Coffin Underground

But they both thought it was. He had disappeared from public view and his contacts and such friends as he had were keeping silent.

‘Until we are sure let’s call him X,’ said Coffin. ‘Any forensics?’

‘Still waiting. But with my naked eye I saw a bit of cloth caught in the saddle bar. Also a shred of plastic in the handlebars. The killer could have had a bag there, with the knife in it. We haven’t found the knife; he’s probably got it.’

‘Pity he didn’t leave it with the bike,’ said the still sceptical Coffin. ‘If the bike was all over blood he must have been covered with it himself. Quite a sight riding through the streets.’

Paul Lane ignored this sally. ‘It was late at night. And I don’t suppose he went out of his way to meet people. Either coming or going. And we have got a bit from the forensics. About Egan himself. There were shreds of grass on his shoes.’

‘So he walked to his rendezvous in the park. He’d have to do that. Even Egan. Not much of a walker, our William, as I remember.’

‘There were also traces of asphalt, or some sticky, tarry stuff on the soles and uppers of his shoes. It looks as though he’d tried to rub it off with a bit of newspaper and hadn’t succeeded.’

‘Yes, he always was a dressy man. Well, all the pavements around here seem to be under repair.’ Coffin looked down at his own shoes. Even Church Row.

‘Not all, but quite a few around the park,’ said Lane in that reasonable voice that could infuriate his peers. ‘I think he may have walked to his meeting. And if he did that, then he must have been hiding out somewhere not too far away. Not being, as you rightly say, much of a walker.’

‘Could be.’

‘So we might be able to find out where that was.’

There was silence between the two men as they considered William Egan coming out of his hiding place and then walking to meet his death.

‘The time of death has finally been agreed upon as about midnight,’ said Lane, coming across with another piece of information. ‘The medical lot didn’t want to come across with that yet, still doing tests on the gut or something, but I prised it out of them. The park is locked by that time, but I can think of at least three ways of getting in, and if I know them then Egan knew them.’

‘I wonder who issued the invitation to that particular meeting? And how it was set up?’

‘When we know that we will know the lot.’

‘If I know Egan and his son-in-law there was either a woman or money in it.’

‘A bait? Yes. I’d put Egan as the inviter. It has his mark on it somehow. But he walked into something he didn’t expect. He walked and X cycled. That makes them both living locally.’

‘Yes, I can accept that. If the bike is right,’ added Coffin cautiously.

‘This was my patch once, remember,’ said Lane.

‘I know.’ The bright boy from Guildford Grammar School and York University had started his career in the Force in an unsmart part of South London.

‘Where the bike was found is not far from where X’s sister lives.’

‘Why are we still calling him X? We both know we mean Place. I give you best on that. I think you are right,’ said Coffin. ‘But it’s still guessing.’

‘I went to call on his sister. Went to her house in Abinger Road. Just dropped in. I took as much of a look round as I reasonably could. He wasn’t there, of course.’

‘That would have been lucky.’

‘But he had been there. I swear it. I could almost smell him.’

‘Perhaps he was still there.’

‘No, I don’t think so. There’s not many places to hide in those little houses.’

He paused. ‘And there’s something else, something that worries me. His sister was frightened. She’s a tough little body, Roxie Farmer, but she was really scared stiff.’

The two men looked at each other.

‘You’re thinking of the way Egan was cut up,’ said Coffin slowly. ‘I wondered about that myself.’

‘Terry Place is either high on drugs or else he’s gone off his rocker. Perhaps both. He’s dangerous. His sister knows it and I reckon we know it.’

‘Then we’d better find him fast.’

‘He’s living locally,’ said Paul Lane. ‘I swear it.’ He bent down to get a package. ‘I found this rolled up in a cupboard in the Farmer house. I persuaded his sister to let me take this tweed coat away. She didn’t want me to have it, but it looked to me as if it matched the scrap of cloth caught on the saddle of the bike. I think it is Place’s. I believe there is blood on it.’

He was holding out an old grey tweed jacket which had seen better days. It was wrapped in a big plastic bag to protect any evidence. There were dark stains up the front and on the sleeves.

‘Mad to leave it around.’

‘I think he might be mad. Or near enough. But in any case, he might not have expected me to go to Abinger Road.’

‘Any mice about? Egan had mice droppings on him.’

‘I don’t think they had Egan in Abinger Road. And from what I know of Roxie Farmer, no mouse would stand a chance. No, Place didn’t have him there.’

‘I suppose I ought to be grateful to him for killing Egan, seeing Egan was after me,’ said Coffin.

‘I found this in the pocket.’ Lane held out a scrap of paper enclosed in a plastic envelope. He had done that himself. Standard practice. ‘It’ll have to be tested for traces. But he’s got your address on it.’

Coffin studied it. The piece of paper had been much folded so that the pencil scrawl was hard to read, but he could make out Church Row well enough. ‘That’s Egan’s writing.’

‘I think so.’ Lane nodded.

‘So he knew where I was.’

‘And now Place knows. Took this off Egan’s body, and he meant something by that.’

‘I hope I’m going to go on being grateful,’ said Coffin grimly. ‘Got anything else, or is that the lot?’

‘There is this ticket to the Cutty Sark. He’s been there, and quite recently too. He’s always loved the river. He’ll be down that way now. I’ll take a bet on it.’ He spoke with the utter conviction of someone who knew he was right. ‘Why don’t we look for him down there?’

Paul leaned forward and became urgent. ‘Why don’t we pour men in? Flood the place with searchers. Flush him out quick.’

‘Going to take a lot of overtime,’ said Coffin, somewhat sourly. You always had to think about money now.

But they agreed to try. If they could get the manpower. The TAS squad was small and its demands not welcome. But it could be done.

‘Leave that stuff with me,’ said Coffin, motioning towards the jacket and the paper in its plastic envelope. ‘I’ll take responsibility.’