A Grave Coffin

‘Right.’ Coffin was already walking towards his own quarters while Augustus was sidling across to Sheila, a known and secret source of chocolate. ‘Anything special?’

Paul Masters hesitated. ‘You’ve spoken to the chief superintendent … I don’t know more than he will have told you then.’

‘He told me a boy had been found, dead, and identified by his father. One of the missing boys. And parts from another.’

‘That’s right, sir. It’s all that’s known at the moment. The chief superintendent was off to see the father, but he wanted to get in touch with you first.’

Coffin advanced to look at his desk where Paul Masters had arranged a display of files and papers. He had an aesthetic sense, Coffin always felt, so that papers, although grouped logically, were fanned out in a neat presentation. He even managed to control the faxes, while keeping them in a separate group. All the same, they represented work, work and work, and there was always a special collection marked URGENT.

‘He will be in to see you, sir, after he has seen the father.’

‘Who is running the investigation?’

‘The chief superintendent is in overall charge, of course – he’s keeping a watching eye on things.’

‘And who’s running the investigation?’ he asked again. He was shuffling the papers on his desk as he spoke. All the information he was asking for would be there, but it was quicker to get it out of Paul Masters, who might also oblige with a few case histories of the officers concerned, and how well they were doing the job. This was done tactfully, but Coffin knew how to read between the lines.

‘Inspector Paddy Devlin is the senior officer in charge, with Sergeant Tony Tittleton … they are both very experienced in dealing with children.’

‘Experienced children-watchers?’

‘That’s it, sir. Paddy Devlin, whom I know quite well, sir, I trained with her, handled the paedophile case in East Hythe last year. She is very, very competent.’ Due for promotion too, and hopeful of getting it.

Red-haired and handsome too, but he did not mention this fact.

‘Yes, I remember now. Nasty case. Is there reckoned to be any connection with this lot?’

‘Could be, but I haven’t heard it said.’ One of Paul Masters’s assets to Coffin was that he heard all the gossip that got held back from Coffin. It worked both ways, because if there was anything an officer wanted Coffin to know then he would take care to let Paul Masters know. ‘But it is one of the things they will be looking out for, of course.’

Coffin handed over to him the computer in its case, and the bag of documents.

‘Get this computer to John Armstrong and ask him to get back, if he can, all wiped documents. It’s urgent.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And the documents in the bag: I want them photocopied. I will think about the next step when that is done. They are confidential.’

‘I’ll do them myself.’

‘Good.’

Paul Masters disappeared tactfully while Coffin turned to the papers on his desk. He did not dislike the task as much as he sometimes let people think; there was satisfaction in running a tidy, tight ship.

He read and signed letters, initialled reports, reflecting as he did so that the end product of a career as an ambitious and successful detective was to be an administrator.

However, with some skill and some luck, he had kept his hand in as a detective. Just as well, he considered, in view of the job now handed to him by Ed Saxon.

As to that matter, he had no idea where to start, and the very clear idea that it seemed stupid to separate what he was asked to do from the investigation into the death of Harry Seton.

Not that he intended to do that himself; he would be thinking about Harry’s death with every move he made. And the note found on Harry’s PC suggested that the Met team would be thinking about him.

Maybe they should meet.

The sound of voices in the outer office disturbed him; Paul Masters knocked and put his head round the door.

‘Chief Superintendent Young is here, sir.’

It gave Coffin pleasure that it had been he who had promoted his old friend and fellow worker to this rank, but Archie deserved it. A tall, still thin man (his wife kept an eye on his diet) with a kind heart and a shrewd brain. An invaluable comrade and friend.

Now the man looked sober. ‘Not good news, I’m afraid. You know the outline of the case: over a period of two months, four boys have gone missing.’

Coffin nodded.

‘Three still missing and one found,’ said Archie Young heavily. ‘And the leg of another child, possibly one of those missing.’

Coffin had a list:

Matthew Baker, aged eight years and three months.

Archie Chinner, ten years old and one month.

Dick Neville, eleven years old and a week.

Charles Rick, ten years old and four months.

‘And which one has been found?’

Archie Young’s voice was still quiet and sombre. ‘Archie Chinner was the boy whose body was found. He was hidden in the bushes on that bit of scrubland where the Delaware Factory once was. It’s due for redevelopment but nothing much has happened yet. As I told you, a courting couple found him last night.’

‘Who interviewed the couple?’

‘Devlin. And I spoke to them as well. It’s all on tape, but I have given you the gist.’

‘Have to try and get hold of the man who pointed out the body.’

‘Devlin is organizing it, using the local media to ask him to come forward, but she’s not hopeful, he would have stayed around if he had meant to be helpful.’

‘What was he like?’

‘Just a man with a dog to the couple. They were surprised to see him, not usually anyone around up there. He left the dirty work to them, they found the body and it shook them up. I have looked into them, just what they seem to be.’ His voice was heavy.

‘And his father identified the boy?’

‘Yes, he had been dead a few days but he was recognizable. Easily.’

‘How did you know which father to call in?’

‘We had photographs of all the boys. All four of them went to the same school, the Junior School of the Royal Road Comprehensive – the Clement Attlee School is the full name, and the parents supplied photographs.’