A Double Coffin

Ah. Well, there were wigs.

‘I expect I can find her. And she is digging around in the story?’

‘I think so, from the questions she asked. But I cannot imagine how she got on to it.’

‘Dick Lavender hasn’t spoken of it to anyone?’

‘Not that I know of, he’s only recently told me. I could sense he was working up to something but he took his time. To tell you the truth, I believe it was her questions that made him feel he must unburden himself before it was done for him.’

‘Would it be so terrible if it came out? It will in the end if I go investigating.’

‘He thinks so. If it comes out that his father was a killer of women, then he wants to be the one who tells the story.’

‘Yes, I see the force of that.’

‘But there is something else: I told you he had had anonymous letters … Today there was an attack on him.’

‘What? Is he harmed?’

‘A big bunch of mixed flowers was delivered … it was covered in transparent paper; when it was opened it appeared that the flowers had been covered with some sort of irritant powder affecting the eyes, nose and throat.’

‘So what happened?’

‘It was opened by Janet, she deals with all parcels, he never came near it, but it was meant to hurt. For an old man the result might have been serious. No, it was sent by an ill wisher.’

‘Not one who knew the ways of the household, though.’

‘True. So no one close. There is hardly anyone, to be honest, only Janet and the woman who comes in once a week to help with the laundry – the old man likes all his personal linen washed and ironed by hand, no laundry. But Lavender thinks, and I think too, that it is someone who knows the story. And wants …’ He hesitated.

‘Vengeance? It’s been a long time coming. Hardly likely to be a contemporary of Lavender as a boy.’

‘No, but possibly the descendant of one, someone, man or woman, who knew about it from parents or grandparents. Seriously, I believe there is someone out there who is after the old man. And I cannot believe it goes back to his days in government, although God knows he made enough enemies then. But most of them are dead. No, this is someone else.’

Oh good, Coffin thought, not only do I have to find the remains of a long-dead woman, but I also have to find a hunter in the shadows.

He went to the kitchen to look out; he was nearer to the old churchyard on this lower floor. A child was playing on the grass while his mother stood watching. An older woman was walking towards one of the flower beds. An old man sat on one of the seats, smoking and reading a paper.

Peaceful scene. Coffin thought. I may be about to turn it into a less tranquil place. He could imagine the digging, the police screens set up to shield what they might have found.

He turned away. I have been told an extraordinary story. The threatening letters to Richard Lavender, and now this bunch of flowers, they are not dangerous episodes in themselves, but there is a threat.

He heard Martin and Jaimie tumbling down the stairs, he could hear voices which sounded angry. He thought he heard her say she didn’t want to come to this house again.

Upstairs, Stella was finishing her drink with a thoughtful look. ‘I didn’t ask them to stay for a meal, I think they are about to have a quarrel. One of many, I fear. So I encouraged them to go.’

Coffin sat down beside her, he picked up the end of the silk girdle that went round Stella’s waist and was tied up on the side. ‘Do you think you could hide all that fair hair of hers under a wig?’

Stella shrugged. ‘I expect you could. Yes, I daresay. Why?’

‘Tell you later, but I feel as though I am being led into an unpleasant business.’

And as if the past had reached out a bony hand to tweak him. He did not enjoy being reminded of his own boyhood and youth, when he had felt that he might get stuck in a world he did not like and when he knew it was up to him to fight his way out.

He was going to need assistance with the problem the former Prime Minister had set. It was like being given an errand by Mr Gladstone, the moral imperative was strong.

Phoebe Astley, he thought, he would set her to work.

He looked at Stella; if she was jealous of any other woman in his life, then it was Phoebe.

3 (#ulink_e9697600-3215-5460-8f22-490f0b86f58a)

Phoebe Astley was a senior police officer who had been brought into the Second City by John Coffin to head a special unit. Since one of the purposes of this small and secretive unit was to check on the performance and behaviour of the local force, he had taken Phoebe from another county. Phoebe was a forceful, dark-haired woman with great energy. Charm too when she chose to use it, but because of the delicacy of the tasks she was given, she preferred a smooth neutral manner. Archie Young was her nominal chief but she reported directly to the Chief Commander.

Underneath, however, she was never neutral, as Coffin knew well. Their paths had crossed in the past, tangled together, you might say, and the memory of their past relationship was something they chose to bury. What remained was trust and friendship, and that was good. In his career Coffin had found that you needed a colleague you could trust, and there were not too many of them. In Chief Superintendent Archie Young he had such a one, and he was coming to feel that his young assistant Paul Masters was another.

He considered Phoebe for the task; in the past, the joke had been that work was her love and sex was her hobby. These days she seemed to be keeping that side of things discreetly in the background. He doubted if she had turned into a nun, but there were no tales and no gossip. Yes, he could use Phoebe Astley without the fear that she would meet the scholarly Jack Bradshaw and eat him up. The old Phoebe might have tried a nibble or two, because there was no denying that Dr Bradshaw was attractive, if dry and occasionally pompous. A scholar, he said to himself, probably cannot resist having that manner.

Phoebe’s office was tucked away, hidden almost, on the top floor of the new police building. She had three anonymous-looking rooms, which suited her, finding she did not mind in the least that the furniture was standard equipment with little charm but very practical. The great pleasure was the splendid view from windows over the Thames and the Second City. Phoebe drew strength from the panorama stretched out below her which she stood looking at when she had a problem to solve. The shifting light on the Thames seemed to illuminate her mind.

Her home, if you could call it that, because she never seemed to settle, was at present in a one-room flatlet on the Isle of Dogs from which she commuted by means of the Dockland Light Railway. Her flat was minimum care and since she never did anything but sleep in it, eating always on the job and drinking black coffee as soon as she got to work, it suited her. She said her only virtue as a housekeeper was that she did not smoke. Even this had not been true a few years ago when a bad health scare had put her in hospital and given her pause for thought. Now she ran and swam as often as she could.

She had a staff of two, a man and a woman, who managed the computer and the equipment added to it, and unobtrusively worked with her. To be unnoticed was part of the job. Coffin knew her well enough to be sure that Phoebe maintained an active social life in districts well beyond the Second City.

She was always at work early, so that she was there when Coffin telephoned her the morning after his meeting with Richard Lavender and Jack Bradshaw.

‘I want to talk to you.’

‘Is it a job?’

Yes, one for you alone.’

‘Aren’t they always?’

‘It’s an odd business. One you may not care for. Or you may be greatly interested. Either way it needs careful handling. It might be as well if you did not involve Gabrielle or Leander.’

‘That might be hard to do.’

‘As little as possible then.’

‘I’ll be over, if it’s that confidential you’d better send Sylvia and Gillian out.’ Coffin was silent, his two secretaries did not listen at doors, but Phoebe must be allowed her jokes, she was often a bit sharp about other women. (It worked the other way too; Stella for instance treated Phoebe with friendly caution.) ‘Will Archie Young be there?’

‘No.’

‘It is secret then.’ Phoebe gave herself an invisible pat on the back. Although she liked Archie Young, who never got in her way, she was a natural competitor who liked to outscore others. Every case to which she was privy alone, she regarded as a top mark. But she was fair and did not regard this as one of her better traits, only a natural one.

She walked into Coffin’s office, passing Paul Masters, who was talking to Gillian, with a wave. He moved quickly to get to Coffin’s door but Phoebe was quicker. ‘Expected,’ she said blithely.

Paul turned to Gillian. ‘I’m supposed to check everyone who goes in.’ But he said it without rancour: he liked Phoebe.