Coffin’s Ghost

Evelyn smiled. She knew all the signs of comfortable private income when she saw it.

‘Anyway, you know yourself that it wouldn’t do to look too … well … too groomed here.’

Evelyn laughed. ‘Have a go, they might enjoy it. Don’t be patronizing.’

Mary looked shocked. ‘Do you think so?’

There were bangs and sounds of screaming from above.

‘Oh, screw it.’ Mary jumped to her feet. ‘Come on. You too, in case there is bleeding.’

Side by side, they ran up the stairs in the direction of the shouting. On the stairs they passed a young WPC who gave them a questioning look. ‘Leave this to us,’ said Mary as she passed. ‘Our job, we cope.’

As she sped on, she muttered:

‘Whenever I hear two of our residents going on at each other like this, I think that maybe they were not the only ones in the marriage to get battered. Not an acceptable PC view, I know.’

The noise was coming from the communal sitting room on the first floor.

‘Miriam, Miriam,’ said Mary as she pushed open the door. ‘At it again.’

A small, sturdy figure, a round face with short, cropped hair, swung round. Miriam Beetham; she called herself Mrs Beetham but no marriage ceremony had taken place with Tommy Beetham and the title was purely honorary.

The room showed signs of battle with a chair overturned and a sofa shoved at an angle against the wall. A small child was sitting on the sofa, looking interested rather than frightened. Billy Beetham recognized Mary.

‘How do you know it’s me?’

‘I recognize your voice. And you, Ally.’

Ally was tall, thin, but capable of swift physical action if required. Learned behaviour, Mary thought sadly.

The two women had been friends and enemies since schooldays, the relationship not improved by the fact that Ally was indeed Mrs Beetham, although she called herself Ally Carver. Husbands and lovers had shuttled between the two since they first took up sex. It was bad luck that had brought them into the refuge at the same time.

Or had they fixed it between them? With this pair, you never knew.

Evelyn was examining Ally’s nose. ‘Not broken. It’ll stop bleeding soon.’ She produced a wad of tissues which she held to the nose. ‘And keep quiet.’

‘What’s it all about?’ demanded Mary. ‘No, don’t tell me. Come to the office later. I wish we had a vow of silence in this place.’

The battle was over, showing every sign of starting again. ‘Her fault,’ muttered Ally through the tissues. ‘And you can’t say we’ll have the police in, ‘cause we got them already. And they will know about whose fault it is … they know.’

‘She said my Billy was simple.’ The rejoinder came from Miriam in a loud voice. ‘So I hit her. Do it again.’

‘He is simple.’

Looks sharp enough to me, thought Mary, ageless too, six coming on sixty and the devil kissed him. Now what do I mean by that, she asked. I mean he’s wicked through and through. Shouldn’t think like that, should you? Children can’t be wicked.

But she knew they could be.

‘Tidy up the room,’ she said. ‘And get Billy to help you. And calm down. Have a cup of tea.’

There was always tea and milk left ready in the sitting room.

‘It’s because of what was left on the doorstep,’ called Miriam after them. ‘We’re all upset.’

The child Billy gave a cry, something between a wail and a hiccup of laughter.

I think he likes bits of bodies, Mary thought. But no, he can’t know anything about it. We haven’t said: Keep quiet, the police told us.

On the stairs, she said to Evelyn, ‘What is wicked?’

Over another cup of coffee, Evelyn said she thought it was a matter of feeling. You felt something or someone was wicked.

‘Even a child? I shouldn’t have been so sharp with those two. Not professional. Gentle does it.’

‘You mean Billy, I suppose?’ said Evelyn, crunching a biscuit. ‘The wicked bit?’

‘Yeah.’

‘He’s a mite young to get the full judgement, but he’s coming on nicely.’

‘They all know about the parcels of limbs on the steps. When they asked, I said I had no idea. But they know. They know there wouldn’t be all that police activity for just a dead dog.’

‘Probably making guesses who it is.’

‘Oh God, yes.’ Good accurate guesses too. On such a subject they would be well-informed.

‘Phoebe Astley will know how to handle it, she’ll assess what they say, work out if there is anything in it.’

‘They’ll say plenty.’ Mary continued to be gloomy. ‘Make it up if they have to.’

‘Phoebe …’ began Evelyn.

‘Yes, she’ll know how to weave her way through it. If she does it herself. You know how it goes.’ They were not without experience in police visits. ‘Uniformed branch first, then CID, it’ll be women because of what we are, and then, if it’s important, we shall get the top brass. Or toppish. Remember how it was when Jodie Spinner hid the stuff her husband had stolen in her bedroom?’

Evelyn nodded. That had brought Chief Inspector Astley in sharpish.

‘She’ll check on the really interesting stuff … if any.’

‘I wouldn’t mind asking her a few questions myself.’

The interesting thing was that Phoebe Astley had been round here so speedily that morning, even before the first SOCO team had finished photographing the front steps. Off again now.

She had not had much to say, even to Mary. Police business, her expression said.

Evelyn said: ‘Do you think it could be Henriette?’

‘The dead woman? Etta? Oh no, she went home to France.’