Coffin's Game

by Gwendoline Butler

  Sheila Heslop looked up from her word processor. ‘I know where he is. I saw him as I came back from lunch.’ Sheila had taken a late lunch because her mother was visiting her. ‘Speeding along the road towards St Luke’s Theatre. I live that way myself. He was going so fast he nearly knocked an old chap off his bike. I think he slowed down after.’

  ‘Sure it was him?’ It did not sound like the way the Chief Commander usually drove. ‘I bet you were driving pretty fast yourself.’

  ‘Recognized the car,’ said Sheila, returning to her work. ‘And I was going quite slowly, as it happens. I had Mum on board and I was dropping her off at her favourite shop. You don’t drive fast when you’ve got my mother on board. It was the boss all right. Reckon he’s in a mood?’

  Paul did not answer.

  Coffin had done more than slow down, he had pulled over and switched off the engine. ‘I could have killed that man,’ he told himself. He knew he was capable of violent moods, but he thought he had disciplined himself out of them after the disasters of his middle years. Apparently not; anger was still there inside him, like a stream running deep and only waiting any opportunity to burst out.

  His mobile phone had rung several times as he had driven from the smart restaurant where he had given lunch to the eminent French policeman where their talk had been quiet and secretive. Each time the phone sounded, Coffin had ignored it. Now, parked by the kerb with the traffic roaring past, he made an outgoing call.

  For a time, he thought he might not get an answer. Try the theatre then, perhaps she was there.

  But then a hoarse voice shouted back at him. Nothing had ever succeeded in convincing Maisie that you did not need to shout over the telephone.

  ‘Hello. Who’s that?’

  ‘Maisie, you know who it is: John Coffin.’

  ‘Oh, didn’t recognize your voice.’ She was not unfriendly, merely surprised. ‘You sound different.’

  He did not believe her, but ignored it. ‘Anyone there with you, Maisie?’

  ‘No, only me and the old cat.’

  ‘I want to ask you a few questions.’

  There was a hoarse murmur.

  ‘How long have you known Miss Pinero?’

  ‘Oh, ever such a long while.’

  ‘Since when? When did you first meet her?’

  Maisie said hoarsely, ‘I don’t like to talk about Miss Pinero when she’s not here.’

  ‘I haven’t got time to muck about, Maisie. Just tell me when you first met her.’

  He could hear heavy breathing across the line; whether it was the cat or Maisie he could not be sure. ‘Come on, Maisie.’

  Maisie sighed. ‘I don’t like talking about Miss Pinero on the telephone. I’d rather do it face to face.’

  ‘No time. When did you first meet?’

  ‘I don’t know why it matters, sir, but she did a season in repertory at the old Spinnergate Theatre. I was working there. We got on, and it was just about when her career took off …’ Coffin could hear a kind of shrug. ‘We stayed together.’

  ‘And she lived in Spinnergate then?’

  Maisie thought about it. ‘I believe so,’ she said at length. ‘As far as I know.’

  ‘It would have been a long way home each night to the flat she had in Blackheath,’ Coffin pointed out. ‘And she had been earning well. A film and TV work.’ Unconsciously he was revealing the eye he had kept on Stella all those years they were apart.

  ‘I don’t know about that, sir,’ said Maisie. ‘Not my business. I think I ought to go now, the cat wants to be let out.’

  Coffin took pity on her. ‘Yes, it’s all right, Maisie. I have asked and you have answered. You’ve told me what I want to know.’

  ‘I have?’ said a disturbed voice.

  Coffin heard a scuffling noise as he finished the call: it might be the cat, if Maisie really had one, or Maisie herself.

  Coffin drove on to St Luke’s. He did not go to his own apartment in the tower; he knew he had a better chance of finding Stella in the theatre itself. He parked the car, got out, and felt as if he had Gus tumbling out after him. One day he would have to train Augustus to stay at home alone, but he never seemed to have the time. There was one good thing about Augustus, he never got lost, he was always right behind you. Coffin could almost hear his snuffling breath now. He was not a barker, and only rarely a fighter, but he was a heavy breather.

