A Grave Coffin. Gwendoline Butler
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flats and eighteenth-century dock houses become cherished dwelling places again. Meanwhile, the indigenous population resisted rehousing in tower blocks as far as it could, preferring, with an obstinacy that had served them well in the past, to live in the old terraces of houses that had survived the bombs.
There were bombs sometimes now, although planted overnight or delivered in person by hand or mortar and not dropped from the air, but these bombs too the Second City could cope with and survive.
Coffin was most familiar with Spinnergate because this was where he lived in the tower of the old St Luke’s Church, now secularized to provide him a home, as well as being the site of St Luke’s Theatre complex. His wife, Stella Pinero, was the theatrical brain behind the theatre, while his half-sister, Letty Bingham, a much-married wealthy banker and lawyer, helped on the money side.
Dog and man strode through Spinnergate, companionable and silent. Augustus encouraged his master to walk as much as possible on the grounds of health and pleasure: he was thinking of himself, but he had noticed that master (not a word Augustus accepted, food giver, walker, protector, these were how he thought of Coffin in a wordless way) needed little persuasion. Augustus had a few words: his own name, walks, dinner, these sounds he recognized, more complex emotions were known but not given labels.
But Augustus recognized the route they were taking and felt a tinge of depression, he was going to the ‘other place’, this being how he sensed Coffin’s office. It was a kind of home to him, he was welcomed, he had a warm corner, there was a bowl of water, even food on occasion, but that said, he was ignored. This obliged him to plant himself across Coffin’s feet to remind the man of his existence.
Coffin strode in, was greeted politely at the door, and took the lift to his offices. In the outer office, were two secretaries who changed constantly, usually through a career move or a baby. One woman, the tall, well-dressed Sheila, had been with him for some time now and he had hopes she would stay. Coffin valued constancy in his relationships.
He nodded and spoke to Sheila, then looked across to the corner of the room where his valued assistant, Inspector Paul Masters, had created a kind of personal territory.
Paul got up and came across. ‘Good afternoon, sir. Letters and messages as usual on your desk.’
‘Right.’ Coffin was already walking towards his own quarters while Augustus was sidling across to Sheila, a known and secret source of chocolate. ‘Anything special?’
Paul Masters hesitated. ‘You’ve spoken to the chief superintendent … I don’t know more than he will have told you then.’
‘He told me a boy had been found, dead, and identified by his father. One of the missing boys. And parts from another.’
‘That’s right, sir. It’s all that’s known at the moment. The chief superintendent was off to see the father, but he wanted to get in touch with you first.’
Coffin advanced to look at his desk where Paul Masters had arranged a display of files and papers. He had an aesthetic sense, Coffin always felt, so that papers, although grouped logically, were fanned out in a neat presentation. He even managed to control the faxes, while keeping them in a separate group. All the same, they represented work, work and work, and there was always a special collection marked URGENT.
‘He will be in to see you, sir, after he has seen the father.’
‘Who is running the investigation?’
‘The chief superintendent is in overall charge, of course – he’s keeping a watching eye on things.’
‘And who’s running the investigation?’ he asked again. He was shuffling the papers on his desk as he spoke. All the information he was asking for would be there, but it was quicker to get it out of Paul Masters, who might also oblige with a few case histories of the officers concerned, and how well they were doing the job. This was done tactfully, but Coffin knew how to read between the lines.
‘Inspector Paddy Devlin is the senior officer in charge, with Sergeant Tony Tittleton … they are both very experienced in dealing with children.’
‘Experienced children-watchers?’
‘That’s it, sir. Paddy Devlin, whom I know quite well, sir, I trained with her, handled the paedophile case in East Hythe last year. She is very, very competent.’ Due for promotion too, and hopeful of getting it.
Red-haired and handsome too, but he did not mention this fact.
‘Yes, I remember now. Nasty case. Is there reckoned to be any connection with this lot?’
‘Could be, but I haven’t heard it said.’ One of Paul Masters’s assets to Coffin was that he heard all the gossip that got held back from Coffin. It worked both ways, because if there was anything an officer wanted Coffin to know then he would take care to let Paul Masters know. ‘But it is one of the things they will be looking out for, of course.’
Coffin handed over to him the computer in its case, and the bag of documents.
‘Get this computer to John Armstrong and ask him to get back, if he can, all wiped documents. It’s urgent.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And the documents in the bag: I want them photocopied. I will think about the next step when that is done. They are confidential.’
‘I’ll do them myself.’
‘Good.’
Paul Masters disappeared tactfully while Coffin turned to the papers on his desk. He did not dislike the task as much as he sometimes let people think; there was satisfaction in running a tidy, tight ship.
He read and signed letters, initialled reports, reflecting as he did so that the end product of a career as an ambitious and successful detective was to be an administrator.
However, with some skill and some luck, he had kept his hand in as a detective. Just as well, he considered, in view of the job now handed to him by Ed Saxon.
As to that matter, he had no idea where to start, and the very clear idea that it seemed stupid to separate what he was asked to do from the investigation into the death of Harry Seton.
Not that he intended to do that himself; he would be thinking about Harry’s death with every move he made. And the note found on Harry’s PC suggested that the Met team would be thinking about him.
Maybe they should meet.
The sound of voices in the outer office disturbed him; Paul Masters knocked and put his head round the door.
‘Chief Superintendent Young is here, sir.’
It gave Coffin pleasure that it had been he who had promoted his old friend and fellow worker to this rank, but Archie deserved it. A tall, still thin man (his wife kept an eye on his diet) with a kind heart and a shrewd brain. An invaluable comrade and friend.
Now the man looked sober. ‘Not good news, I’m afraid. You know the outline of the case: over a period of two months, four boys have gone missing.’
Coffin nodded.
‘Three still missing and one found,’ said Archie Young heavily. ‘And the leg of another child, possibly one of those missing.’
Coffin had a list:
Matthew Baker, aged eight years and three months.
Archie Chinner, ten years old and one month.
Dick Neville, eleven years old and a week.
Charles Rick, ten years old and four months.
‘And which one has been found?’
Archie Young’s voice was still quiet and sombre. ‘Archie Chinner was the boy whose body was found. He was hidden in the bushes on that bit of scrubland where the Delaware Factory once was. It’s due for redevelopment but nothing much has happened yet. As I told you, a courting couple found him last night.’
‘Who