A Grave Coffin

by Gwendoline Butler

  He walked up the stairs to the sitting room, where he telephoned police headquarters in Spinnergate to order a search of the area around the theatre.

  No point in questioning Stella further at the moment. He couldn’t work out what she meant about the man being dead. He doubted if she knew herself.

  Gus met him at the front door, speeding out into the courtyard beyond. He at least seemed to know where he was going.

  Coffin stood outside, not sure whether to follow the dog or not. ‘Can’t see anyone,’ he muttered to himself.

  Beyond lay the bulk of the theatre complex, all in darkness. Anyone could hide there. The dog had gone the other way, towards the car park, beyond which lay the old churchyard over the road, now a small public garden.

  But Gus had stopped and was sniffing at the wall of the grey stone tower.

  As Coffin walked that way he was walking into a smell and recoiled. A smell can be like a person, strong and repellent. Coffin walked into this one, then took a step backwards.

  The smell was ammonic, richly refulgent of human excreta and vomit, thick and only too grossly human.

  Someone had stood here, rested against that wall where Augustus was still sniffing.

  And there was something else too, the smell was so strong and complex that you could believe that it came from death. It was the smell of someone whose innards had gone into crisis state; it might be the smell of death.

  I have to hand it to you, Stella, he thought, perhaps you weren’t so wrong.

  But a dead person walking round and reaching out a hand to touch? A little rationality, here, please, he told himself.

  The closer he got to the spot on the wall that so engaged the dog, the stronger the smell; when you moved away, it weakened. Still there but not so strong.

  A man’s body had rested against that wall. Waiting for Stella? Or for anyone?

  He walked through the smell and out the other side in the direction of the churchyard, following the scent on the air of ammonia and decaying body fluids.

  By this time, a patrol car had arrived, lighting up the darkness. A uniformed officer came up and saluted. He told the Chief Commander that a search party was on the way.

  Coffin nodded. ‘Good. It might be something or nothing, but my wife was frightened by a man coming at her where she parked her car … There is someone around and I want him found.’

  He crossed the road into the old churchyard, with the dog at his heels. The dog followed him, but only for a few feet, then he sat down by the gate.

  Coffin wandered up one path, flashing his torch, then he turned.

  ‘Yes, you are right, Gus, we will leave it to those better equipped to do the searching. He’s been here, I can smell him, but I doubt he is here now.’

  Gus wagged his tail, he was well pleased to leave, feeling that he had extracted all the information he could from various smells. He could have given his master a body picture of the man, but words were not his medium.

  Stella had taken a shower and washed her hair; she was drying it when they came back.

  ‘Hello, I thought I needed to wash everything away … I could smell that smell. I didn’t imagine it, did I?’

  ‘You did not,’ said Coffin with emphasis.

  ‘I’m glad I didn’t imagine it. I was afraid I might have done. Did you catch him?’

  ‘Not so far. We will.’

  Stella nodded. She was experienced enough to interpret that as hope more than solid expectation.

  ‘Stella, did you see his face?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not to know him again. I looked and looked away, it’s a blur … All I can say, the face was dirty …’ She gave a shudder. ‘I know his smell, though.’

  Coffin nodded. ‘That may help.’

  Hope again, she thought, no more.

  Coffin said suddenly: ‘Where were you all the time?’

  ‘Yes, I was late home, I stayed to talk over various plans.’ She hesitated. Should she tell him when all that was held out to her was still just up for an offer and might be cancelled? ‘They have put something up to me, a threefold contract to produce, act too, if I want.’

  ‘But that’s marvellous … congratulations, darling.’

  ‘It’s not absolutely solid yet, things could go wrong.’

  ‘Is that why you came back? To negotiate with the National?’

  Stella hesitated. Then she said: ‘No. No, it wasn’t. I told you: I came home to see you.’ Then she added, honestly: ‘I knew about it, though, knew it might come up.’

  Coffin laughed. ‘For an actress you are a very poor prevaricator.’