  He walked in, looking for Stella. In mid afternoon a lull had descended upon the place; he was aware of a rehearsal taking place in the small theatre, and of distant voices here and there, but otherwise the place was quiet. Stella was not in her office, nor in the manager’s office, neither was anyone else. Eventually, he was alerted by Augustus, who had run on ahead and was now barking joyfully in the wardrobe room. This was a suite of three rooms and Stella was in the first. On her own, pensively studying a long dress.

  ‘Pity Donna Karan doesn’t do stage clothes,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘Or does she? Not that we could afford her.’

  ‘Stella …’

  She swung round. ‘Oh darling, I didn’t realize it was you, I’ve been trying to get hold of you.’

  ‘Oh, good. Any special reason?’

  ‘Just to talk to you. Touch you.’ She came up and kissed him; he did not return her kiss.

  She drew back. ‘You aren’t very responsive.’

  ‘You’ll find me responsive enough at the right time.’

  ‘It’s known as empathy,’ she said coldly, taking a step away. ‘I think you’ve lost it.’

  He ignored the remark. ‘What have you got on your feet? Flat shoes, good. You can walk in those.’ He took in what she was wearing. ‘Jeans and a cashmere sweater. That’ll be warm enough, I think. It’s not that cold, and we shall be walking fast.’

  ‘I am not going out, I’m busy here, there’s a lot to do.’

  ‘I’m taking you for a walk.’

  Stella was silent. Then: ‘You’re serious.’

  ‘It’s very serious for me.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Let’s go outside and start walking.’

  Stella picked up her big shoulder bag and dropped it over one shoulder. It was heavy, her bags were always heavy. Then she said nothing until they had gone through the corridors and out of the building. ‘Can’t we drive?’

  ‘No, it’s a walk – a walk of discovery – and you are going to find the way.’

  ‘Is this a game?’

  ‘Call it that if you like. My game.’ Coffin’s game.

  Chapter 10

  Stella withdrew her arm from his grasp, which had been firm, almost hard. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Just walk on, my love.’

  ‘Am I your love?’ Was it a question?

  ‘You will always be that, Stella.’ But his tone was quiet, more determined than passionate, as if she had fallen into a part in a play which she could not now walk out of. I signed that contract, she told herself, mustn’t forget it.

  She walked on in silence, along the busy Spinnergate main road with buses, lorries and the battered old motor cars which the district specialized in passing them at speed.

  They came to a crossroads where they stopped. ‘Which way?’ she asked. She looked at her husband’s face: expression not promising.

  ‘I want to get to where you were taken that night.’

  ‘But I don’t know.’

  ‘Memory is a strange affair: I think as we walk along you might find you do know the way. Or can remember bits. Will you try?’

  ‘I suppose so. But I think it’s a waste of time.’

  ‘You came along this road when you escaped from your captivity, you must have done, because Maisie lives down there –’ he pointed to a side road. ‘So which of these four roads did you come down?’

  Stella thought about it, then she pointed. ‘It must have been the left turn. Yes, I seem to remember looking across the road and seeing that oak tree.’ She pointed to the large oak, now shedding its leave
s, on their side of the road. ‘I think I got on a bus.’

  ‘Right, let’s go down that road. Heaverside Road.’

  ‘I don’t want to. If you are playing a game, then I am not.’

  He took her arm firmly in his. ‘Onward, Stella. You do remember this bit of your journey? Of course, you could lie to me, but somehow I don’t think you will.’

  ‘Why not?’ She was walking briskly if reluctantly, half dragged along.

  ‘Because you know I will know, I will read your face. I am the professional here, Stella. So you may decide to keep silent. That won’t work either: I shall see your eyes. You will look where you do not want to go.’

  ‘All right. Yes, I do recall this bit. Damn you.’

  He ignored this. ‘Let’s walk on. You might enjoy it if you give yourself to it.’ There was a certain irony in his tone.

  Stella let herself be taken along. ‘I used to feel safe with you, it was one of your attractions.’

  ‘I always wondered what was.’

