Paul showed Mercy in, asked Coffin if they would like coffee, and then brought it in. He then tactfully retired. It was up to Mercy now.
Coffin, who knew the value of silence, waited for her to speak.
âStench.'
The word shattered the silence.
âIt smells, you must think so yourself, sir.'
âCertainly it presents some unusual features,' Coffin said cautiously, waiting to hear what she had to say. Did she know about the photographs sent to Stella?
âIt seems aimed at us, not personally, but sent on purpose.' So she didn't know about what had come to Stella.
For that matter, Stella herself did not know. Not yet. May be she would never have to.
âThat's what had Joe puzzled. I don't say it made him ill, of course it didn't, but by God, it helped. ' And maybe he wasn't as ill as he acted; he just wanted out.
âIn these cases we have to seek out evidence of paedophilia. You know we do: it's a secret activity and they want it kept secret.' Mercy continued.
âExcept among themselves,' said Coffin
âIt's almost a proxy activity, the passing round of the photographs is as important as the activity itself.'
âPleasure enjoyed in remembrance,' said Coffin.
âAnd we're part of the pleasure: the police team, you even, sir.' she did not see Coffin give an imperceptible flinch, âand we don't like it. I don't like it, Joe didn't like it. Phoebe won't like it when she gets a whiff of it.'
âYes,' agreed Coffin.
âAs a rule we have to go searching, but now it is coming at us and we don't have to look, it is supplied. By the perpetrators? Not something they usually do. This case is not typical, I can feel it.'
Coffin nodded.
Mercy stood up. âThank you for seeing me and letting me talk ⦠I just wanted to let you know how uneasy Joe and I have been. In case anything goes wrong.'
âDo you think it will?'
Mercy nodded. âCould do. But how and what I can't tell ⦠just a feeling.'
âFeelings count,' said Coffin, speaking from memories of his past.
âI hear that another body has arrived in our area, courtesy of the killer of the other girls?'
Coffin nodded.
âNo connection with the paedophiles?'
âNot as far as I know. If you find one, let me know.' He was holding the door for her.
Never forgets he's a gentleman as well as the Boss, thought Mercy. âAt once, sir.'
She deserved a smile from him and got it.
Â
Phoebe and Gus took a leisurely walk through the little old churchyard, now a small park and then turned back to the tower where Coffin and Stella had made their home. Three stone steps led up to the front door. Phoebe had half convinced herself that she would find nothing, but there was a small parcel lying on the grey stone.
It was addressed to Stella.
âRight, Gus, we'll take it to your master.'
The parcel, in thick brown paper, typed address, was square and while not heavy just a trifle more solid than she had expected.
Managing Gus who was keen to get back to Coffin, she dropped the parcel. âShook that up a bit,' she said as she picked it up. âDon't suppose it matters.'
They walked up the stairs to Coffin's office since Gus did not like either the lift or the escalator and passed Paul Masters with a wave.
âWhat's that you've got there?' Masters asked.
Phoebe shook her head and marched in to the Chief Commander's office.
She handed the parcel over to Coffin who was seated at his desk, then looked at it. âSomething's leaked,' she said. âI dropped it, what did I do when I dropped it?'
She stared at her hand. âIt's blood.'
Â
Coffin took the packet from her, ripped off the paper, increasingly wet with blood. Inside was a tin that had once held biscuits, the lid had been dislodged when it fell. Perhaps it had never fitted very well, nor the packer cared.
In the box, swimming in its own blood, was a body organ.
âHuman,' said Coffin bluntly. Not dog, cat or horse but human, he was sure.
âA ute,' whispered Phoebe, she had done some premed stuff at university which had included anatomy. âI don't think it's human, though. Wrong size.'
âI know it is a uterus,' said Coffin, half to himself. âAnd there is a certain opacity which suggests there is an embryo inside.'
âIt's part of the paedophile crimes, I'm sure, damn it. I knew they were building up to even more nastiness.'
