Cold Coffin (16 page)

Stella watched as he phoned, but said nothing. She knew he was talking to Phoebe. I'm not jealous of that woman, of course I'm not. We inhabit different spheres. It's a working relationship for them both. But she knew they had been close, fairly close if the truth were told, in that period when she and Coffin had been far, far apart.

Sid drove them, his wife by his side. Neither of them spoke much.

‘D'you think she'll pull through?' Sid murmured to his wife.

‘Live, you mean?'

‘Of course. You saw her, I never got close. Will she get through?'

She shook her head. ‘I don't know.'

‘I wish I knew what I could do.'

‘Just drive, Sid,' said Coffin from the back.

‘Sorry, sir. Didn't know you could hear.'

Coffin sank back into his seat. ‘I wish I was driving now.'

Stella murmured that she was only too thankful he was not. He was a good driver when he was calm, but otherwise . . .

‘And I'm not calm now?'

‘Do you think you are?'

By his silence, Coffin admitted that he was far from calm. Eventually he said, ‘It was the child. He could have been killed.'

‘But he wasn't,' said Stella stoutly.

They finished what was left of the journey in silence. Stella was left at St Luke's Tower and Sid drove the Chief Commander on to his office. He wanted action.

He could see Paul Masters and Phoebe Astley in the outer office. He could read relief in their faces at the sight of him.

He was welcome. This wasn't always the case by any means.

‘Glad to see you, sir,' said Paul. ‘We heard about what happened. How is Mrs Rudkin?'

‘She was taken into the Southern Counties Hospital . . . She was alive then.' Coffin nodded, still worried.

‘I'll make a call, shall I, sir?' asked Phoebe. ‘One of the surgeons there is a friend of mine.'

‘Yes, do, Phoebe.'

She took herself into the outer office, dialling on her mobile.

‘A rotten business,' said Masters. ‘Thank goodness you weren't hurt. Did you manage to see the attacker?'

‘No, we all had our backs to the door except Mrs Rudkin.'

‘Perhaps that's why he aimed at her.'

‘I don't know why he did. Even if it was a man . . .'

Masters looked surprised. ‘Could it have been a woman?'

‘I don't know,' said Coffin. He wanted to move on. ‘What is the message that I got about the bullet found in the school bus?'

‘It matches with the bullets used in the killings,' began Paul, but he was interrupted.

Phoebe returned to the room. ‘Marie Rudkin has been taken to St Thomas's.'

‘Sounds bad,' said Masters.

‘No, I don't think so. Dr Rudkin worked in the hospital herself at one time, and before that the university hospital here. She'd feel at home. She's there for an operation. The nurse sounded quite cheerful.'

‘That's her professional face.'

‘Shut up.'

‘Thank you for telephoning, Phoebe. I'll ring myself later. Or get Stella to . . . she might be best.'

‘What's the position, sir? Are we in charge of the investigation into this new shooting?'

‘No, the Southern Counties Police are in charge . . . we will help out as requested and come in if the connection with the shooting here is established.' He added quickly, ‘Of course, we will be in contact. Chief Inspector Dent will be in touch, Phoebe.'

Phoebe said she knew Geoff Dent and they could work together. He was a very efficient officer, knew when to break the rules and when not to. She wanted to get her hands on this killer. Or killers, she added thoughtfully in the notebook she was making. She felt there might be two.

‘Yes, I'll ring Stella to tell her about St Thomas's. She can telephone. She might even go there.'

But before he could telephone his wife, Stella had called him: ‘John, Mrs Tully has come in with the story that a neighbour and her three children have been found shot dead.'

‘Sounds like a domestic,' said Coffin.

‘The father is in America.'

‘Since when?'

Sheila Fish always passed on to Lia a magazine that both enjoyed. Lia read it, then gave it to a charity shop. The magazine was called
For Women Only
.

Letty Brown did not care for the magazine; she said she wanted to broaden her mind, not narrow it, and she was going to take up French. Sheila said that if she looked at the magazine and saw the subjects its articles covered, she would see it was very broad indeed. Letty said she had looked at the magazine, and she was surprised that Sheila read that sort of thing, and she was surprised the charity shop accepted it, but Letty said that the charity shop was keen to get it and that it always sold very well.

