âI knew the Chief Commander would want to see everyone working on the various cases,' said Paul Masters. âI took the liberty of calling a meeting.' This was one of the occasions when Masters' slightly pedantic way of speaking was effective.
There they all were: Superintendent Miller and Inspector Winnie Ardet sitting near each other, Sergeant Mercy Adams and Phoebe Astley facing each other across a small table.
âI think we've all thought for some time now that it was all one case,' said Phoebe. âFelt like it, somehow.'
âYou're not usually one for intuition,' said Paul.
âGrowing on me,' She grinned at him. âComes of working with you.'
âJoe will be sorry to miss this,' said Mercy, to no one in particular. She had worked with him, and although not an easy colleague (which was not telling everything, by any means) she respected his mental powers. Mercy was back at work but looking pale. Had she come back too soon? A few more days off?
âStill not up to much?' This was Paul, never much of an admirer of Joe since they had worked together in the early days. Bit of a hypochondriac he had decided. Likewise a grabber. âWhat did he say?'
âDidn't speak to him. Always hard to get through Josephine.' Joe and Josephine, thought Mercy. Is that why they married? âHis wife said he was having a bad day.'
âHaving one myself,' said Paul. He stood up as Coffin came in. âMorning, sir.'
Gus had come with his master.
âAnd how is Miss Pinero?' This was Jack Miller who never minded asking questions, which made him a good detective, if a difficult friend.
âGone into the theatre, but she
is
going to see a doctor,' said Coffin with decision. âMight go myself. It's been a bad time.' He looked around at the team, assessing their mood. âYou all know what happened to Stella and the photograph she came back with.'
âDo you think she was allowed to escape on purpose?' This was Miller again.
âNot the way she tells it.'
But does she know? thought Miller. This time he kept quiet, although he caught Phoebe's eye and guessed she was thinking the same.
âShe got away, but she was dazed. She'd had a blow to the head which is why she is going to see the doctor whether she likes it or not. And I may say that she does not.' Coffin allowed himself a grin.
âShe's a brave woman,' said Phoebe, who had known what it was to be in awe of Stella.
âShe's an actress,' said Coffin. âI think she's frightened enough which is why I want these two men caught.'
âIf it had been a genuine black cab, that should not have been too difficult,' said Phoebe, but she said it doubtfully, her doubts accentuated when Masters said at once that it must have been stolen.
âThe man could never have been a genuine, licensed cab driver.'
âThat shows a nice feeling towards London cab drivers, but I agree with you. He was a phoney, a fake. He told Stella I had sent him'.
âAn actor, do you think?'
There was a silence.
âWorth thinking about,' said the Chief Commander. âCapable of putting on an act, anyway.'
Coffin knew all about theatre folk. In theory, they knew little about what had happened to Stella, but he was betting the word was already buzzing around. She had been kidnapped, she had been raped, she had been murdered. How
the stories got around, he never knew, but circulate they did.
Some people looked surprised when Stella walked in, others, so she complained, looked disappointed. She herself felt less confident and cheerful than she was prepared to admit: someone out there was after her. She knew she was protected; without telling her, Coffin would have sent at least one person to guard her. She had not identified that person yet but give her time and she would. He would certainly be in and out himself on one pretext or another, and she might even encourage it. It was not going to be easy to check the comings and goings of strangers in the complex which included one large theatre, a smaller experimental theatre, and a tiny space used by schools, not to mention an even smaller one work had just begun upon. In addition there were two restaurants, one more casual and easier to walk in and out of than the other.
Stella had invented the theatre in the old, disused church of St Lukes and then she had moved with her husband into the former church tower which, to both their surprise, had converted well into a home. She took pride in the success of her theatre in the Second City of London. She was inclined to congratulate herself on the way the Second City (once the home of empty factories and derelict docks) had prospered.
She had enriched herself and the theatre, she believed, through her activities, but Mimsie Marker, that famed local figure and seller of newspapers, had warned her that success brought enemies. And Mimsie, as she pointed out, ought to know, being herself a local success story, reputed to own a Rolls (actually a Bentley, much classier, anyone could have a Rolls) and a handsome house down by the river.