  ‘What’s that mean?’ said Stella suspiciously.

  ‘A liar … Come on, come to bed. Your hair is dry.’

  ‘Wait a minute. Will we be told if they have found someone?’

  ‘In the morning.’

  ‘Yes, that’s reasonable. Tell me, is the man tonight anything to do with the business that you sent Phoebe Astley off to deal with?’

  Coffin was silent. ‘Yes, I think it might have.’

  ‘Does that mean she is in danger?’

  ‘She could be. And before you ask: Yes, she knew it.’

  Stella took it in. Her hair was dry as she shook it out. So well had it been cut that it fell decoratively into place. ‘When you are so cool like that, I could almost hate you.’

  ‘It’s the job.’

  ‘I only said almost … I was frightened tonight.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Will I have to make a statement about the man?’

  ‘You can do it later; I will see to it.’

  Stella made a move towards the stairs. ‘Thank you. Tomorrow then, what about you? Bad day?’

  ‘I have to go to a funeral.’

  Four funerals, he thought, as he stayed behind. He went to the window to look out over the scene below. From this window, he could see the churchyard. Pinpoints of lights flashed in it; so it was being searched.

  Pointless really, he thought, as he drew back, you’d need searchlights to see through the bushes and trees, especially where the ground sloped sharply towards the canal.

  Anyway, the man, whoever he was, would have gone long since. A walking funeral himself. Perhaps he hadn’t gone but had slid back into his grave.

  He looked at the brandy bottle, and considered for a moment taking a strong, long drink, but decided against it, and went upstairs to bed with his affectionate but enigmatic wife.

  But that was Stella for you. On the whole she kept her secrets. He had lived through a few of them with her, as she had with him, but there were still reserves. The interesting thing was that as the years went on his secrets grew less and hers more.

  Damn it, he thought, being a detective made you suspicious.

  ‘Any ghosts?’ she said to him from the pillows as he came in.

  ‘No ghosts,’ he said. ‘Not for me or you.’

  Some ghosts out there for someone, though.

  10

  The funeral was a repeat of the inquest, except that there were two coaches organized by Dr Chinner with the same two drivers. The extra bus was necessary because all the neighbours and friends wished to come. There were schoolfriends present as well, tidied up for the occasion, rollerblades left at home. Coffin observed the bus driver limping in with a friend, the other driver.

  There was a short service in St Gabriel’s Church in Palmer Street which was crowded with mourners and onlookers. Then they filed out to where the coffins were being placed, two-by-two, in the hearses.

  One great wreath placed above the first hearse which bore two small coffins was in the shape of a pair of rollerblades, white and red carnations did the job. The inscription, which Coffin read, said: From all your mates at school.

  The second hearse had more wreaths on the other two coffins, including one from the police and one from the local newspaper. Mimsie Marker who sold the newspapers down by Spinnergate tube station had sent a simple cross.

  The closest s
choolfriends of the boys had sent a special wreath, paid for with their own money, shaped like a pair of skates. The boys themselves were present, standing together at their own request, a tight little group. Louie was one of them, the youngest but the best skater, with highest grinds to his credit. They were a well-dressed, muscular group, determined and, at the moment, polite, although they knew how to be rude when it suited them.

  Not many words passed between them, because parents were hovering, and one of the things that united them was a distrust of adults. ‘We’ve done what we can,’ said Mick Minch, who was as much of a leader as they recognized. ‘For now.’ The implication was that more might be necessary.

  The Chief Commander and Inspector Devlin stood together, both looked sombre.

  ‘Makes your heart break, doesn’t it?’ said Paddy Devlin from his side, her voice half cynical. ‘The coffins match, have you noticed? I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse. Worse, I think. I hate this bit,’ she confided to Coffin. ‘The inquests, you can call that business, but the funerals, the graves, the burying, that I can’t bear. They are all going in one grave, you know.’

  ‘I did know,’ said Coffin.

  ‘Dr Chinner fixed it all up. One grave but four small tombstones above. They will come later, of course, you have to wait for the earth to settle or the tombstones will start sinking.’

