And he still believed that she knew something about the circumstances of her husband’s death.
In fact, he wanted to question Mary Henbit closely. It should have been done earlier, but then they had all wanted to spare her more pain. But some pains are necessary to give birth to the truth.
He returned to his papers, many of which concerned the royal visit, but his mind was not on the exact itinerary that the Queen would follow, nor the lunch that she would be taking with Sir Alfred in his new university building, as yet not finished but which Her Majesty would nevertheless be opening on that day.
He was not invited to that lunch, although the Queen would be visiting his headquarters and he would be presented at a reception beforehand. Stella got a look in here too, which was not always the case with wives, but Stella was special. It was rumoured that the Queen herself had watched her last TV series. Had it videoed, anyway.
His mind went back to the committee which had appointed Phoebe. He could see them now as they sat round the big table. All faces he knew, some well, some less well, all people whose judgement he had trusted: Sir Ferdie, plump and dapper; Jane Frobisher, her eyes hooded; Professor Edna Halliday – an old friend, I’d trust Edna anywhere, but of course, she has been ill. Geraldine Ducking, attractive and forceful, she was being tricky. Chief Inspector Taylour, no problem there, surely. Super-intendent Fraser he hardly knew but he had impressive credentials and did not live anywhere near the Second City. Finally, there was Teddy Timpson, but he had been dealt with.
So why his unease?
There was an answer to that which he should have thought of before; it was buried inside himself and derived from the way he ran his machine.
He delegated, he had to in order to survive.
This committee to appoint Phoebe Astley with a new appointment and also a covert task had been put together by Chief Inspector Timpson.
Coffin had asked him to put forward a list of suitable names from which he then chose the ones that suited him best, being careful, or so he had thought, to choose those who would go for Phoebe.
It was a political act, but perhaps Timpson had been playing politics too. Perhaps he had slipped in a person or two of his own choice. Or someone who had paid him to do so.
Which meant that either Timpson or an anonymous other had speculated about Phoebe’s role.
He thought about it as he worked on, he had few appointments that day so it was desk work, and when Archie Young dropped in on a routine matter, he said: ‘Who would you trust most in the CID at the moment?’
Young had his own questions. ‘To do a good job or to keep his mouth shut?’
‘Both.’
‘If you really want to be safe, then there’s me.’ He didn’t say: And only me, but it sounded like it.
Coffin smiled. ‘Friend to friend?’
‘Right, and if it turns out a libel or GBH job, I shall expect you to stand behind me.’
‘We’ll be in the dock together,’ Coffin promised him. He went to his cupboard where he kept hospitality supplies and drew out his own special bottle of whisky which Letty had kept him supplied with in the days of her wealth. He had but two bottles left so he hoped sister Letty got rich again soon. He had a certain confidence in this: her telephone calls lately had been very cheerful and there had been some mention of popping over to Rome to see her favourite couturier.
‘Let’s drink on it.’
As he poured the whisky, observing with pleasure the subtle peaty brown suggesting the land from which it had come, neatly bottled, he lowered his voice and told Archie, friend to friend, as agreed, what he wanted.
‘All of them?’ Archie was surprised, his thick eyebrows went up.
‘It might not be such a bad idea, but no, not all. Concentrate on …’ he paused, then lowered his voice still further before he spoke.
Archie raised his eyebrows again. ‘OK, I’ll keep it discreet.’ What a pity he would not be able to tell even his wife. He did not tell Alison everything, but since he regarded her, with reason, as being able to see further into the wood than he himself, he valued her judgement. ‘That’s a hot couple to take on.’
‘Concentrate on those two, but don’t forget the others, I may have been stupid.’
Archie Young let the whisky warm his soul. Sir Alfred Rome, what a hard nut to crack … And the other one, well, well, he could but do his best.
‘Not circles I have moved in,’ he said.
‘I don’t want you to move in them, Archie. Just dig them up.’
