A Coffin for Charley (24 page)

‘You disobeyed orders. Who was the man with you?'

‘What man?' Don't admit I was there, Coffin had said.

‘The man who stood at your window.'

Letty said: ‘That wasn't any visitor, just a workman inspecting the window.' They had agreed she should say this.

The voice will be disguised, Coffin had told her. Keep him in play, tell him you couldn't get all the money.

‘No, I couldn't manage all that money, there wasn't time. I would have to borrow it and that takes … Yes, I am listening, I promise you I tried. I will go on trying if you give me time.'

Coffin had said: Tell him you want a photograph of Elissa showing that she is alive and well. The photograph must be
backed up by something that gives a date, say a newspaper.

‘Where is the money?'

‘I have it with me.' This was untrue. Do not take the money, Coffin had said.

‘I'm not bargaining,' said the man. ‘The price must be paid in full. Get it or else.'

‘I want to hear my daughter, is she there? Put her on the phone. Elissa, can you hear me?' She was shouting.

‘Get the money and you can have her back unharmed. You have twenty-four hours to get all the money as asked. Go back to the hotel. You will get another message.'

Letty pushed open the door, drawing in great gulps of fresh air. It was over for the time being, she had done what her brother had told her, she had held on. Without noticing what she was doing, she walked across to the park, where she found an empty bench under a tree. Here she sat.

Two people sitting in a van watched her. One held a mobile telephone, the other one was crying.

Letty was crying too. She wished it had been Stella Pinero who had found her and not her brother. Coffin might be right with his advice but she wanted sympathy and he hadn't offered much of that.

I'm just a job to him now like those murders.

She had discovered something that was interesting, perhaps she ought to tell him, but it could have no possible connection with the killers of the two girls.

In a more normal state of mind she would probably have told him already and laughed about it. But the whole bright golden fabric of her life, constructed and polished by her with so much care, was collapsing.

She got up, crossed out of the park and back to her room. The van had gone.

The hotel foyer was empty except for the receptionist's dog; she knew that Coffin had quietly departed.

Life was a tangled skein and perhaps her fact was important. I was just poking around, she could say, I've always been curious and I've found it paid.

John Coffin had driven himself to Phœbe's office, he took a roundabout route, losing himself for a time in Birmingham's one-way system of streets, but his circuit allowed him to check that he was not being followed. Phœbe did not seem surprised to see him, and although he could see she was busy, she came out of her office with her hand outstretched.

‘Thought you'd be back. You'll be here for my party yet.'

‘Love to, but you know how it is, life gets in the way.'

‘Don't I know it,' said Phœbe. She looked amused. ‘So what's on your mind?'

‘Is it obvious? I've got a problem.' He let her take this in, then he said: ‘And now so have you.'

‘You've found your sister?'

‘Yes, I think she meant to be found. If I hadn't got to her, she would have found some other way.'

‘So what's up?'

In a few words, he told her. Her face grew gloomy. ‘Is this for real?'

‘She thinks it is,' he said cautiously. ‘I'm not sure.'

Phœbe said: ‘We'll treat it as real. What will she do now?'

‘If she's done as I advised, then she will have gained a bit of time, held off the kidnapper, and then she will wait for you to get in touch.'

‘Right, well, it's not actually my sphere.'

Coffin nodded. ‘But you know where to go?'

‘Sure, we have a special unit which we activate when needed. You have the same, I imagine? I'm not part of it but I will set it in motion. Do you want to be part of the operation?' It was a courtesy question only, due to his rank, she did not expect him to say yes. Relatives of the missing were better not involved.

He knew the rules. ‘No, I'd rather be left out of it. I've done what I can. I was seen but I think not identified. Since then I have been careful. I was not followed coming here.'

‘Good.' They were still on the threshold of her office, she pushed the door open more widely. ‘Go on in, I'll set the
ball rolling … Oh, by the way, there's someone in there that you might want to talk to.'