Stella spent the morning reading scripts, then she had arranged to lunch with Tony Amato, a well known actor, whom she wanted to persuade to sign up for a new play. He was at the same time plain of feature and immensely attractive.
To both sexes. In fact, he was practically a third sex in himself. But he never made an advance to Stella because as an employer he found it wiser to regard her as a sexual neutral. Go to bed with someone who is employing you and you can be in trouble. Besides, he feared the Chief Commander.
Stella knew all this and did not resent his behaviour.
They ate in the large dining room, at Stella's usual table in the window.
âI like what you are offering me.' Tony said as they ate.
âOh good, I thought you would.' What was on offer was the part of a sharp-tongued but charming detective who always got his man. There was a certain humour there which all parties recognised. It would run for six weeks, not long, but the productions in St Luke's Theatre were well thought of and carefully reviewed in all the right places. In addition, a job there often led to a prestigious part elsewhere.
âI'll have to talk to Freddy, of course.'
âOf course,' Freddy Braun was his agent. âI can't pay a lot.' Tony grinned. âOh that reminds me ⦠although I don't know why it should.' He reached in his pocket. âAs I was parking the car, a chap asked me if I knew you, when I said I did ⦠didn't saying I was lunching with you, sounded like boasting ⦠he asked would I give you this.' He handed over a crumpled envelope.
âWho was this man? What did he look like?'
âI didn't take much in, I was in a hurry to get to you, Stella. He had dark specs on.'
âAre you sure it's for me?' asked Stella. The envelope was crumpled but with no name on it.
âHe said so. Sorry it looks like that, but I put it in my pocket and forgot it.'
âI'll open it later.'
Â
She did open the letter when she was alone. She read:
YOU'VE GOT AWAY TWICE NOW. DON'T THINK YOU'LL GET AWAY AGAIN.
âYes, I will,' said Stella defiantly. âAgain and again.'
âWhat does he mean, you got away
twice
?' demanded Coffin.' Once, yes, last night, but the other time?'
âI don't know,' said Stella.
âYou must think. Try to remember.'
Stella walked to the window to look out. They were in St Luke's Tower, in the sitting room up the winding staircase. It was a room in which Stella always felt safe and happy. Gus the dog, and the cat were with them. She put out a hand to stroke the cat. âMy comfort object.' Gus pushed up to her. âYou too, dear boy.'
âShe turned to her husband. âI debated showing you the letter. I almost didn't.'
âOh Stella, why not?'
She reached out and took his hand. âI think I was frightened what you would do.'
âI'd always protect you, Stella.'
Sensing her distress, Gus climbed up on to her lap, the cat thought about it for a minute then followed. Stella started to laugh.
âI know.'
âI never saw the man who delivered this note, but had a sort of feeling that I knew one of the people in the car. Not the driver, I couldn't see his face, but the one that tried to get into the car. The one I pushed.'
âI wish you had told me this at once.'
âI was thinking about it, wondering if it was so and, if so, how and where.'
There was a double ring at the doorbell. Stella looked at her husband in alarm.
âIt's just our dinner ⦠I ordered it from Maxim's.'
Gus barked.
âYes, something for you too.'
âI hope you ordered something for the cat as well.'
âOf course, I did.'
âI do love you.'
âAnd I love you.' More than you know, I expect, or want to think about.
âSometimes, I'm frightened.'
âAnd do you think I am not?'
Stella looked at him with those large, lovely eyes, which could express so much, actresswise, of love, support, confidence, but were not doing so now. All he could read there was puzzlement and doubts.
She really thinks men are different animals, and within that species, policemen are different again.
Perhaps we are, he thought, drawing back a little. Perhaps we
are
different animals and don't know it. You might not. After all, a cat doesn't necessarily know it's not a dog.
Then he saw the young cat observing with bright green eyes, tail flicky. Oh yes, you know you are not a dog ⦠But do you know you are a cat? That's different again, isn't it?
The cat looked at him, eyes lucid and sharp.
