A Dark Coffin

With knobs on, as Barney said cynically to himself, even as it warmed him. ‘I’ll stay with Mum, of course I will.’ He had to admit to himself that it was interesting and that he was enjoying himself.

He placed himself protectively by his mother. He was a lanky lad, as tall as she was, with bright blue eyes and a crest of reddish hair. Otherwise they were not alike, and he prided himself on taking after his dead father. If he was dead, he cherished the idea that what Alfreda had told him of the death in an accident was a lie, and that Dad would turn up, rich and famous. He had to be both or need not bother acting Lazarus.

‘Remember what old Albie said about feeling there was someone around who shouldn’t be?’

‘The nightwatchman? He talks too much, I’ve thought so before,’ said Alfreda gloomily. ‘I ought to sack him but I can’t bring myself to do it.’

‘Think he’ll tell the police?’

‘Bound to. If he gets the chance.’ Alfreda was keeping her eyes on the police pair, she couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they didn’t seem too anxious. A death was a death, this didn’t look too important to them. ‘I think we will be on our way soon. I think the police will let us go quickly, we aren’t important. I’ll tell Monty about his party, but I must have a drink first, he can wait. He’s stalking about like a cross cat as it is; let him stalk.’

‘Think we ought to stop Albie talking?’

‘Can’t be done. If he wants to, he will.’ She yawned. ‘No one takes him seriously. That pair won’t. You can tell by the way they are going about things that they like routine up and down and all the time, and no trouble.’

‘We ought to let him,’ persisted Barnabas, he felt a slight touch of the Barnabas syndrome coming on, but he was trying hard not to let it happen. Disgrace is thy name, Barnabas boy. ‘Only decent.’

‘Decent? What a word, I’m having none of it.’ She yawned. ‘Bloody awful evening it’s been, hasn’t it? And Monty’s production wasn’t that good either. Come on, we’ll go round the theatre and check up, then see if we can slip away home.’

She stalked off with what Barnabas called her Lady Macbeth walk. I am always Barnabas when she is like that.

Barnabas followed, wondering: If you opened up my mother, if you could, and called Come out, come out, I wonder what would come out?

Death was so close and she wasn’t giving it due dignity.

He said to her back: ‘There wasn’t any blood, was there? I didn’t see any blood.’

‘No blood,’ said Alfreda. ‘Not that I looked.’

The two of them lived in a rented flat close to the St Luke’s Theatre complex of which the Pinero Theatre was now the biggest part, although the new, tiny Festival Theatre which was used for student and experimental production was getting increasingly important. Barnabas hoped he might be given a job there if he did well as junior assistant stage manager, than which there was no lower form of life.

Once launched, he meant to move into a place of his own. He loved Alfreda, but she was bossy and inhibiting. A chap found it difficult to maintain his own life.

He loved her though, and protected her.

‘May Renier is a bit of a cow, isn’t she?’ he said as he followed his mother into her office. ‘Pooh, the stink in here, you’ve been smoking.’

‘I’ve got to have one vice.’

‘You’ve got more than one.’ He threw open a window. ‘I saw May being downright cruel to old Albie … and I’ve seen her with other oldies. She doesn’t like them. She’s a shoot-all-the-over-fifties sort.’

‘She’s nearly forty herself,’ said Alfreda with a yawn. ‘I remember her years ago, both locals, we went to the same infant school, but I don’t think she’s noticed. No, she’s no chicken, and I don’t think she likes me very much.’

Barney gave a hoot of laughter. ‘Let’s shoot her then, shall we?’

‘Not till we’ve got over this production.’ Another yawn. ‘I wish I could get off to bed.’

‘I’ll make you a milky drink.’

‘Put some whisky in it.’

‘Will do.’ And he bustled off towards the kitchen area attached to her office. He was a good cook, better than Alfreda, and did most of the housekeeping at home, as a result of which his hands bore numerous cuts and scars. While the milk was heating, he did a small amount of washing up. He was good at it, at home they had a dishwasher but he liked to do some things like knives and silver by hand. He hated mess and there was no denying that Alfreda was careless about her home.

Behind them the bodies were being moved on to pallets to take them to the university hospital mortuary where they would be examined.

Two tiny spots of blood were left behind where they had rested.

The Chief Commander and Stella, together with Harry Trent, went home across the courtyard together. Stella went between the two men, arm in arm with both. It was not her usual way of going on, but somehow it seemed right tonight. She was picking up tensions in both that she did not understand.

‘Come up for a drink, Harry?’

He shook his head. ‘Won’t, if you don’t mind.’

‘Tired myself.’

Another of her smiles, but he was new to them, so he was the more pierced, a kiss on his cheek, a breath of Jolie Madame, and they were gone into their tower.

Coffin had never said a word.

Harry Trent remained outside for a moment, reflecting how like Coffin to end up living in a tower. It fitted with his character somehow, he was a climber.

Harry moved towards his own borrowed front door and took out his key. It was a big old key which looked as though it had been around a long time, perhaps a key from the old church.

He was just fitting it in the door when a figure came out of the shadows.

‘Hello, Harry boy, heard you were looking for me.’

Harry moved his head slowly. ‘Merry, my God, it’s you.’

‘Of course. You knew it was me, you knew I’d be here.’

‘I did not.’

‘Thought it likely, then.’

‘How did you know where I would be?’

‘Telepathy.’ Merry laughed. ‘No, a copper told me, he picked it up about the Chief Commander; your friend, I believe. They gossip about him, you know? Well, wouldn’t you? I’m on better terms with the coppers than you think. They aren’t all trying to run me in, you know.’

‘Where are you living?’

‘You know: Shambles Passage, old Mother Arbatt’s den, and a right old pigsty too, I’m not there more than I can help. Nice place you’ve got here.’

‘Just lent.’

‘Like you to ease yourself into somewhere good.’

‘You really do think I’m a skunk, don’t you?’