A tall thin young man was standing by Phœbe's desk, staring at her
CLEAN AIR
notice as if he would like to smoke but dare not. He turned round when Coffin came in.

“Afternoon, sir. Sergeant Downey. M'Guv'nor, Walter Watson sent me up.'

‘I know why you are here.' Do we shake hands on it or not, thought Coffin. What is my position here? In some ways, I shouldn't be here at all. He knows and so do I.

‘Yes, sir, visiting the address we have for Mary Andrews.' Sergeant Downey added hastily: ‘But not cutting across the Second City's investigation, they've been kept fully in touch.'

He feels as awkward as I do, thought Coffin, and probably not too pleased to run across me in Phœbe's room. Coffin saw he would have to ask the questions; in spite of his air of amiable cooperation, it was clear that Downey would not volunteer anything and had probably been told not to. Chief Superintendent Watson might be a friend but he guarded his territory like a tom cat.

‘You've been to the address? It checked out?'

‘Yes, oh yes, she lived there all right.'

That's it then? ‘So who else lives there?'

‘That's just it, sir. No one does. The place is empty. Not cleared of furniture, that's still there although it must be getting pretty damp, but the owner is an old, sick man.'

It was the usual getting-blood-out-of-a-stone task, the Met would never change. What was theirs was theirs and theirs only. He decided to pull rank.

‘Come on, Sergeant, what's the name of the old, sick man? What did he have to do with Mary and where is he now?'

Like a well-trained dog, Sergeant Downey responded to the touch of the leash. ‘Edward French, sir, he's in hospital, and he's Mary's maternal grandfather. She lived with him.'

I suppose I will find out which hospital, Coffin thought. ‘You talked to him?'
What I mean is, what did you get?

Sergeant Downey said regretfully: ‘He can't talk, sir.
Dying, out of this world, far away.' He pushed a piece of paper across the table. ‘That's the hospital and the ward, but he's no help.'

A touch irritable, Coffin said: ‘What about the neighbours? Any help there?'

‘No neighbours, they've all moved out, the whole area is due for redevelopment.'

Lovely, lovely, thought Coffin, we have an address only no one lives there any more. Poor Mary, poor child, she really was Miss Nobody.

Sergeant Downey tried to read his expression. ‘One of those promising leads that come to nothing,' he said regretfully. Quite clearly he was already thinking of his journey back, the roads would be getting busy, he had made good time up here, but he might be slower back.

Phœbe returned, nodded at Coffin, a nod which said: Your business is under way. ‘Had your talk, you two?' she said jovially.

‘Yes,' said Downey quickly. That was it. Over.

Phœbe turned to John Coffin. ‘I think Inspector Evans, he's the man in charge of the squad, would be glad to have a word with you. Get your impression of the situation, anything you may have observed, that sort of thing.'

‘Right, I'll go.'

‘Third door on the left … Want me to come?'

‘I'll find the way.'

As soon as the door closed behind him, the Sergeant said: ‘What's up with him?'

‘He's got worries.'

‘Haven't we all?' Downey thought about his wife, and the meal she had planned because this was one of their anniversaries, and for which he was going to be late.

‘Did you tell him?'

‘No. Not yet.'

‘But you're going to.' It wasn't a question. A statement of what must be, or she'd know the reason why and the Sergeant responded.

‘Yes.'

I know you hate to share, thought Phœbe, you'll hang on to a bit of information like some precious pearl.

In a room down the corridor, Coffin met Inspector Evans, a neat, square Welshman. Evans held out his hand and gave Coffin a warm, hard shake. He was a man who liked to get a grip on things. He knew about John Coffin, Chief Commander of the Second City Force, but he was in no way intimidated.

‘It's the usual routine, sir, you know how it goes. The telephone lines to the hotel are covered already and after that it's what you might call ad hoc, we have to respond to the situation as it develops.'

‘Have you got anyone in the hotel itself?'

‘That's more difficult in case the kidnapper has someone planted on the staff, but they employ contract cleaners and I think we can put a woman in that way. One of my best WDs, she's middle-aged and just right. She hates housework but never mind that.'