  She really does mind, Coffin thought. He had lost a child himself once, long ago, but he remembered the pain.

  ‘I know what you are thinking, sir, you are thinking that I ought not to continue too long in this pederast job. I think it myself sometimes, but I know it’s wrong. I go through this down bit and after it I go on as before.’

  ‘I think it’s right to grieve,’ said Coffin.

  ‘Is that what it is? It feels more like anger.’

  Sergeant Tittleton, who had been circling the whole area around the open grave, came back to them.

  ‘The young couple over there are the pair that found the Chinner boy’s body. Mr and Mrs Foster.’

  ‘I saw them at the inquest.’ Coffin looked across to where the hearses were drawn up, beyond them on a patch of grass the man and the girl stood. He had his arm round her. ‘She’s crying.’

  He turned to Inspector Devlin. ‘Did they come up with any possible extra details? Anything that could help.’

  ‘Not really, no. They were shocked out of their minds, I think. And anything that had gone before was wiped out.’

  ‘Have you spoken to them again?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, and all they could say was that they were wandering along, hand in hand, talking about themselves and their wedding – apparently her mother was being a nuisance – when they saw the man staring in the trees, and they saw the tip of a foot protruding.’

  ‘I’d like to speak to them.’

  Devlin nodded. ‘They’ve seen us, so they won’t be surprised. A nice little couple.’

  ‘Decent of them to come,’ said Tony Tittleton.

  ‘I think they need to do a bit of mourning themselves, they went to that part of the trees quite a lot. They didn’t say so but I guessed. And if they were making love while the kid was rotting underground …’ She shrugged. ‘I think I’d want to do something myself.’

  If they were there often, Coffin found himself thinking, they might have some detail, something half forgotten. He kept coming back to that thought as the four coffins were deposited, one by one.

  He held right back in the crowd, while the simple, dignified service was gone through. All the time, he kept his eyes on the young couple. When they moved, he moved. He gave Devlin a nod: ‘I’m going to talk to them.’

  They were walking fast, close together, the man with his arm round his wife. Even in the crowd they were easy to pick out, because she was wearing a bright pink coat, not usual funeral wear, but perhaps it had been part of her wedding clothes.

  Tony Tittleton had circled rapidly round the crowd, clockwise, and was already talking to the two when Coffin and Devlin caught up with them.

  ‘There you are, sir,’ he said cheerfully. ‘This is Mr and Mrs Foster … Mrs Foster thinks she has met you.’

  Trust Tittleton to come up with that sort of information.

  ‘We didn’t meet exactly. It was a party your wife gave for the helpers in the St Luke’s Theatre Charity … I was there.’ Mrs Foster smiled, she had a nice smile. ‘You shook my hand.’

  ‘Glad I did that.’ Coffin reflected as he smiled back that he could probably be her grandfather; she looked about seventeen and her husband not much older, but she had big eyes, a mane of blonde hair and long legs which the little pink skirt just topped like a frill. He noticed that Sergeant Tittleton was eyeing her with appreciation.

  ‘Did you see anyone or anything that night or any other night, Mrs Foster?’ he prompted her.

  ‘Sorry, haven’t got used to being Mrs Foster yet.’ She looked up at her tall, thin husband.

  ‘You better had … I’ll have to teach you.’

  Paddy Devlin broke up this scene of young love: ‘So you didn’t remark anything, Mrs Foster?’

  Her husband answered for her: ‘It was, is, very quiet up there … that’s why we went there. You can work that out, can’t you?’

  Mrs Foster smiled and looked around her as if searching for something, and gave a little shake of her head.

  Coffin and Paddy Devlin waited, but nothing more came.

  ‘See you to your car,’ said Sergeant Tittleton gallantly. Coffin and Inspector Devlin watched as the pair got into a smart little sports car with the sergeant helping them back away from the close-packed parking and off.

  ‘Thought I might get something more out of her,’ he said as he strolled back to them. ‘But she’s too much into love’s young dream.’