‘You could really do it best yourself.’ The whisky was making the superintendent bold.
Coffin was silent. He couldn’t say what he felt – that somehow the figure of Phoebe stood in his way.
They finished their drinks, did not take a second one, and Archie Young prepared to go; Coffin really needed help on this one, but he wouldn’t have it, he was on his own.
‘Jane Frobisher has expensive tastes and may need money. Sir Alfred may have a bit on the side, Edna Halliday might have had one lover too many, and as for Ducking …
‘Don’t be too coarse, Archie.’
‘Drives you to it. No, don’t worry, I’ll be good.’
Archie Young smiled, he passed his hand over his eyebrows, which now seemed permanently raised.
After he had gone, Coffin stood looking out of his window. He was thinking of Phoebe Astley. What did she mean to him now? What had she meant in the past?
He thought about that past: he was not proud of it. Phoebe had played her part in one of his more rocky phases when his career might have gone down in the abyss. In that period, he had found support from Phoebe. She might not have said much but she had made him feel his career was worth saving. She had been a mate. And a damned good detective.
Sex had come into it, but only briefly. Somehow, between the two of them, it hadn’t worked. His fault probably, a memory had always been there in the back of his mind.
He didn’t want to think Phoebe was dead, dead because of a case in which he had involved her.
He remembered that last sight of her at Geraldine’s party when her face had looked flushed and slightly swollen. There had been something wrong with her then which he had not paid attention to.
Damn it, Phoebe, be alive still. For my sake. I don’t love you, I never did, but you are important to me. As I think I am to you.
Stella wouldn’t mind that, would she?
He felt sacrificial, willing to do anything to keep two women happy. He poured himself another small measure of whisky, feeling like the young Queen Victoria: I will be good.
But his life always veered between tragedy and comedy – farce even.
Even as high-flown feelings surged through him, of doing this and not doing that, the door opened and his secretary, the new one, appeared with a flustered and anxious face.
‘Sir, there’s a dog in a taxi downstairs for you.’
In no time at all, Bob was in his room, with a message from Stella tied round his neck and his taxi fare waiting to be paid.
‘The driver says he charges extra for dogs travelling on their own.’
Coffin handed over a note. ‘Tell him to keep the change. And bring a bowl of water for this creature.’
Stella had written: His regular sitter is ill and I have to go out. He needs some exercise or he will smell.
Coffin looked at Bob who was breathing heavily all over and thought that Bob smelt now. ‘Come on, beast. A short walk and that’s it.’
As the two of them walked towards the street, heading for Plucketts Park, their paths crossed with that of Sergeant Eliot on his way out to the canteen.
He smiled at Coffin and Bob. ‘Nice dog, sir.’
Coffin and Bob exchanged glances of a neutral kind: sometimes they liked each other, but sometimes they found each other a nuisance. Bob loved Stella and knew jealousy.
‘You have to get to know him,’ said Coffin, ‘to appreciate him.’
Eliot decided to chance his arm. �
�Something just came in; Agnes Page’s birth certificate, it was pinned to the back of old Waters’s marriage certificate … She was his daughter all right.’
She was his daughter: Agnes Page was Albert’s daughter, the words turned round and round in Coffin’s mind as he and Bob walked towards the park.
He noticed that the parking spaces of all three of the officers threatening to resign were empty; all driven off somewhere to conspire against him. Well, sod them! He bent to release Bob from his leash. ‘Off you go, Bob!’
Bob never looked back, but ran eagerly through the park, pushing through the bushes, ignoring other dogs, galloping along, all the while giving himself little barks of encouragement.
‘I believe you wrote that note about needing a run yourself, Bob.’
In the pathology lab the study of the head was going on. It was established that it was definitely a woman. Probably aged between thirty and forty, this had to be approximate, a guess really. Phoebe was that age.
The hair had been washed free of Thames mud, it was a straight light brown. Phoebe’s hair was that colour.
