you, girl, he decided.

  He led her through the back streets towards Drossers Lane where the market would be in full swing. After a point, when the noise of the market came their way, while not appearing to do so, he let her point the way. He held back, gently following her, trying to read her face. At the same time, she had her hand on his arm.

  Hard to be sure who was pushing and who was pulling.

  Pepys Street, Armour Road, Villiers Close . . . a modern in-filling, that one. The noise of the market getting louder all the time. Was someone shouting: prime legs of lamb at bargain prices? Buy now.

  And go to prison later. But no, not prison, hospital possibly if you were unlucky. Very unlucky you might move further down the chain and die.

  Samuel Street, another modern in-filling, and next to it Chopping Tree Lane.

  No push, little pull, with Gus leading down Chopping Tree Lane.

  If you looked down Chopping Tree Lane you could see just the facade of roof and walls that Alice had described as those she had seen from the room she had lived in. Been imprisoned in? Could you call it that?

  Coffin thought he could do.

  He looked at Alice’s face, waiting. She turned to him and nodded.

  ‘Let’s go down Chopping Tree Lane, don’t worry, just a few yards.’

  Gus liked this path and was very willing to stop halfway down, investigating a most interesting smell on a side wall while Coffin looked up at the back of the houses and shops which fronted on Drossers Lane.

  One set of windows seemed likely but there was no recognition on Alice’s face; after all, she had been inside looking out, not outside looking in.

  But she had something she wanted to say and she said it in that sweet, gentle voice that was so simple too: ‘The woman there, she was kind to me.’

  He patted her shoulder. ‘Good girl, you’ve done well. I’m taking you back now.’

  He found a cab just by the tube station (Mimsie was still absent, obviously enjoying a long lunch) and took Alice back to Barrow Street.

  He was walking Gus back to St Luke’s Tower when the mobile in his pocket rang.

  ‘Hello,’ said Phoebe, as he tried to get the phone in a good position to hear her. ‘A bit of news . . . the pathologist’s first quick look at the torso says she died a natural death . . . Heart.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Coffin thoughtfully. ‘Of course, there could always be a bullet in the head. Only we don’t have that yet.’

  ‘Any more good news?’

  He heard the sigh. ‘Yes, sir. As well as the meat business which was probably small beer, it seems as if drugs and porn come into the picture.’

  He was quiet.

  ‘Did you hear that, sir?’

  ‘I heard. Listen: I am going to Drossers Market. Probably going to drop in at the Stormy Weather eating place. Give me time to get there and order some food, then join me there.’

  He pushed Gus through the door of his tower home with a pat and a word of praise. ‘Good boy.’

  After all, you couldn’t take a dog on this particular errand.

  15

  Drossers Lane Market in mid-morning was full of its usual rumbustious life. Even the surface business on stalls and open shop fronts (the centuries had passed unnoticed in the market, Coffin felt) looked illicit so that you could only guess what went on inside and in the dark.

  Coffin was known and a stillness and hush passed over the stalls as he walked on. He felt observed, watched but safe. Drossers Market was a danger area even for the police who went through in patrol cars or in pairs, but he doubted if he would be challenged.

  He consi
dered buying an ice-cream off the stall selling ‘Frozen Whoppers’ but walked on, although he liked ice-cream and had happy memories as an East End kid eating frozen water on a stick from an Italian who sold ice-cream from a barrow outside Greenwich Park. The bugs and antibodies thus created had seen him through many healthy years.

  He looked at the Burger Stall – ‘Hot Whoppers’ – and wondered what relation it had to the beef stored in the FELIX FREEZERS outfit.

  His feet halted outside Stormy Weather, whose windows were clouded with steam while from whose doors floated a smell of good coffee.

  He walked in to see that the place was crowded, but there were a couple of places at the bar, and that Mimsie Marker had a table to herself in one corner. Of course, turn Mimsie away if you dare, she probably owned the ground freehold of where you were living.

  He looked at the property holder and waved; he got a wave back.

  ‘Wonder why I thought you’d be in?’ Mimsie finished a mouthful of chips quickly to get the words out.

  ‘And I wonder why I thought you would be in here?’

  ‘Best place to eat. Good and cheap. Very cheap.’

  ‘I suppose you call it subsidized food,’ said Coffin, thinking of a possible connection with illicit beef and even more illicit drugs.

  ‘You might be right,’ observed Mimsie placidly. ‘I’m the ground landlord and their lease is coming to an end. I like to check up.’

  ‘You are right to watch your investment,’ said Coffin. ‘Several happenings have suggested it might be a good idea for me to look in.’

  ‘At least one quite personal.’ Mimsie had finished her chips.

  He was taken aback. ‘You keep your ear close to the ground.’ Mimsie did not deny it; she had been around a long time and knew everything. People told her things. ‘Thanks for the tip about the shoes. One of my reasons for coming now.’

  ‘The food is good now they’ve got the new cook, Jo was standing in when the old one went off, but she wasn’t that good.’ She looked towards the bar. ‘Don’t see Jo, expect she’s having a rest. A woman the size she is needs to get off her feet.’

  ‘Thanks, Mimsie.’ Coffin moved away to the bar. ‘I’ll get some coffee. I might come back.’