A Coffin for Charley (14 page)

‘Have you ever been there?'

Eddie was quicker on that. ‘No.'

Finally Young came to the question that interested him.

‘There is blood in your room. Where did it come from?'

Eddie's face changed and he twisted round in his chair. ‘I'm not going to tell you about the blood. I'm not going to tell you.'

‘Roll your sleeves up and show me your wrists.'

There was no wound, no slices from a knife.

‘So where did the blood come from?'

Eddie's voice went high and loud: ‘Perhaps it was Aunt Lizzie's. Why don't you ask her?'

‘You been beating up your aunt, Eddie?'

‘No.'

‘Or hanging around street corners and outside windows watching?'

‘No, no, and no … Annie thought someone was watching her, and Didi told her it was me. Well, maybe it was someone else. You'd better start looking.'

‘Do you know anyone called Charley?'

‘No, I bloody don't.'

A few minutes later Young ended the interview and let Eddie Creeley go home. But Eddie knew he was on the end of a piece of rope that Young would pull whenever it suited him.

‘What do you think?' asked Young. ‘Didn't get much out of him.'

‘He's frightened.'

‘So he should be.'

‘He's in it somewhere,' said Coffin. ‘And he knows it.'

Eddie walked back to his home, although it hardly felt homely. As he left the police headquarters, he walked firmly while he thought they were watching. As he turned the corner he let himself limp.

As soon as he was inside the house, he pushed Lizzie aside; she was slightly tipsy, having found the gin, and was easy to push.

The police had gone, leaving disorder and signs of their passage everywhere.

He went up to his bedroom and sat down on the bed. He could see where the police had been and could see the blood he had left behind on the carpet and on the bedcover. They had stopped short of taking the carpet and cover with them but bits had been cut out. There must be some in the bathroom too, but perhaps they hadn't looked there.

He went to the bathroom to see, locking the door. Yes, they had been in there and had removed several of his possessions, like a razor and some clothes from the linen basket.

He rolled up his trouser leg. A thick plaster covered where he had dug into the artery. The blood had begun to ooze again.

But he wasn't going to die. He hadn't been brave enough to do the job properly.

Lizzie was calling through the keyhole. ‘Eddie, the police have been here.' A pause. ‘Like bloody flies.'

As if he didn't know.

He didn't answer and the shuffling noises outside suggested that Lizzie was still there.

‘Eddie, Eddie?'

He kept quiet.

‘Eddie, are you on the lav?'

‘No.' His voice was thick.

‘The lav can be a comfort when you're frightened,' said Lizzie reminiscently. Prison had taught her strange consolations.

‘Are you crying?'

‘No, I'm not.'

‘Don't be huffy … I saw Stella Pinero's picture in your room. She's been going a long time. I remember her.'

No answer. ‘Oh, shut up, piss off.'

Lizzie was not offended. She knew imprecations worse than that. ‘Mr Titus telephoned while you were out. He wants you to meet him.'

Oh God. Eddie heaved a sigh. ‘What does he want. Where?'

‘I wrote it down. He said to.'

She pushed a piece of paper under the door.

The Karnival Club.

Coffin was at home with Stella when the telephone rang. He listened while he drank a glass of wine.

‘That's interesting. The two of them.' He listened. ‘And him as well? He'll be working. Annie Briggs will be behind that … Yes, I see your point. Thanks, Archie.'

He turned to Stella.

‘Feel like going out?'

She looked at him cautiously. ‘Doing what?'

‘There might be some dancing. A show, that sort of thing.'

She stood up. ‘I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.'

‘Good. Go and change.'

‘Into what?'

‘Well, the sort of thing you'd wear if you were watching the show at the Karnival. Say you were casting a show. That sort of thing. I want you as camouflage.'

As he caught the expression in Stella's eyes, he reckoned it was one of the bravest things he had ever said.

She rose quietly, without a word.

Charley down the river

‘No one will believe it for a moment,' said Stella.

‘You look lovely,' said Coffin.

