A Cold Coffin

‘I always notice.’

‘So?’

‘I know that the death of the Jackson twins has distressed you.’

Stella looked down at her hands. One way or another her life with Coffin had brought her close to death, sometimes too close.

‘They were only kids.’ Sometimes she felt that being married to a man like Coffin brought death into the family. ‘Don’t let’s talk about it now. Later.’ The best solution was to think of herself as a character in a play, a bit of fiction, and the deaths the same, nothing real.

He took a drink. ‘I had a letter today. It came this morning, but I opened it just before I came out.’

Stella looked at him.

‘It was from Sally Young. About their baby.’

Stella nodded.

‘She enclosed a letter from Charlie. He wrote it just before he was killed. Didn’t have a chance to post it. He wrote it just after he’d seen the scan on the child. He already knew he had a son. He rang up his father and asked if it would be all right to ask me to act as godfather.’ He took a swig of wine. ‘Archie said yes, of course. Hence the letter. Sally held on to it for a while, and now she has posted it. The christening is next week.’

‘You’ll be godfather, of course.’

‘You’ll help me, Stella, won’t you? I can’t do it without your help.’ He held out the letter. ‘Read it.’

Stella read it slowly, then she looked up at her husband. ‘He admired you – you were a good copper. Straight. He doesn’t use the word integrity, but he means it. He wants the boy to have that. He says he knows you can’t really teach it, but you can show it.’ She put the letter carefully in his hand. ‘It’s a great compliment he paid you.’

‘A painful one.’

Stella considered it. ‘I think the best ones often are, because they have a truth tucked away inside that can hurt. It’s the other side of a compliment.’

That’s a bit too profound for me,’ said Coffin, who suspected she had made it up that moment to cheer him up.

‘I read it somewhere, I think,’ said Stella, confirming his suspicion.

They were halfway through their meal, after the clear soup and enjoying the roast beef, when Coffin heard his mobile trilling away in his pocket.

Phoebe’s voice always rang out loud and clear so that Stella could hear every word she said. As, probably, could the couple at the next table.

‘Sir,’ said Phoebe. ‘It’s about the head . . . the head that was different.’

The couple heard that all right, but pretended not to.

‘The infant’s skull. We now know where it came from. Sex isn’t clear yet. Nor cause of death.’

That took the couple’s mind off their smoked salmon. Coffin also had noticed the attention the next table was giving his conversation. ‘Go on.’

Something in his tone must have told Phoebe she was shouting, because her voice dropped so that even Stella could only catch odd words.

‘University . . . museum . . . specimen not noticed.’

Then Phoebe’s voice became audible again. ‘Yes, sir. I have Inspector Dover with me, this being his patch . . . There’s no need for you to come, but I thought you would want to know.’

Coffin put his mobile on the table, then looked at his wife.

‘Eat up, Stella,’ he said.

3 (#ulink_25dd0aa1-5218-5ca5-aa56-ca74974fc306)

Friday evening.

Joe stood waiting quietly for the arrival of the Chief Commander. Phoebe Astley, whom he knew – they bought their meat and sausages from the same butcher, of whom there were not many left around, even in the Second City – had told him to wait. He stood looking out of the window on to the street lights below. It was raining, but it had its own romance.

‘I love London,’ he said to himself. ‘I am a Londoner. Perhaps I’m not an Englishman.’ Too much mixed blood. ‘But I am a Londoner.’

This part of London too, the Second City – not Knightsbridge nor Piccadilly, you could have that bit – this was his London.

He was not ambitious, although his daughter was, which he thought was as it should be. It was all right for men like him to slop around in old clothes and take undemanding jobs – you didn’t need a degree in engineering to dust a floor. He was a man, anyway, and that had to count for something. Women had to try harder.

‘Mustn’t get too sentimental, Joseph,’ he told himself. There’s a dead woman in this room and she didn’t put herself there.’ He had never been so close to a dead person before, not one untouched by medical hands and neatly trussed up so that they became someone you had never known.

He had known the dead woman too, and had even heard her dying words.

* * *

Phoebe Astley came back into the room, bringing the Chief Commander with her. Inspector Dover followed behind. His usual spot. She nodded at Joe.

‘I know who you are, sir,’ said Joe quickly, before Chief Inspector Astley – hard to think of her as that and not as rump steak, ostrich liver if you have any, and some pork sausages – could give him another of those quick nods and get rid of him. Although he was not an ambitious man, he had a link-up with the local newspaper who printed any little items of news and gossip he sent to them. Working where and how he did, he picked up quite a lot. Behind a Hoover, you were not there.

Coffin was not listening.

Joe took a step back. He didn’t even need a Hoover to be invisible, he told himself.

Coffin studied the woman. This terrible task didn’t take more than a minute. ‘It’s Dr Murray.’

Phoebe nodded. ‘It is.’

‘Anyone had a look at her?’

Dover answered. ‘The police surgeon who certified her death.’ He nodded towards Joe. ‘And Joe here found her. He called the university security office, who called the police. Sergeant Fermer came, and I followed.’

Coffin looked at Phoebe with a question.

‘I came into it because I had been interested in the Neanderthal skulls. She was interested in the skulls

He nodded. ‘Yes, I know.’

‘Anyway, she had my name and rank on a bit of paper in her handbag.’

Coffin went to stare again at the body. He knelt down, but did not touch her. A band of blood, like a red ribbon, ran down the face, spreading out to cover the nose and then the chin. The hair was clotted with blood. Her grey tweed skirt and matching jacket were stained too. Blood had even spattered her shoes.