The Thirteenth Coffin (6 page)

He felt an almost overwhelming urge to remove all the dolls from their coffins and examine them himself, but he knew at this stage that it would be a big mistake. As he took a step away, the scent of lavender reached him again. He scanned the row of coffins containing dolls, wondering again which one of them was triggering that smell in his mind.

He turned to Bradbury. ‘Get Thomson and his team back up here. I want this place treated like a murder scene. No half-measures this time – I want everyone suited and booted. I also want all these dolls and the coffins they’re in bagged and tagged.’

‘Yes, sir. Because of the tramp?’

Lapslie shook his head. ‘No, because of the dolls. I also want the blood on the wedding dress matched with that of the murdered girl. Get a DNA comparison: I need to be sure about this.’

Bradbury was obviously taken aback by his last request. ‘Sir, you think the blood on the doll’s wedding dress is the murdered girl’s? How the hell would that be possible?’

This time it was Lapslie’s turn to shrug. ‘I’ve no idea, but then there are a lot of things about this case I have no idea about, and I’d like that put right.’

*

The atmosphere inside the bunker was cloying, so while they awaited the SOCO team Lapslie decided to grab some fresh air and phone Charlotte.

‘Hi, I thought I’d give you a call to find out how you were after yesterday’s ordeal.’

‘I’m fine. Stirred but not shaken.’

Lapslie smiled and glanced back towards the bunker. He’d made his way to the far side of the car park forty yards from its entrance; far enough away not to be overheard.

‘I’m sorry. If I’d known the weather might turn like that, I’d never have gone far from the harbour.’

‘That’s okay, you weren’t to know. You’re not Michael Fish.’

‘Now if he’d said that a light wind was expected, I’d have definitely not even ventured from the harbour.’

Charlotte joined him in a light chuckle, which reassured him far more than her seemingly stock response that she was ‘Fine’.

‘Was there much damage to the boat?’ she asked.

‘Not much. George is seeing to it now. Should be all sorted within a few days.’

‘Shipshape again.’

‘Yes.’ With a brief lull in the conversation then, the background echo of voices on a hospital corridor drifted in from Charlotte’s end. Lapslie was reminded that she must be busy too, but she’d still made time to take his call. ‘I’ll make it up to you with another couple of days away next time I’m able.’

‘Look forward to it.’

Signing off, Lapslie reflected that he probably would never have bothered to put in a call to Sonia, his ex-wife, the day after an interrupted day out or romantic evening, which sparked a second thought: was he now trying too hard, making up for all the mistakes of his past failed marriage?

The fact that Sonia and Charlotte were very different people was no doubt a part of that. Sonia would probably have been less accepting of his apology, or might have asked, ‘If it hadn’t been for the rough weather interrupting our weekend, would you still have gone off when Emma called you?’ – already knowing the answer from his actions with countless previous interruptions. Whereas Charlotte would never ask that; her own work would often drag her away for emergencies at short notice, so in turn that was a question he’d never ask her. Common ground. Unspoken understanding.

But he’d never troubled to put in those day-after calls to Sonia to find out. Perhaps because he already knew. Copper’s gut instincts. And not just because of all the other coppers’ marriages he’d seen go down the pan the same way due to the irregular hours and string of interrupted dinner dates and family outings – but because of how his condition had compounded that. The sound of laughter or children playing – which would be a joy to many a father’s ear – would leave him with a bitter taste and his head reeling. So even quality family time with his kids, Robbie and Jamie, would become an ordeal, making him crave solitude.

And upon his return from that solitude, or the
inspection of a corpse which had interrupted a romantic dinner, Sonia’s voice would be sharper, more incriminating, giving an ammonia undertone to its normal blueberry taste which would make him cringe. The expression, ‘What’s wrong? Did what I’ve just said leave a bad taste in your mouth?’ would be literally true in his case.

So all of that – the knowledge of what her reaction would be, the sickening ammonia–blueberry aftertaste – would lead him to seek more solitude, more refuge. Until there was no refuge left for him to take, and the only one left for Sonia was the arms and solace of another man; the final camel’s-back straw in their marriage.

The sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see Emma Bradbury approaching.

‘Sir. Jim Thomson just called. He’s just turned off the A12. Says he’ll be here in ten or twelve minutes.’