Coffin could tell that Evans was being deliberately cheerful and talkative. Or perhaps he was always easy with the conversation.

‘Have you been in touch with my sister?'

‘Yes, we've got a message to her about the telephone tap—' he didn't say how—‘but we haven't told her about Sergeant Miller in the cleaning department, we thought it better not.'

‘I'm glad she's got a woman around. Letty's not as tough as she acts.'

‘Do you want to talk to your sister? There's a protected line that is safe.'

‘Yes, I would like to talk to Letty.'

The Inspector spoke down the telephone on his desk, issued a few instructions, and then handed the instrument to Coffin. ‘I'll leave you to it.' He went out of the room, closing the door silently behind him.

The room seemed suddenly quiet.

Letty's voice, when he spoke to her, sounded faint and
strained. Yes, she was all right, coping, and waiting for the next order from the kidnapper.

No, he couldn't do anything else for her, just leave her to go through what lay ahead, she had to bear it on her own.

‘I just wanted to say, about those killings in Spinnergate, the two girls …' No one had told her about the third body, for her there were just the two. ‘I just wanted to tell you that the box has something different inside …'

‘You're not making sense, Letty.'

But that was it, she had cut the line. She left him with a few words he could not understand. What box?

When he rejoined Phœbe and Sergeant Downey, they were both standing by the window, obviously waiting for him. He was surprised to see Downey still there.

‘Was that all right?' asked Phœbe.

‘Fine.' He turned to Downey. ‘I thought you'd be off.'

‘I am just going, but I had something to tell you. The library ticket found with the girl … the forensic brought up a fingerprint on the plastic. Not the girl's, so the chances are, or could be, that it belongs to the killer.'

No use now but if we pick up a suspect … well, it would come in handy.

‘I'll stay around,' Coffin said to Phœbe, ‘get a room somewhere. There are things I want to do.'

‘Really?' Phœbe leaned back in her chair and studied him. ‘And here was me thinking you came here to find your sister or possibly just to see me.'

‘Now, Phœbe.'

‘And all this time you really had other things to do.'

‘You're a devil, Phœbe.'

‘Yes, but I'm a clever devil.' She laughed. ‘And I saw your face when Downey was talking … You're not letting go, are you?'

‘Just a feeling that Downey may not have got all he could out of his visit here.'

‘I can recommend several places to stay. Or you could stay with me.'

‘I think I'll be better on my own.'

Phœbe laughed again, tolerantly and affectionately. ‘I never thought otherwise. And as it happens I've got two kids, a large dog and a larger husband cluttering up the place. But I expect we could have tucked you in.'

He wasn't sure if he believed a word of all that, but Phœbe had always known how to deliver a parting line.

He got himself a room in a dim lodging-house on the Edgbaston Road. He took a small room from which an even smaller bathroom had been gouged, but it had a telephone by the bed, if it worked, and the water was hot. He felt anonymous here, which was what he wanted.

From this lodging he telephoned Stella.

‘I'm staying on one night, you don't mind? I'll keep in touch. Yes, I've seen Letty, I can't talk too much but it's trouble with her daughter but I'm getting it sorted. You don't mind? Sure, my darling?'

‘Dearest, no,' said Stella, staring down at Phœbe's invitation which was now in her possession.

The river lets go some of its burden

Stella, left alone with only the cat and dog for company, found herself worrying more and more about St Luke's Theatre and its finances which now looked shaky in the extreme. She called a meeting of her trusted lieutenants: Alison, Rebecca, and Albert, Frederico (who was not Italian but liked the name), Celia and Joseph. Stage manager, assistant stage manager, lighting supremo, wardrobe head, the exploitation manager and front of house manager. They were all young, all keen, all in their first jobs pretty well, all on short contracts, and all would leave to go on to better jobs if they could get them when they had been trained. Stella paid very little but she was a good trainer.

She would hold a separate meeting with the teachers and
the Administrator of the fledgling Drama School because this involved different problems.