Through the blood he could see that the address bore Stella's name.
âWhy Stella?'
âI wondered that myself,' said Phoebe.
Stella Pinero, Lady Coffin but she preferred her professional name, was at that moment filming a comedy in Scotland. It was a good part, the best, and the film looked like being a big success. Coffin did not want anything to touch her happiness.
âI've never known Stella more bouyant, or sure that she was doing good work. And she is. I've seen some of the rushes ⦠she could get an award. It matters to her, I couldn't bear to take the shine off that. No, we must just catch the lunatic who's sending these messages. Shouldn't be difficult.'
âYou think whoever sent this to Stella knew about her success?'
Coffin shrugged. âShe's had some publicity in the national press recently' He added: âI shan't tell Stella.'
âWon't she find out?'
âI won't tell her, and you won't.'
Phoebe knew she would not say anything, but she had a well-founded respect for Stella's ability to winkle things out.
âPerhaps it's aimed more at you than Stella.' She added quietly : âI expect Mercy will have something cogent to say. I'll get this mess to her, shall I?'
âYou're in charge now.'
âMercy won't like that much.'
âShe's out of her depth, and knows it.'
Phoebe was not so sure: Mercy was a clever, hardworking officer. She was also ambitious. âWe've had a talk. And I met her by chance earlier today.'
âGood. Did she say anything?'
âNot much. We'll work together well enough,' Phoebe said.
âI hate the human race sometimes, don't you,' Coffin said aloud. It wasn't truly a question, but a statement, and a sad one.
Coffin went home after speaking to Phoebe, where he fed the dog and the cat. Stella had taken care to provide a variety of tins and packets, all of which the animals were said to like. He spooned the food, a fishy mixture for the cat, meaty for Gus, into the dishes and then stood back.
Gus inspected his dish, next to him the cat was carefully looking over her offering. Then she stood back while Gus came over to see what she had on offer.
Gus decided it was his day for fish, so the cat, judging it was wiser not to try sharing, started on his meat. It found favour.
Coffin stared down at them. I don't know what it is with you two, he said to himself, but when Stella feeds you then you eat what she gives you, when I put it out, you move around. I think you are passing judgement on me, not the food.
âWatch yourself, you two. Mind your manners or I will report you to the boss. She knows how to see you behave yourselves.'
After a while, the cat moved away from the dog's dinner, leaving it half finished. She gave Coffin an indifferent stare, then sat down to wash her face and paws. Presently Gus, a fast eater, finished the fish and turned his attention to what was left of his own meal which he despatched efficiently.
Coffin found it was relaxing and soothing talking to the animals who didn't care a damn for bloody guts inside tins, except possibly as food, but even this he doubted. Both of them liked their meals carefully and delicately presented to them. Stella had indulged them, no doubt about it.
âShe'll be home soon,' he said hopefully, âI ought to keep a watch on you two,' he said, stroking the cat's head. âTime we gave you a name. Angel no longer seems right. But I reckon
you like being anonymous.' He missed Stella and he didn't mind who knew it. No telephone call last night as promised, and when he'd called her mobile, no answer came there. Oh, she'd ring, of course she would, Stella wasn't the sort to disappear without a word. Nor did she approve of people who said they would telephone and then did not. Theatrical people suffered enough from that anyway. So did the police, thought Coffin as he walked away from the animals to make himself some tea.
Of course, sometimes it went the other way and you got calls you didn't want instead. Like the man who had been ringing up lately and saying he'd heard about the paedophile photographs and it was the police sending them to themselves.
Coffin sat at the kitchen table to drink his tea. The kitchen was half way up the winding stair, and he had come straight up there with the animals following him for their meal. Without Stella, he did not feel like penetrating further into his house. He had even been sleeping in the flat which the Chief Commander could use at will on the top floor of the police building. This was a plain but efficient set of rooms, always clean and tidy and ready for his use.
