A Grave Coffin

Coffin waited, he could tell that Archie was quietly making his way up to what he wanted to say.

‘So he was identified easily enough,’ Archie went on. ‘No trouble there … the only thing is …’ And here he paused.

Coffin waited. You didn’t hurry Archie when he was taking his time.

‘His father said that the clothes he was wearing were not his own … Not a stitch he had on was his.’

‘Any idea where the clothes came from?’

Archie shook his head. ‘They look newish, may not have been worn much but not shop-fresh. Some boy has worn them.’

‘That may help.’

‘May do … But there was blood on them.’

‘Much blood?’

‘Quite a bit … but the interesting thing is that preliminary tests on the blood groups suggest blood from two people: one the boy’s and the other from an unknown person.’

‘From one of the other boys?’

‘Could be … Or from the murderer.’

‘How was the boy killed?’

‘Can’t be sure until the PM. Smothered, possibly.’

‘So where did his blood come from?’

‘Probably from the anus … he had been sexually assaulted. Pretty badly, too.’

Coffin tightened his lips. This was a horrible business. ‘That may be why he was smothered: he was too badly hurt to send him back into the world.’

‘And he may have known his abuser.’

Coffin was starting at the list of names. ‘Wait a minute, Chinner … not a usual name. Is the father … ?’ He stopped, letting the query rest on the air.

‘Yes, he’s one of ours. A police surgeon, Dr Geoffrey Chinner, a local GP as well.’

‘I know him, he worked on a case that interested me.’

One of the many, thought Archie Young.

‘We kept that information quiet when the boy went missing because we weren’t sure how it would touch his chances of survival. The media found out but went along with us.

‘That is not all: every one of the missing boys had a parent who was one of ours.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I was coming to you with it.’

Coffin was silent. Ed Saxon’s call had come in yesterday, he had been preoccupied with other problems, there was always something urgent.

‘I am supposed to know that sort of thing.’

‘I am sorry, sir.’

‘Before anyone else.’

Archie Young was silent.

‘All right,’ said Coffin grouchily. ‘I was in Los Angeles.’

Coffin got up. ‘I want to see where the boy was found. Then I want to see his body.’

‘I’ll drive you.’ Archie Young was still prickly with apology, while feeling that he had been unfairly treated: the Chief Commander had been in Los Angeles, a holiday, God knows he rarely took one, and there had been a silent feeling that this break should be respected.

In the car for the drive across Spinnergate to East Hythe, they talked.

Coffin stared about him at the streets as they drove. There was a good deal of traffic, buses and many private cars. His eye was caught by a flash of yellow, red and green in a shop window. Great glass bottles full of colour and underneath a more sober display of packets. ‘What shop’s that?’ They were going down what had once been the main shopping street of old East Hythe and was still the High Street. A memory of the shop stirred inside Coffin. He ought to remember more.

Archie Young took a quick look. ‘Oh, that’s old Mr Barley’s chemist’s shop, he keeps it old-fashioned like that. You should see inside. Doubt if he does much trade, but tourists love it.’

He gave a nod to the west: ‘And you can just see the roof of the school the boys went to. We are trying to keep it from the children – it’s mixed, of course – as much as possible. There’s the Junior School attached.’ The lost boys had gone there, sent by hopeful parents because it had a good reputation.

He drove on quietly, the traffic was heavy here.

‘Miss the old trams,’ Coffin said. ‘They packed the people in.’

‘I don’t remember trams.’ Archie Young was concentrating on weaving his way through the traffic.

‘No, you’re too young. Tell me about the parents of the boys.’

He sounds a bit better, thought Archie with relief, he’s loosening up

‘Not all the parents are officers: the Neville lad’s mother works in the canteen at the Leathergate substation, the Rick lad’s father is a DC in Spinnergate, and Matthew Baker’s dad is a CID sergeant in Spinnergate.’

Coffin looked at him. ‘Archie Chinner?’

The chief superintendent looked away, out of the window. ‘Yes, the boy’s my godson. His father is a police surgeon as I said.’

‘Sorry.’ There was a pause. ‘Would you like to withdraw from any interest in the case?’

Young shook his head. ‘No, I couldn’t. In any case, Paddy Devlin is really handling it for all practical purposes, and she’s good.’

‘So I have heard.’ They were passing through a large council estate, the Attlee Estate, which provided plenty of work for the Second City force. The press blamed youth unemployment, but Coffin wondered.

‘From different districts but, you say, all four boys went to the same school?’