‘These are my working clothes. I do rehearsals in these.' Stella looked down at her jeans, expensive and clean, but well worn, bearing the scars of many sessions in church halls and cold back rooms. With it went a silk shirt and a soft tweed jacket. She knew how to put it together.

‘You look lovely in your working clothes,' said Coffin patiently.

‘I'm dead tired.'

‘Come on, I don't often ask you to help out.'

‘I'm here aren't I?' Stella swung the car to the right, provoking an angry hoot from a car behind. She was driving because Coffin had been drinking wine and the last thing he wanted at this point in his life was to be breathalysed by his own Force, if there was an accident. They wouldn't want to do it, but they would feel obliged. It would be the Politically Correct action. He suppressed the notion that a certain amount of amusement would accompany it.

Stella drove on unmoved by any hoots from behind. I'll drive my car and you drive yours, was her philosophy. ‘It won't work, no one will believe I am casting a play on transvestites or picking up colour. They won't believe it because they will recognize you.'

They both kept silent while she found her route through the streets, still busy in the late evening. Coffin noted that she knew the way. How many times had Stella been there, and with whom? Better not ask.

There was just room in the forecourt of the Karnival for one more car and Stella managed to squeeze into this slice of parking. ‘And remember,' she said as she got out of the
car, ‘if I do see anyone there that I know, they will be my friends and no trouble, please.'

‘I'm not going there to arrest anyone.'

‘So what are you going to do?'

‘Just look. Watch.' And listen if he could.

A strong light shone above the door of the Karnival and when they pushed through to the inner door, this was locked. A deep violet light shone above this door, casting strange shadows on their faces. Stella was tired, Coffin thought, or was it the light?

Stella looked at him. ‘You ought to have shaved.'

So he looked different too? ‘It's the light.'

There seemed to be a draught coming from somewhere. It was even colder inside than in the courtyard.

Stella said: ‘You have to ring.'

‘I know that.'

‘But you haven't touched the bell.'

‘There's someone coming.'

The door opened and before them stood a tall, elegant figure in a purple caftan. In another light it was probably blue.

‘I saw you through my little peephole.'

‘Hello, Alice, I thought you probably had.' Coffin knew to use that name tonight.

Coffin turned to his wife. ‘Can I introduce you: Adam Adamson.'

‘I'm Alice tonight,' said Adamson, extending a hand to Stella, ‘but you can call me Adam.' He turned back to Coffin, obviously he was a man's man even when he was a woman. ‘Didn't expect to see you.'

‘Stella's looking for background colour.'

‘Of course I know you by sight, Miss Pinero,' said the polite Alice. ‘Come along in, and I'll get you a table. I'm on the door tonight. We take turns. Keeps it more friendly.'

He led the way down a short corridor. Stella hung back and gripped her husband's arm. ‘Some day I'm going to ask you how you two know each other.'

‘Oh, he was one of us,' said Coffin. ‘Couldn't you tell?'

‘Do you mean what I think you mean?'

‘Yes, one of the best young detective-sergeants I ever had.'

Alice-Adam turned round. ‘I can hear every word you two are saying.'

The Karnival was essentially one long, narrow room. An orchestra was playing on a platform at one end under a curtained window. The walls were painted a soft pink, which looked comfortable, even cosy, in the light from the lamps on the walls. There was no central light.

Small tables lined the walls and crowded into a crescent around the orchestra. A bar was at the other end of the room. The centre of the room was for dancing, it was already full of slowly moving couples, some anchored to each other and others tenderly apart. One or two circled round alone.

It was a quiet, happy, scene.

Alice-Adam put them at a table and advised them to be careful what they drank. Coffin said he would get them a drink.

Alice sat down opposite Stella. ‘Can't offer you a cigarette. It's a no smoking club.' He grinned. ‘We allow everything else, but not that.'

‘Quite right.'

‘I miss it, though.'

‘What do you do now?'