Yes, he decided, he knew he was a cat, and a male cat at that. Castrated too, but one who had been getting amorous with Gus, which puzzled Gus and Coffin. They must take the cat down to the vet's and do something about that.
He hurried to the door where one of Maxim's large family was carrying a tray.
âOh thanks, it's Joe, isn't it?'
âNo, I'm Jim, but we all look alike.' He grinned.
âNow let me see, are you the philosopher or the historian?' They were a clever family of six boys and one girl, but Maxim demanded that all, whatever their intellectual aspirations, worked as often as they could in the family firm, which, as he pointed out, financed their expensive educations.
âNo, I'm the medical student, so I shall be in hock to my father for a while as my training takes so long.' He grinned
again as he took the money from Coffin. âDid the chap who was prowling round the theatre bar find Miss Pinero?'
âWhat man was that?' asked Coffin alertly.
âDidn't give a name, just asked for her, said he'd been going round looking for her and he'd lost her twice.'
âDid he indeed,' said Coffin. Police talk, he thought to himself, you don't talk like that to Stella or your friends or the cat and dog. âWhat was he like?'
Jim pursed his lips. âWe were pretty busy, in fact very busy, so I didn't look hard. Tall, thin, one of those ambiguous sorts. A man probably, but really androgynous. You wonder if he even had a sex.'
Coffin thought he was lucky to have got the medical student, who was alert to nuances of sex and behaviour: he hadn't looked at the man hard, but he had thought him ambivalent and he hadn't liked him.
Jim shook his head. âMr Now-you-see-him, Now-you-don't.'
âDidn't
want
you to notice him, maybe?' tried Coffin.
âOh, he wanted me to notice him all right. I could tell. I didn't like him. No reason, just one of those feelings. I wouldn't have told him where Miss Pinero was even if I had known, but I didn't.'
Coffin picked up the tray of food which he had put down âBetter start thinking of eating this.' He wasn't hungry, nor did he suppose Stella was, but life must go on.
âSir â¦'
âYes?' he turned back.
âI heard a story that another person had been stabbed ⦠cut up. Murdered. Like the others. But a kid this time.'
âWhere did you get that from?' said Coffin at once. He did not believe it.
Jim hesitated. âI think I heard the old weirdo telling someone.'
Stuff not to tell Stella, Coffin thought, as he got away. No more bad news, please, he said to himself.
Â
Coffin marched up the stairs to where Stella sat, carrying the tray of food which he had chosen carefully from Stella's favourite dishes. Smoked salmon, then cold roast chicken with salad and a chocolate mousse. Stella would eat the chocolate mousse under pressure, murmuring about her weight and waist, but she would enjoy it. âYou are spoiling me,' she might say, but Coffin thought she needed spoiling. And as it happened, quite by chance of course, he liked all those dishes himself.
Even policemen needed spoiling occasionally.
âYou're smiling,' Stella said as he came into the room. She was sitting up, looking more composed. When she saw what he was carrying, she stood up.
âThat deserves the best we can offer it. Give me ten minutes to change into something â¦' she hesitated.
âMore festive?'
âSomething prettier anyway.' And do her hair and perhaps a little scent.
Coffin looked at her with pleasure; life was coming back into Stella, and this time she wasn't acting.
âRight,' he said. âI'll get out the silver and set the table.'
Gus kept his eyes on the tray: he knew that smell and it meant good food. The new cat, younger, more innocent and not so used to the ways of the house, but wise, took her cue from Gus and sidled up to where he was. What he did, cat would do.
When Stella came back, she was wearing a soft apricot pink velvet gown and gold slippers. This outfit had been part of the success of âPrivate Lives' in which Stella had starred. She enjoyed playing in Coward, he offered so much to an actress, and she had bought those of the costumes which suited her best. They had been made for her after all and no one else could wear them. Nor could you give them a part in the latest Pinter.
âYou look like an actress,' said her husband, giving her a kiss. âGlorious.'
Stella looked at him and laughed. âI always know when you are lying.'
It was a verbal game in which they took much pleasure. A cut and thrust with erotic undertones appreciated and enjoyed by both parties.