The facial bones were fine and thin, not a heavy-boned woman. Phoebe, although sturdy, had not been a large woman.
The eyes, or what remained of them, had been brown. Phoebe’s eyes were brown.
The teeth were now being examined. Who knew anything of Phoebe Astley’s teeth?
As the delicate, professional fingers moved over the skull, assessing what was there, it began to look as if the original cause of death had been a massive blow to the head.
But this was guesswork again, they needed the rest of the body. Teams of divers were searching the waters. So far, they had found nothing. But watermen who knew the river and its ways, could point out where bodies came to rest: Pickled Herring Creek, Lamots Reach and Tibbins Stretch … Good places to look, they said. The Thames had its little ways, but it was regular in its habits.
She’ll be there. At last.
11
It was summer, and a hot evening with the sun still shining, although the oppressive heat hinted at rain later, but the park was becoming empty as the evening drew on. It was true that this was an open space far away from the area where murder had been done, yet people were being careful. It was a nasty business, everyone agreed and it was better to look after yourself, the police couldn’t be everywhere, so there was almost no one around as Coffin and Bob turned homewards towards St Luke’s Mansions.
But Bob sat down, suggesting a rest. ‘Lazy devil, thought you wanted exercise?’ But Coffin was indulgent, they sat on the grass for a while, enjoying the open air. Bob had his eyes closed but Coffin had plenty to think about. He hoped that Jeavons would soon come through with news about Mary Henbit; it looked as though she had gone off for reasons of her own.
Next, he would be grateful when the headless body was found and some identification could be made. They were floundering at the moment. If she was a murder victim then that was one more to the toll that the Second City was accumulating. He could see the royal visit disappearing over the horizon, and although he was a loyal subject of the Crown, this would cause him no real grief. Nor the Queen either, he imagined, she had plenty of such trips and might enjoy a day off. But he could see his job going over the hill too.
‘Come on, Bob.’ He pulled Bob to his feet. ‘Let’s get back.’ The grass was pleasant under his feet so they avoided the path by which they had come to stroll through the trees which surrounded a small pond.
A woman was lying in the grass by the pond, staring up at the sky from behind dark spectacles; she sat up as the two of them approached enabling Coffin to recognize Eden Brown.
She took off her dark spectacles. ‘Saw you before.’ Her eyes when he could see them looked tired and aching. ‘Didn’t think you would want to speak to me.’
The other way round more likely, I should imagine. How are you?’
‘Still frightened for my life, if you really want to know; there’s too much death around me for me to feel comfortable.’ Eden put her spectacles in her handbag as she stood up. ‘You’re not too popular round here at the moment, so I’ve heard. But I think you are a nice man.’
‘Thank you.’ It was a strange vote of confidence in the circumstances, but he recognized a lost soul in Eden for whom he could find a fellow feeling.
‘In spite of what you did to me. Yes, I know about Phoebe. I believed her at first when she said she did PR work in security, well, so she did in a way, but I soon guessed what she really was. Of course, I didn’t know what she was doing, and I certainly didn’t think I came into it, but I got uneasy. Especially when Agnes … Even before she was killed. I knew things were wrong, terribly wrong.’
‘You don’t have to say anything to me.’
‘Because it might incriminate me and all that stuff?’
‘Not exactly, but if you did let something out that you’d rather not, I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t heard.’
‘They’ve closed my shop down, you know? Just swept in and shut me up.’
‘I thought there might be something like that …’
‘It’s to do with laundering dirty money. My shop was used.’ She looked at Coffin with a question. He nodded in reply. ‘You knew, of course – that was why you planted Phoebe on me. Funny, I don’t hold it against you, but I do blame Phoebe because I liked her. Women ought to protect women not spy on them.’
‘I’m sorry, it was her job.’