  ‘I don’t feel safe now.’

  ‘Oh, you’re safe enough,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Safer than you’ve ever been.’

  ‘I hate you in this mood.’

  ‘It’s not a mood, Stella, more a state of mind.’ His tone was polite, formal.

  They had passed two turnings on their side of the road, ignored a pedestrian crossing leading to a row of shops down Pedders Street, a narrow street at right-angles to Heaverside Road, and were heading towards Spinnergate tube station. Coffin drew Stella’s attention to this.

  ‘We’ve gone beyond Eliot Street and Patten Lane … you didn’t want to turn down either of those?’

  Stella stopped dead. ‘I wasn’t thinking, just walking.’

  ‘Ahead is Arrow Street. Does that ring a bell?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  A bus came down Arrow Street stopped a little beyond Eliot Street.

  ‘You must have got off that bus you spoke of somewhere around here, then walked to Maisie’s. You remember that?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do. I recognize where we are, naturally.’

  ‘So let’s go down Arrow Street.’

  Arrow Street was a long, narrow thoroughfare, heavy with traffic. On one side there was a terrace of new houses, and on the other were two megalithic blocks of flats. It was a respectable but dull street. Another red bus was already appearing at the end of it with a lorry of frozen food passing on the other side.

  ‘Not a street I like,’ said Coffin. ‘Had a couple of nasty murders down here a few years ago. Shouldn’t let it influence one’s feelings about a place, but somehow it does. I can see the blood on one of the victims still: a small child. Beaten then burnt. Only half-burnt, though, so there was blood and charring on the body. I remember hoping that the kid had been dead when the burning started. You wouldn’t remember the case.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘The other case was even nastier. In that flat over there –’ He pointed towards the top floor of the first block. ‘Some poor sod is still living in it. Wonder if he knows what went on there. I daresay. I doubt if the neighbours would have spared him the lovely knowledge.’

  He put his arm round her. ‘Let’s get on … If we go down Arrow Street … it is straight as an arrow’s flight isn’t it? … you are bound to remember where you got on the bus and that will give us a clue to where you must have walked.’

  ‘I do remember … it was at the end of Arrow Street.’

  ‘Coming back, is it? Memory is like that … patchy. You think you have forgotten, and then suddenly, there it is in your mind, all fresh and clear. Let’s go on down Arrow Street; not worth getting on a bus. Getting tired?’

  Stella shook her head. ‘No, I am not tired.’ Many things: disturbed, even angry, but not tired. Some emotions drive away fatigue.

  ‘We can take it slowly.’ As they walked, he went on talking. ‘You know this part used to be all part of the Shambles … where the cattle came in off the boats and were slaughtered. In the days before refrigeration, of course.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘No, why should you. I never like to think of all that death handed out … mass killing. Must give a feeling to a neighbourhood.’

  ‘You’re not talking like a policeman.’

  ‘I’m not all policeman.’

  ‘Or perhaps it’s just part of your technique … I haven’t seen this side of you before. Well, I wouldn’t would I?’

  ‘Technique?’

  ‘Yes, to unsettle a suspect. And, as a matter of fact, it’s working,’ she said angrily. ‘I can’t bear to think of all those sheep and cows.’

  Coffin laughed, his mood lightening. He took her hand.

  ‘And don’t say you love me for it, I’m not in the mood.’ But she did not take her hand away.

  Suddenly their feelings towards each other seemed to have changed. ‘She’s going to do it,’ Coffin told himself. ‘She’s going to show me, tell me.’

  But they were both wary as they walked the length of Arrow Street.

  Coffin wondered if he had been right to tell her about the Shambles. Not true, he had made it up on the spur of the moment, but it seemed to have worked.

  ‘You didn’t bring Augustus, after all,’ she said.

  ‘No, he’s not a good walker over a distance. Prefers the car.’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘I thought it was better this way. You sweep past things in a car; on foot, noises and smells bring back a memory which you might otherwise not have picked up.’