The young cat was now sitting on the windowsill. She turned to look at Coffin, then leapt to the floor.
âOh don't say it. You want to go out.'
The cat was already moving.
âCan't you go out through the kitchen window?'
It was a rhetorical question: in the first place, the young cat could not answer, and secondly, it was going down the staircase fast.
Coffin stumped down the stairs after him. Since his home was in an old church tower, it was a complex of staircases and oddly placed little corridors. He was fond of the cat, he liked all cats, but missing Stella made him irritable. No sign of Gus, but he had a way of disappearing until it suited him to show his furry face again.
But there was Gus at the foot of the stairs, looking up at him. He made a noise somewhere between a bark and a growl.
âWhat's up, Gus?'
Then he saw the figure lying, face down, on the corridor floor.
âStella ⦠my God, Stella.'
A bent and twisted arm lay at her side.
He had seen horrible sights enough in his time, but nothing had pierced his heart and guts like this.
Gus moved towards the arm, to sniff,
âNo, no, Gus, don't. Don't touch.'
Then he steadied himself.
Â
Â
âGood thing I telephoned,' said Stella, her voice clear and strong.
She was talking to Coffin later that day, late at night, after her day's filming. He was in their own sitting room in the tower of St Luke's drinking some claret.
âI've been trying to telephone you for hours.' He had not had a good day, he had been frightened and made a fool of over the mock body.
And there was a new horror which, at the moment, only he knew of.
âOnly to tell me I was dead â¦'
Coffin could pick up the hint of amusement. âOnly because it was you.' he said hotly. It had not been funny. âOr was pretending to be you. Plastic or some imitation. Pretty old and work-used mannequin.'
âOh thanks.'
Coffin ignored this. âForensics have taken it away to check.'
âI hope it wasn't wearing any of my clothes.'
âI don't think so.' About this he could not be sure, but they had not looked the quality of clothes that Stella wore.
âAnd how did the pseudo me get into the house?'
âThrough a small door at the side. It is locked, of course, but doesn't have all the security of the other door.'
âThat's because it's left for whoever is looking after Gus to get in and out for him and with him as necessary.'
She didn't sound in the least alarmed, but that was because he had not told her about the stalker business. Also because once, early in their relationship, she had said: I know you'll always look after me. She probably still believed it.
They looked after each other, of course, and sometimes he guessed he needed it the more. He never got used to the really horrifying details of some murders, although he had learnt not to show it.
âAny post?' she asked.
âEr ⦠No,' said Coffin. No need to tell her yet of the parcel dripping with blood. Later he would have to question her, just in case she could suggest a sender and a motive. âMight be a few bills. Why?' He thought he detected a nuance in her voice that made him want an answer.
âNo deliveries?'
âWere you expecting anything?' he prevaricated.
âI had a kind of a bill here.'
âIn Edinburgh?' He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.
âYes,' said Stella sharply. âIt's not on the moon, you know.'
âAll right, all right. Apologies to Scotland.'
âOh you're such an old Londoner.'
She was talking away because she didn't want to tell him about the bill received. They both knew it.
âCome on, Stella. It's this bill, I want to know. And you want to tell me, love, so don't dilly dally.'
Slowly, she said: âIt called itself an invoice â¦said it was for the delivery of a parcel and that I would receive the bill.'
âWhat was named in the invoice?' Coffin asked.
âDidn't say. Nor the price. Funny invoice, I thought.'
Funny altogether, thought Coffin.'
âHave I had a parcel?'
He was going to have to tell her, but not now, not over the telephone. âI will find out and let you know. But you will be home tomorrow.'
There was a pause. âAs bad as that? One of those things that I have to see with my own eyes.'
âNot quite ⦠it's in the forensic lab at the moment.'
âSo I won't even see it?'
âBetter not.'
Coffin realised he would have to tell Stella something of what was in the tin box, blood and all. He told her briefly.