‘I’m not under arrest or anything like that, but I’ve been told not to move away and to report to the local station if they ask. I expect they will ask. I’ve no shop, no job and not much money. It might be a relief to be in prison, at least they would feed me and I’d feel safe.’ She gave Coffin a look. ‘Or would I? Maybe with all they are saying about the police in the Second City, I might be safer elsewhere.’ She dabbed at her face. ‘What am I saying? I don’t want to go to prison.’
‘It won’t come to that.’
‘Promise me, can you? No, don’t worry, I won’t hold you to it. I liked Phoebe. Oh, not at first, but soon I did. I trusted her, she seemed strong. But she wasn’t really, she just covered up better than most. Because then I saw she was as frightened as anyone.’
Coffin was suddenly alert. ‘So what was she frightened about?’
‘I don’t know. But I wasn’t surprised when she went off. I think she was hard up, she was short of money, a lot of bills have started to come in for her. I know a bill when I see one.’ Eden slung her bag over her shoulder. ‘I’d better go home … I feel better for telling you. You are a nice man.’
‘Thank you.’
‘She didn’t sleep that night before she went off, I heard her walking up and down all night.’ She gave a small, bitter laugh. ‘I know how she felt: I feel the same myself now. But I wish she’d told me what it was all about. I deserved that much.’
Coffin wanted to keep the conversation going. ‘We’ll walk your way.’
‘I’m all right. I’m not going to top myself or anything.’
‘Of course not.’
‘You can’t take anything for granted. I have wondered about Phoebe; haven’t you?’ Coffin shook his head at her, unable to say anything, but inside he was saying, no, no, no. Eden echoed the shake of his head with a small demurring movement of her own. ‘She was really disturbed that last day or so. And I don’t think she liked you very much by then … she said it was better to have no friends than false friends … she must have meant you. What did you do to her?’
Having sent off this arrow, which pierced him with an instant sharp pain, Eden waved her hand: ‘I go this way home, don’t come any further. Remember me to your wife – a great actress.’
That finished it. Coffin thought, as he watched her disappear round a bend in the path and into a clump of trees.
How much of that talk was deliberate anger? Does she hate me that much? Did Phoebe? Do they all?
He must have made a noise, because Bob looked up at him in some alar
m. What’s up, boss? was in his eyes, and is there anything I ought to be doing about it? Like biting someone or running fast in the opposite direction? Bob was not a brave boy, his life had put stresses on him, so although he would do his duty, he would avoid trouble if he could.
Coffin interpreted the roll of Bob’s eyes with accuracy, they had known each other for a long time and he knew Bob’s history in which death had played a part. ‘It’s all right, boy, nothing for you to worry about. Life does get a bit strong, sometimes, doesn’t it? You and I both know that fact. Nothing to be done about it. Let’s go home.’
Bob was pleased. Home to him meant food, a bone and a warm comfortable place to sleep. Coffin was less pleased. Home to him these days meant Stella. It had taken him some time to get to this state but he had got there.
And Stella would not be home.
He called in at his office on the way to St Luke’s Mansions where he left a message that anything important was to be passed on at once. Especially anything from Devon about Mary Henbit. If Jeavons got in touch with any news, he was to be asked to telephone the chief commander at home and at any hour. Archie Young, of course, investigating Sir Ferdie and the other two committee members, had his own private orders about communications.
Then he and Bob drove home.
He didn’t have long to wait. Once in the apartment, he fed Bob and looked around for the cat, but Tiddles was out on his own affairs.
He made himself some soup and a sandwich. Stella had left a note explaining her absence. It seemed to be due to an unexpected chance to star in a TV series where another star had dropped out. Stella always said that she did not audition, but she was willing to have what she called ‘a talk’ about a prospect of work.
He had brought a file of work home, and he bent over his papers while he ate his sandwich. Tiddles came in through the window to be fed. Coffin worked on until the telephone rang.
‘Jeavons here, sir. I was told to ring you.’ The line was not good for some reason and there was music in the background. ‘Ringing from a pub in Exeter, sir. It’s where I am staying.’
The Coffin Tree Page 20