  Smooth, Stella thought, very smooth. Perhaps he really believed what he was saying. Things were going to come out, she could tell. Impossible to keep quiet any longer. Stupid of her to have tried.

  ‘For instance,’ he went on, ‘see that man over there?’

  She looked; the man was well dressed in a dark suit, carrying a briefcase and what appeared to be a copy of The Times. ‘Businessman of some sort. Lawyer, accountant? He looks prosperous.’

  ‘Oh, he is: he runs the local outfit of prostitutes.’

  ‘He’s looking at you as if he knew you.’

  ‘He knows me, all right. As I know him. He may acknowledge me or he may not. Depends on business.’ Coffin was watching the man with some interest. He was going across to a man sitting in a car, he addressed him briefly, then moved away. ‘I didn’t know there was a contact there, but there is, although I don’t think my friend was glad for me to see it. I guess they would have talked longer if he hadn’t seen me watching.’

  ‘Who is the other man, then?’

  ‘He is a banker. I shall have to think about it, he may be putting money in. Better than Lloyds or the Stock Exchange, much safer. Provided you know the right people.’

  ‘I suppose he does.’

  ‘That’s what I will be thinking about. My friend thought I might be one of the right people once, if the correct amount of currency changed hands. Well, he learnt otherwise.’ Coffin sounded amused. ‘Now, see that woman across the road?’

  ‘The one who has just come out of that rather nice house?’

  ‘Yes, and you’re right, it is a nice house.’

  The woman was beautifully dressed in a pale suit, with a flow of blonde hair. A crocodile bag swung from her shoulder.

  ‘What do you think she is?’

  Stella gave her a knowledgeable look over. ‘She’s not an actress, but … I don’t know, she’s a performer of some sort.’

  ‘I’ll say she is. She belongs to the stable of our friend now disappearing down the road.’

  Stella was surprised. ‘Upmarket for Spinnergate.’

  ‘Fifteen years ago you would have been right. Now …’ he shrugged. ‘Since the City moved in not so far away, prices have risen. Of course, the girls come and go, it’s an ageing profession.’

  ‘So is the stage,’ said Stella, with feeling. Without meaning to, she quickened her step and marched on down Arrow Street.

 
‘A walk down Arrow Street is never wasted.’ Coffin caught up with her. ‘Here we go.’

  Arrow Street ended in a small open space with a traffic roundabout in the centre; China Street forked off to the right and Kettle Street to the left. Both were lined with small pleasant houses and shops. It was one of the nicer residential areas in Spinnergate.

  Coffin looked at his wife. ‘Which way appeals, Stella?’

  ‘I think I remember the pedestrian crossing,’ she said nervously. ‘Into China Street.’ She looked along the road and then at Coffin. ‘We may be getting close.’

  The Pelican crossing changed from red to green and they crossed the road in silence.

  ‘Let’s take it slowly now, so you can look about you, see what clues you get. It was dark when you were taken there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But daylight when you escaped?’

  Stella thought about it. Then she nodded.

  ‘But you were in a state of shock, so not noticing as well as you might be. Still, let’s see what happens. Even in the dark there are smells. There may be a smell in China Street that reminds you of where you were.’ His voice was grave and serious.

  He’s playing this game better than I am, Stella thought. It’s nearly over, anyway. I know that. I can tell that he knows it, too. Why are we both playing it to the end? Her answer came at once: because I am frightened. I will have killed something. Trust, I guess, or worse. What could be worse, but love, of course.

  They were passing a baker’s shop which proclaimed that tea and coffee with pastries were to be had all day and every day.

  ‘Could we stop here for a cup of tea?’ Stella pleaded.

  ‘I was going to suggest it.’

  ‘Were you?’ Was that good or bad for her? She found herself all the time now trying to formulate an assessment.

  ‘Well, perhaps that is an exaggeration, but it did cross my mind. You look tired and we don’t yet know how far we have to go, do we?’

  ‘No,’ said Stella, in a hollow voice.

  The baker’s shop smelt pleasantly of fresh bread. Perhaps they permeated the air with some special scent, thought Stella cynically. Nothing was baked on the premises.