She went up to him and kissed him on the cheek. âFood, first please. After that ⦠well, we'll see.'
It was not an occasion for champagne, Coffin had decided, although, thank God, he had Stella back, but he poured some good red wine.
When he judged the moment right, Coffin said quietly: âWe'll get the chap.'
â
Chaps
,' said Stella. âTwo of them.'
By her quickness she had let Coffin see how disturbed she was. He could not blame her.
âYes, two men. We'll have them, Stella.'
âYou think I can't face this, but I can. These men are the killers who are murdering women in the Second City. I haven't counted the deaths but I know from the way you have been behaving that there are far too many.'
âToo many,' echoed Coffin. Before his eyes he had a picture of one of the bodies he had seen on the mortuary table. They all differed slightly while having a hideous similarity. The thought that Stella might have been another of them: bloody, battered, ripped open, made him feel sick. He took some more red wine.
âYou're hiding something, aren't you?' said Stella. It was a statement more than a question.
âNo, of course not.' He poured her another drink.
Stella shook her head at the wine. âI told you I could always tell when you were lying ⦠then it was a joke, but now it's true. You are lying; you are hiding something.'
Coffin remained silent.
âCome on now, I know you're not hiding a secret mistress in New York, nor that you have helped defraud a bank of over a million because you look like such an honest police chief. Nor have you murdered anyone or shot the cat.'
The cat in question looked up alertly.
Coffin tried to laugh, but found he couldn't.
âYou're trying to protect me,' said Stella, âand that's what is frightening me.'
He could see what she meant. So he told her what he had just heard.
âI suppose I guessed. Thanks for protecting me from the bitter truth. Or trying, bless you.'
âIs that how you really feel?'
âOf course it is. ' She reached out her hand for his.
âDarling Stella.'
âOld Weirdo, yes, he sounds like my fella. I shouldn't get upset. I know I am safe with you.' She had her fingers crossed.
They were standing close together, with Gus on Coffin's feet, when the telephone rang.
âI won't answer it,' said Coffin.
Stella said sadly: âBut you must.'
He turned towards the telephone. âI'll give it time to ring off.'
But they both knew it would not.
âIt might not be for you. Shall I answer it?' Words, idle words, she thought. I'm not going to answer the call. I'm frightened and he knows I am frightened. Scared silly, but I am not going to admit it. âNo, don't answer that. I know it's for you.'
The Chief Commander would not be disturbed at home, after the sort of day he had had and been known to have, unless it was important.
Coffin picked up the telephone. âHello, John Coffin here.' He listened without a word. Then: âRight, thank you, Phoebe. You want me over there?'
There was a mutter which Stella could not hear but which she could guess at. Phoebe Astley
did
want him over there, wherever there was. âI'm not jealous of you, Phoebe, but you do pull rank on occasion. Not that I blame you: you're the
detective and I'm not.' Then a wicked, irreverent thought came to her: But I have the better hairdresser.
Coffin came back, his expression hard to read.
âIt's not good is it? Something bad? Another murder? It is, isn't it? No, don't answer, I know it is. We both knew it as soon as the telephone rang.'
He nodded. âYes, another killing.'
âOne in the series?'
He hesitated. âProbably. Seems likely. ' He would like to believe not, but he could not.
âSo the old weirdo was right?'
He took his time answering. âWe can't tell yet.'
âThere's something else,' said Stella. She could read his face.
âYes,' said Coffin, sadly.
âGo on, you must tell me.'
âNot a woman but a child.'
âA child? A child may not be part of the series.' Stella was reluctant to accept it.
âThe working team think so ⦠I do too, Stella, with nothing to go on except intuition.' He hesitated before saying that he would have to go to the site and see the body. He tried for lightness. âYou'll have Gus to look after you.' In fact, he hated leaving Stella, but he would see that there was a protective presence in a police car outside St Luke's Tower. Phoebe had suggested it as a sensible precaution, which was one of the reasons for thinking this death was one of the terrible series.
âLet me come too.'
âDarling, you couldn't do anything. You would not even be allowed on the murder scene.'