Lapslie nodded with a strained smile and followed her back towards the bunker entrance.

*

Jim Thomson and his team arrived remarkably quickly considering the seriousness of the job they had just been working on. Sniper killings were not common, but Lapslie supposed that with a constrained crime scene and
an obvious point of vantage for the sniper, there wasn’t actually that much to check.

Lapslie left it to Bradbury to brief the SOCO team, but watched from a distance. Judging by his expression, when Thomson discovered why his team had been called away from one of the most serious and bizarre murders they had ever dealt with, he was bemused. He took it in his stride, however, and within half an hour the area was taped off and everyone was made to wear disposable white overalls and shoes. The arc lamps were moved back into the shelter and the whole process started again.

While the crime scene was being established and the boundaries set, Lapslie walked outside to where DCs Parkin and Pearce were standing. Lapslie wasn’t in the best of moods; he never was when he had a problem and was struggling to solve it. It irritated him. ‘So, you two saw nothing?’

Both detectives shook their heads.

‘No, sir,’ Pearce replied, ‘well, not until Dave went for a slash. It was Dave that noticed something was wrong.’

Lapslie turned to face DC Dave Parkin. ‘Was that the first time you got out of the car since I last saw you?’

Parkin shuffled his feet like a naughty schoolboy
caught with his hand in the sweet jar. ‘Yes, sir, but we had a good view of the front of the building and we knew it was impossible for anyone to get into it from any other place.’

Lapslie continued to stare at him. ‘Really? Yet not only do we have a dead tramp who obviously got in without using the front door, we also now have one doll seriously damaged and two others gone, both of them major exhibits and linked to a murder that has occurred elsewhere?’

Met with silence and an awkward look exchanged between the two detectives, Lapslie reflected that perhaps he should have turned it into a major crime scene with more cover; with only two men on such a long shift, during forced breaks effectively only one man would be on duty, so there were limitations. But extra manpower would require approval from Rouse, which could prove problematical given what they had so far. He took a fresh breath. ‘So what made you suspicious?’

DC Parkin answered. ‘Thought I heard someone moving about inside the bunker.’

‘You
thought
?’

‘Like Carl – DC Pearce – said, I was having a slash down by the security doors when I heard the sound of a
door being slammed shut from inside the bunker. I thought it
had
to be the door to the cupboard where the dolls are kept; it’s the only other door in there. Well, on the first floor anyway.’

‘And you did
what
?’

‘I banged on the door and told them to come out. Said the place was surrounded.’

Lapslie shook his head. ‘Surrounded, by you two?’

Both detectives nodded simultaneously. ‘Thought we would try and bluff whoever it was.’

‘Bluff them into thinking you were detectives. So what happened then?’

Parkin continued: ‘I ran back to the car to get the key to the door—’

Lapslie cut in. ‘Why didn’t you call Pearce over? It might have been quicker.’

‘I tried, sir, but—’

This time Pearce cut in. ‘I had the radio on, sir. Didn’t hear him.’

As Lapslie shook his head, Parkin grimaced awkwardly. ‘The arrangement, sir, was that one of us rested while the other kept a watch.’

Lapslie sighed deeply. ‘Go on.’

‘When we got the key we went into the bunker and
searched the top floor and the storage cupboard; that’s when we noticed the bride doll was missing. Thought it had been stolen at first, but then when I looked inside the coffin she’d been standing in front of I saw the state of the dress . . .’

‘And you did . . .?’

Parkin shook his head. ‘Nothing, sir. Carl stayed inside the bunker while I got on the radio and asked for help.’

Lapslie turned to Pearce. ‘Anything else happen after Parkin had gone?

This time Pearce shook his head. ‘No, sir. Well – there was a sound from the floor below . . .’

‘What kind of sound?’

‘Like something heavy being moved . . . perhaps metal or heavy wood.’

‘So you went downstairs and checked?’

Pearce looked down at his feet for a moment. ‘No, sir.’

‘Why not?’

‘It was dark and my radio and my mobile didn’t work inside the bunker, so I couldn’t call for back-up. I didn’t think it was advisable.’

‘You didn’t think it would be advisable?’ Lapslie repeated heavily.

Pearce shook his head. ‘No, sir, sorry.’