  Coffin turned to the inspector. ‘I thought there was something there too. You might have another go at her later.’

  ‘Will do. We need to find the man with the dog. We’re getting publicity on all the media, nationwide, they have been very helpful. There is a lot of emotion swinging around.’

  In this country, Coffin thought, dogs can get more notice than people. ‘Try mentioning the dog,’ he said.

  Chief Superintendent Archie Young appeared at his side. ‘Saw you here. I was with Chinner, came in the coach with him. He’s gone back with the rest of the families. I’ve left him to it.’

  ‘How is he?’

  Archie Young considered. ‘Ferocious, I think that’s the word.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Yes, be no trouble to him to tear the abuser limb from limb. He wouldn’t need a wolf or a dog, do it himself.’

  ‘I know how he feels.’ The more so after the episode with Stella and the walking dead last night. ‘Come for a drink, Archie. Funerals have that effect on me.’

  ‘On everyone.’ Archie Young was sombre. ‘Walk or ride, sir?’

  ‘Walk. I need the movement.’

  Archie Young agreed, said a walk would be good, but was thoughtful. What was the Big Man up to?

  He had known John Coffin long enough now to know he rarely acted without some reason, not always apparent. The funeral had taken place at a cemetery on the edge of a built-up area, just beyond Leathergate. It would be a good long walk back to any of the usual drinking spots.

  ‘If we go out of the side gate here, take a right turn and then go left down the hill, we will come to the place where the kids and the girl were found,’ said Coffin, who seemed to carry a map of the area in his head. ‘Near enough.’

  Inspector Devlin and Sergeant Tittleton watched the two men walk away and the Chief Commander’s official car drive off. ‘Security won’t like that,’ said Devlin.

  ‘I reckon those two can look after each other.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘I hear there was an intruder outside St Luke’s last night.’

  ‘Can you be an intruder if you are outside,’ mused Devlin as they went to their own car.

  ‘Dunno. Funny business, thou
gh.’

  Archie Young was unsurprised when their walk took them to the scrubby, roughly wooded slope where the bodies had been found: at the higher end the roped-off site of the girl’s body, and then further down the site of the boys’ first burial, where a police forensic team was still quietly at work, sifting the soil, examining each leaf and twig, just in case anything had been missed.

  ‘Do you get any feeling about this place?’ asked Coffin.

  Archie Young denied it. ‘No.’

  ‘No.’ Coffin nodded. ‘I don’t either. There is nothing here which says This is Death Place, Bury Me Here. And yet, down there the boys and up here a body. Why is that?’

  ‘Coincidence?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Coffin obstinately. ‘There’s a connection, but I don’t know what it is.’

  ‘You aren’t suggesting she was killed by the murderer of the boys?’

  ‘No, the pathologists agree it was suicide.’

  ‘She may have known the killer and been shocked into suicide?’ It was a hopeless suggestion and Archie Young knew it, but with Coffin you kept on trying.

  ‘No, the dates are shifty but she was dead first.’ He added, in a quiet voice: ‘Alice Jessimond, second-year student, living out in Alexander Road, her parents didn’t even know she was missing, let alone dead. The university doesn’t have much of a checking system, and no one noticed she was not at lectures and classes. Or if they did notice they put it down to idleness. Or the love affair.’

  For there had been a love affair, they knew now, having been told it by a horrified, unhappy friend. Not a happy love affair, either.

  ‘I know,’ said Archie Young gently. It had, in fact, fallen to him to talk to the stricken parents, and later to the young lecturer and tutor who, white-faced, had denied any relationship with the girl except friendliness. ‘Slept with her,’ Archie Young said to himself, ‘but is never going to admit it. Bad career move.’

  ‘Sex and death,’ said Coffin. He looked at Archie for an answer.

  ‘There’s a lot of it about.’

  They walked on in silence. Soon they were in sight of the Marquis of Granby, a quiet, almost country-style pub, where they were sure of not seeing any drinking colleagues.