But now Sheila came to see Letty because she was worried.

‘I took the mag round to Lia, but she wasn't there.'

‘She's gone out shopping,' said Letty, not concerned at all and surprised at Sheila.

‘But she said she'd be in when we spoke on the telephone this morning.'

‘She's just popped out. She'll be back. Try again.'

Sheila said slowly, ‘I think the door was on the latch.'

‘And you didn't go in?'

Sheila shook her head. ‘No, didn't like to.'

Letty put her hand on Sheila's shoulder. ‘Go now.'

‘Come with me.' Then she said, ‘Please.'

Letty studied her friend's face. She saw this was something she had to do. ‘Yes.'

Sheila said, ‘We can't take the kids.'

Letty's mother lived two doors down the road. ‘We can leave them with my mother. She won't mind if we aren't too long.'

The two women held hands as they approached the door of Lia's flat.

‘It's open a crack,' said Letty. ‘Was it like this when you came?'

Sheila nodded.

‘You didn't try to go in?'

‘No. I was frightened.'

They were both frightened, but holding hands they pushed open the door to walk into the hall. The smell hit them both as they walked in.

Their eyes met and Sheila dragged back, but Letty pulled her onward towards the sitting-room door, which was partly open.

Something was obstructing the door as Letty pushed against it.

Lia was lying, face down on the floor, her feet pushing at the door. She lay in a pool of drying, stale blood.

The children lay crouched together like little animals. But dead.

Dead, dead, dead.

Letty had said, ‘We'll phone the police from here, then we'll go and wait outside.'

The telephone was working, to Letty's relief; it could have been cut. The police took in what she said and promised a car there at once.

Letty and Sheila waited outside, leaning against the wall. Mrs Tully, who knew them both, passed on the way back from the big shop on the corner.

‘You all right? You look terrible.'

There seemed no reason not to tell her. Mrs Tully absorbed the news with surprise and horror.

‘Children too?'

She stayed with them till the police patrol car arrived, then she left.

She wondered if Miss Pinero knew about it. She was on her way there now, to clean the silver.

‘If she's there, then I shall have to tell her.' After all, she was married to a policeman. Well,
the
policeman really, and one for whom Mrs Tully had a healthy respect, since she cleaned his silver and her daughter had joined the Force last year, uniform of course, but hoping for a sideways move to CID in time. And her black Persian that had been lost had been brought home by the local copper. Nothing to do with the Chief Commander, of course, but it all added up.

She was surprised at the look of anguish that shot across Miss Pinero's face when she told her of the killings, and at the speed with which she telephoned the Chief Commander.

10

A terrible day continues
.

‘Phoebe Astley got there before me,' he confessed to Stella on the telephone. ‘Clever woman.'

‘Good job I'm not jealous of her then,' said Stella.

‘No, you couldn't be that,' he answered seriously.

‘Anyway, I've heard she prefers women.'

‘Oh really?' said Coffin with interest. ‘I hadn't heard.'

‘I never know when to believe you,' said his observant wife.

Coffin laughed. He too had reserves of knowledge.

‘I swear I could shoot you myself sometimes,' said Stella.

Coffin walked up and down his office while he made his announcement to his immediate staff, people he worked with all the time and trusted: Paul Masters, Phoebe Astley, DC Grahame Godley and their assistants, which included people such as D C Geoff Little. Inspector Lavender, still dealing with the Jackson murders but now increasingly involved in all the others, was also there. Tony Davley was not summoned, but she managed to slide in unnoticed. This was going to be an important meeting, and she meant to be in on it.

‘I know you have had one meeting. A good idea, Phoebe, but don't think I am copying you. I call this the Crime Forum because it will be in existence until the murderer is caught.'

After some discussion Coffin decided that they should take over the Record Room once again, politely moving aside Sergeant George Cummins. Cummins did not mind, firstly because it was done by a courteous message delivered by Paul Masters, requesting the use of the room, and secondly because he was asked to keep the record.

‘Tomorrow, early, Phoebe, all those who are here today and a few others.' He was already drawing up a list in his mind.

