A Grave Coffin

‘Stella’s in Los Angeles at the moment.’

‘You must miss her.’

‘I do, of course, but we agreed when we married that she must be free to follow’ – he paused – ‘well, whatever the theatre demands. I wouldn’t want her to lose by being married.’

‘It applies to you too.’ She sipped her sherry. ‘But men don’t expect to lose by getting married, it’s just an extra, nothing to get in their way.’

Coffin gave her a cautious look.

‘I don’t think most policemen’s wives have happy marriages,’ she went on. ‘Stella is lucky.’

Coffin thought that Stella was not so much lucky as good at fighting her battles, probably he would have been as selfish and demanding as any, but Stella had not allowed it.

‘She deserves it,’ went on Mary Seton. ‘She is so talented.’

‘I think so,’ said Coffin, glad to be on solid ground at last.

‘I made my own career – I own a small chain of fashion shops, I don’t think Harry minded, or if he did it didn’t show. It meant he didn’t see so much of me as he might have done … I have to travel a bit.’

The noise from the group at the bar interrupted them; loud laughter and a small bit of horseplay with Miss Miniskirt doing most of the pushing; she was not one to overlook. Coffin decided.

‘Jolly, aren’t they? They aren’t worried about the fire, or why it was started. Harry was destroyed and now someone has had a go at destroying what he was working on.’ She turned her head towards the window; Coffin saw the glint of tears on her lashes.

‘We don’t know that it was arson.’

‘Oh, we do … it started on the top floor, Harry’s floor.’

Coffin had been looking out of the window, from where he could see that the fire engines were drawing away. He would probably be able to get into the building quite soon, if the top floor was not too hot. Or wet.

‘I want to have a look round myself, so I am hoping that it may not have been destroyed.’

She looked at him and shook her head.

‘They didn’t let me see Harry’s body. Just his face, so I could identify him, the rest was wrapped in sheets.’ There was no mistaking the tears on her cheeks now. ‘So I suppose they had a reason.’

You insensitive ox, Coffin told himself, all this bitter talk she’s been throwing at you is because she is bloody unhappy. She loved the man.

There was another burst of laughter, and Miss Miniskirt swept past. ‘Going to inspect the ruins,’ she called out.

Mary watched her go; through her tears, she said: ‘She spent a lot on that suit but she wasted her money: it doesn’t fit her. Didn’t you notice the sleeves?’

Coffin shook his head, he had not noticed the sleeves. All right, he had thought the black suit expensive, so he got that right.

‘You think I’m a bad-tempered cow, all right?’

‘No, I think you are a very unhappy woman.’

There was a pause. ‘I loved him. I didn’t always like him, but I loved him.’

There was silence.

She stood up. ‘I’m going to follow that woman. See if I can get into the building? Are you coming too?’

‘Yes, but I don’t know what our chances are.’

‘I am going to get in, I saw a fire escape. I shall go up that.’

‘I saw it too.’

‘I was working it all out as I sat in the car.’

‘Why are you so anxious to see Harry’s office here?’

Mary slowed her pace, they could both see the woman in the miniskirt arguing with the police constable now on solitary duty.

‘Because Ed Saxon didn’t want me to. I only got the address because I read it upside down on his desk. What about you?’

‘Work,’ said Coffin evasively. ‘An investigation.’

‘Are you working on Harry’s death?’

‘No, the Met are handling that, of course …’ This was true, although he would be privy to what they turned up and in return they would want to look at anything he got. A strange position to be in, he thought, never happened before. It made him feel two-headed.

Mary looked at him sceptically, but she said nothing, moving ahead of him towards the office block. The woman in the miniskirt was still talking to the police constable. She seemed to be arguing fiercely.

Both of them had their backs to Coffin and Mary Seton. Without a word, Mary put her foot on the bottom rung of the fire escape, gave Coffin a meaning look, and ran up, leaping from step to step.

Coffin followed her. He was agile himself but she was nimbler. Good mind too, Harry Seton had been a lucky man. Only his luck had ended. Older than Mary. Hadn’t there been a first wife? He had memories of hearing of one called Elsa. Elsa he had never met, but he was willing to admit that she had been pretty and lively and clever, as with Mary. Did one always marry the same woman? What had happened to Elsa? Had she dropped Harry or the other way round?

These questions flashed through his mind with speed as he went up the staircase. He was at the top before he remembered the answer: Elsa was dead.

Curious thing, the mind, why had he just remembered Elsa and her death?

Mary was looking through the glass door, it was darkened, stained by smoke. ‘A bit kippered, but you can see through.’

Coffin was feeling in his pocket. ‘Got a key?’

‘No. I haven’t a key. Harry never gave me one, I wasn’t told about this place, remember? I only found out when he was dead, and Ed Saxon certainly wasn’t about to give me a key. Keep wives out is embroidered on his chest, that one. I was going to break in if I could. So I was always coming up this way.’ She looked down at her feet, ‘I was going to knock my way through the glass with a heel.’

Coffin was sorting through the bunch of keys. ‘You’d have a job breaking this glass without a wound or two. Good thing you met me.’ He wasn’t sure how much he believed her, but she had a beguiling way with words. ‘Are you sure you weren’t going to bribe your way in?’

She grinned. ‘Somehow, somehow. Maybe, maybe. But I found you. Come on, let’s get in.’

The lock turned easily enough but the door was stiff; it gave way, though, before his shoulder.

‘Here we are. In.’

Harry’s office had not been burnt to bits, or flooded with water. It smelt of smoke and was untidy, but that might have been Harry, not the firemen.