‘I loved what I did,' he said wistfully. ‘You might find that difficult to believe. But once I'd let myself out, I realized that was it. We're a more liberal bunch than you might think, and the boss said it was up to me, but I made the decision myself.'

‘So what do you do?' Stella persevered. She could see her husband weaving his way through the crowd with the drinks. She was getting a new light on him. He was an amazing man.

Alice-Adam smiled. ‘I work for the government … Can't say more.'

Coffin returned with their drinks. ‘Didn't spill anything. The décor hasn't changed since I was last here.'

‘We can't afford much. What were you doing here?'

‘Someone invited me.'

‘And perhaps more to the point, what are you doing here today?'

‘Accompanying my wife.'

‘And what are you really doing?'

‘Just looking around.'

Alice gave what might have been a pout, or it could have been a scowl. ‘We don't want any trouble.'

‘I don't expect to give any.'

‘It's not what you give, it's what you bring.'

Stella had been looking with interest from one to the other as this dialogue went on. Like a rally in a tennis match, she decided. Deuce so far.

So much for camouflage. She was irritated that she had been written off so easily as the real reason for anything and thought it unwomanly of Alice. Scratch Alice, she thought, and there was Adam underneath.

But it was going on too long. She put a hand on each. ‘It's a draw. I declare you both winners.'

To her annoyance, they took no notice, although her husband reached out for her hand and held it in his. Recognition of a sort, she thought. Maybe the right sort, as she felt the comfort of his warm, dry hand. Hands ought to feel that way. She studied Alice's hand: hard and horny, she thought, in spite of the pale pink nail varnish.

A faint shading of beard was beginning to show on Alice's chin. Stella was diverted at once by the technical problem of what make-up would hide it most successfully. A darker foundation with a lighter powder on top? And of course, a good shave.

Alice finished his drink and stood up; he had seen Stella studying him and didn't mind at all; rather the reverse. He gave her a tender smile and threw a sentence at Coffin. ‘The man you're looking for is over there.' He nodded to a table tucked away in a recess.

‘I've already seen him,' said Coffin.

Stella watched the tall, blue-draped figure stroll away. ‘Handsome lad,' she said. ‘I hope he gets the sex thing sorted out, it seems to worry him.'

‘I know it does, but only sometimes. Seeing you with me brought it on. He likes you, I could tell.' At that moment Coffin was not pleased at Alice-Adam's attraction to Stella. Nor at her last words.

‘And why did you really bring me?'

‘Perhaps I wanted you to look around and see if there was anyone here you recognized as Charley.'

Stella licked her lips which suddenly felt dry. She was beginning to get the drift of this Charley business. ‘Is the man who watches me called Charley?'

‘Maybe.'

‘And he's here?'

‘Just an idea I had.'

‘Well, I have an idea. Did you bring me here in the hopes that I would identify Alice-Adam?' She leaned forward and stared in his face. ‘Well?'

‘Of course not.'

He wouldn't say if it had been so. Irritably she said: ‘I don't know where you got this Charley idea.'

‘The name has appeared.'

‘And that's all you are going to say?'

‘Just look around.'

Stella let her eyes wander round the room. The band was playing a piece of soft music, the lights had gone down to very dim, and the floor was filled with the dancers. Not everyone was cross-dressed, and even if they had been nothing could have altered the-strange respectability of the occasion. It was like a dance in an old folks' home and about as sexy. She didn't mean to, but suddenly she felt touched and sympathetic.

She smiled.
I could give them a better party.
Aloud, she said: ‘I don't see anyone I know. I don't even know what I'm looking for. Wearing what?'

‘Just see if you get any ideas.'

She turned back. ‘I don't. I'm tired, let's go home.' She added quietly, ‘And that's Job Titus over there. Is he the one you came to watch.'

‘Not on his own. He's got Eddie Creeley with him. I just wanted a look. I wish I could lip read.' His eye moved
round the room. And a table away was Tom Ashworth: Tash, the detective. Also watching Titus and Eddie Creeley.

‘I wish I knew when to believe you or not.'

‘You can always believe me.'