At least one officer was being plucked from every Incident Room, going back to the Jackson killings and now taking in the death of Lia and her children.

The shooting of Marie Rudkin was included, even though it was another county.

All the Incident Rooms were connected by telephone and fax, but what the Chief Commander called the Crime Forum would be the central meeting place.

Get in there quickly, the message went round the corridors, the Chief Commander is in a hurry. He must have been brewing this up for some time.

In fact, Coffin had thought about it even as he was driven back to the Second City by Sid. It had been a silent journey. No one wanted to talk.

‘I don't know if this shooting is related to the others, but I am betting it is,' he had thought as the countryside slid by. ‘It's got to be investigated as a whole. And I am going to be in charge.'

He had stared out of the window; they were on the outskirts of the Second City by then. Stella had been quiet. Then she said she could feel he was distressed, as she was herself. When she closed her eyes she could see Marie falling to the ground with the blood spurting out. But she felt something else as well with the Chief Commander. There was a hard set to his mouth, which he only showed when angry.

‘Do you think that the bullet was aimed at you, then?'

‘I don't know,' said Coffin, ‘but by God I'm going to find out.'

Coffin began: ‘We are going to have a Crime Forum. I call it that for want of a better name. I am calling in one or two important officers who have been working on these killings. They can no longer be considered in isolation. We must treat them as linked killings.'

There was a murmur of assent from his audience.

‘All relevant information will be pooled here . . . Yes, and some that might not seem relevant, because you can't always tell.'

Phoebe Astley muttered to herself that strict relevance had never been the rule; you had always had to keep your ears and eyes open to catch what might turn out to be important.

As the Chief Commander paused, the door swung open and a trolley of tea, coffee and mineral water was pushed in. Coffin was not surprised since he had ordered it.

He moved towards the trolley, and poured himself some coffee. ‘Phoebe, can I pour you a cup? Tea or coffee? Help yourself everyone.'

He was following Stella's advice. ‘Get on good terms with them at once . . . Make it all easy, smooth . . . You've been very tense lately, and it makes you tough on the people you work with.'

As he had talked about it to Stella on the way home, with Sid all ears, the idea of the Crime Forum had been born.

Now it was all around him. He had the people, and he had displays on big boards all around the room, one for each case, together with names and short bios plus photographs of all the people touched by each murder. And the tea wagon had arrived.

He looked at Phoebe Astley and grinned. ‘Thanks, Phoebe, good organization.'

A telephone call had told CI Astley what he wanted. You never had to tell Phoebe anything twice. ‘Glad to help, sir.'

‘Keep a straight face, Phoebe,' said the Chief Commander. ‘Sometimes I can read your thoughts.'

Stella had taught him how to do it. ‘Don't look at the mouth. Watch the eyelids,' she'd said. ‘If they come down too far, it's a giggle.'

‘Wouldn't help much with an Oriental,' he said.

Stella had ignored this.

Coffin could see that CI Astley was half amused and half wondering what good he hoped to get from this meeting, yet she also knew he was not a man to look for personal advancement. Not in any obvious way, at least.

Over his coffee, he said, ‘I must be in charge, Phoebe. I shall be making the announcement, not everyone may like the idea, and food and drink does help.'

He stood by the trolley for a time, drinking his coffee, and then began to move round the room.

Board A: The Jackson murders. Detective Sergeant Jim Ward. A plan of the flat was there, with marks where the bodies had rested. A photograph of Mrs Jackson's body. A bullet in a plastic bag. A trail of blood suggested she had been shot first and tried to reach her daughters, but she had died, choking on her own blood. A brutal business, said a note from Jim Ward.

Board B: Dr Murray. Detective Sergeant Annie Bertram. On this board was a similar plan of the body of Dr Murray. There was also a photograph. There was the blurred image of a face looking through a window in the further wall. The bullet in the plastic bag again. And the blood tests revealing blood from more than one person. The contents of her handbag were listed, the usual stuff that women carry, such as lipstick and powder. She carried a diary and a notebook. The contents of both had been transcribed, but appeared to be engagements and notes of work in progress. There was also the ring that had been found.