Without another word Lapslie turned away from them and walked back inside the shelter. When he had moved no more than a few steps into the shelter Jim Thomson’s voice called after him. ‘Sir! You need to be suited and booted.’

Lapslie stopped dead in his tracks. He couldn’t argue with the man – after all, Lapslie had given the order in the first place. By the time he had pulled his overalls on and slipped the plastic covers around his shoes, Bradbury, similarly attired, had joined him.

Lapslie stared across at Thomson. ‘I want all the dolls bagged up, and the coffins bagged up separately. I want the entire place photographed and gone through with a fine-tooth comb.’

‘Already in hand, sir. Are we looking for anything in particular?’

Lapslie shrugged. ‘I’m not sure yet. But I want the scene treated as if you were dealing with a major murder inquiry, which if I’m right you may well be.’ Before Thomson had the chance to ask any more questions, Lapslie turned his attention to Bradbury. ‘We need to go down a few floors. Got a flashlight?’

Jim Thomson handed Bradbury a large Dragon Light, which was attached to a multicoloured strap. Slipping
the strap over her shoulder, Bradbury looked across at her boss. ‘Ready when you are, sir.’

Lapslie thought the lamp looked more like a searchlight than a flashlight. Still, if it did the job, he was happy.

Thomson looked across at him. ‘Want any of my boys to come down with you?’

Lapslie shook his head. ‘No, there’s already been enough size twelve boots down there. I’ll be okay with just Bradbury.’

Lapslie began to descend the ladder with Bradbury standing at the top shining the lamp into the gloom and lighting his way.

The ladder had fifty-two rungs. Lapslie counted each and every one. Once at the bottom he called for Bradbury to follow him. This time Thomson shone his light down, guiding Bradbury. When she got to the bottom she called up to Thomson, ‘It’s okay, I’m here, thanks.’

Thomson switched off his beam, and Bradbury began to scan the room with her Dragon Light. It was far sparser than the room above, with no furniture, or side cupboards. It looked like the place had been stripped many years before, probably after the Cold War ended, and had been left in this state ever since. Bradbury ran
the light over every inch of the room but there was nothing to see.

Lapslie was disappointed. ‘Okay, looks like we are going to have to go down another level.’

Bradbury nodded her understanding. Clinging tightly to the ladder’s metal rungs, Lapslie started down. This time there were only thirty-one steps. His way was lit by Bradbury’s lamp. As he got to the foot of the ladder he looked back up at her. ‘Okay, throw the lamp down to me. I’ll shine it up the steps for you.’

Bradbury hesitated. ‘Are you sure? It’s quite heavy.’

‘I’ll be fine. Played keeper for the Gentleman Players in my youth.’

‘Whatever that means. It’s a bad career move to kill your commanding officer, you know?’

Lying flat on the ground, she hung the lamp by its strap as far down as she could before letting go. The lamp seemed to hang there for a moment, hovering over Lapslie’s head, before suddenly falling at what seemed to be a remarkable speed. In that moment Lapslie became momentarily and terrifyingly unsure of his ability to catch it. He wondered what he would do if he missed it, and it smashed to pieces on the floor, or worse, hit him. Fortunately instinct took over, and his years as
a Gentleman player didn’t fail him. Catching it in his arms, he pulled it into his chest with a sigh of relief. With the aid of the light Bradbury descended quickly and the two of them began to search the next level.

This level, like the ones above, was largely empty, except for a large green filing cabinet pushed tight against the wall. Lapslie played the lamp along the cabinet – nothing special about it. He moved closer and opened the door. Ten empty shelves: no dolls, no coffins.

Bradbury’s voice suddenly cut through the silence.

‘Sir, shine the lamp on the floor, could you?’

She must have spotted something he had missed. Once he knew where to look he could see what she had spotted. There was a mark, a scrape in the dirt in the shape of a curve, as if something had been dragged or pulled across the floor. As Lapslie crouched to examine it, Bradbury put her fingers behind the back of the cabinet and pulled. The object was heavy, but it moved. Seeing that she was struggling with the weight, Lapslie lent a hand, and eventually the two of them managed to pull the cabinet away from the wall. It turned out to be hinged at one end and came open like a door. Once they had pulled it back as far as they could, they saw it
was the entrance to a tunnel. Lapslie shone the lamp into the gloom. It was about a hundred metres long, and at the far end there appeared to be a set of stone steps.