Stella received it with some calm, but then she had not seen the offering, Coffin reflected.
âA nice present,' she said.
He would like to have said âNothing personal', but the figure dropped in their home suggested it was. âIt's part of a wider affair that is under investigation,' he said. Publicity about the paedophile case had been discouraged.
âThe murders of the girls?' asked Stella.
âOh, you've read about them?'
âOf course, it's not the moon up here as I just pointed out. The sins and violence of the Second City of London are dwelt upon with enthusiasm in Edinburgh and places north,' said Stella.
There was worse, but he was not going to tell her about the other victim.
âAs things are it's not easy to know what is connected with what, and what fits in where,' he said honestly.
âI bet you've got a feeling,' said Stella, who knew her man.
âThen you also know that feelings can be wrong.'
âYes, but I also now that those feelings that turn out to be wrong, can lead you to the answer. Underneath they can sometimes have a sort of truth.'
âHow did the show go?' said Coffin to change the subject. When Stella became philosophical it was often the beginning of a quarrel.
âOh pretty good, âsaid Stella, willingly diverted to her own interests. âI don't think it will go to a second series but my part was a beaut and there were hints of another home for it ⦠a development of it built entirely around my part ⦠I am to be a kind of modern witch.'
âYou will play it beautifully, my darling.'
Stella considered this, decided not to take offence, he might have said ânaturally' and in certain moods might have done upon which she would have felt bound to show irritation, even anger, but he had not said it, so she said it herself.
âNaturally.'
And then they both laughed. Their marriage was based on laughter rather than anger. Marriages could be built on anger, she knew that too. Look at the Macbeths ⦠that was anger all right.
âWhat are you laughing at?' demanded Coffin.
âI was feeling glad you weren't King Macbeth.'
âQuite glad myself.'
âI'm flying down tomorrow.'
âI'll send a car to Heathrow.'
He would not go himself: he knew he had another duty. Superintendent Miller and Inspector Winnie Ardet had told him that they wanted him to see the body of the latest murdered victim; and that he then might want to see where the body had been found.
He considered the message from Jack Miller and Winnie Ardet which Paul Masters had recorded and passed on.
Coffin had an uneasy feeling that a ghost was walking.
Â
âSuperintendent Miller rang,' Paul Masters said. âHe wanted to talk to you himself, but of course, you were at the committee meeting in Whitehall.'
âAnd a waste of time that was.'
Paul had come into Coffin's office to talk over a cup of coffee, carefully brewed by Paul himself from the best Mocha. The two men had an easy relationship. Paul was as neatly
and even elegantly dressed as usual but in contrast when you saw him at his desk, he would peer at you out of a mountain of files and folders. He knew his way through it all but few others would.
âMiller really wants to talk to you.'
âAnd for me to see today's victim.' The fourth, not yet named.
Paul nodded.
âJack Miller can be a tricky bastard,' said Coffin, pouring whisky into his coffee.
Paul looked thoughtful. He usually pretended not to hear when the Chief Commander let slip a criticism of a fellow officer.
Coffin added hastily: âHe doesn't usually want his hand held though.'
âI'm sorry it means you can't meet Miss Pinero off the flight.' Coffin drained his coffee. âWell, wheel them in when they arrive. I take it that Winnie Ardet is coming too?'
âOh yes, she rang me up herself.' Something in his voice made Coffin give him a sharp look. âI will see you have everything necessary so you are well briefed, sir.'
Â
When you are dealing with the likes of Jack Miller it is good to be well prepared, Paul Masters was right enough there, so Coffin had the files on the earlier murders sent to him.
He sat studying them.
First: Amy Buckly.
Second: Mary Rice,
Third: Phillida Jessup, name just established. Still to be confirmed.
Now a fourth girl, so far name unknown.
One thing all the deaths had in common, apart from the method of murder and the rape, was that they took place in the district of Spinnergate.