Coffin's Ghost (5 page)

‘I recognize your voice. And you, Ally.’

Ally was tall, thin, but capable of swift physical action if required. Learned behaviour, Mary thought sadly.

The two women had been friends and enemies since schooldays, the relationship not improved by the fact that Ally was indeed Mrs Beetham, although she called herself Ally Carver. Husbands and lovers had shuttled between the two since they first took up sex. It was bad luck that had brought them into the refuge at the same time.

Or had they fixed it between them? With this pair, you never knew.

Evelyn was examining Ally’s nose. ‘Not broken. It’ll stop bleeding soon.’ She produced a wad of tissues which she held to the nose. ‘And keep quiet.’

‘What’s it all about?’ demanded Mary. ‘No, don’t tell me. Come to the office later. I wish we had a vow of silence in this place.’

The battle was over, showing every sign of starting again. ‘Her fault,’ muttered Ally through the tissues. ‘And you can’t say we’ll have the police in, ‘cause we got them already. And they will know about whose fault it is . . . they know.’

‘She said my Billy was simple.’ The rejoinder came from Miriam in a loud voice. ‘So I hit her. Do it again.’

‘He is simple.’

Looks sharp enough to me, thought Mary, ageless too, six coming on sixty and the devil kissed him. Now what do I mean by that, she asked. I mean he’s wicked through and through. Shouldn’t think like that, should you? Children can’t be wicked.

But she knew they could be.

‘Tidy up the room,’ she said. ‘And get Billy to help you. And calm down. Have a cup of tea.’

There was always tea and milk left ready in the sitting room.

‘It’s because of what was left on the doorstep,’ called Miriam after them. ‘We’re all upset.’

The child Billy gave a cry, something between a wail and a hiccup of laughter.

I think he likes bits of bodies, Mary thought. But no, he can’t know anything about it. We haven’t said: Keep quiet, the police told us.

On the stairs, she said to Evelyn, ‘What is wicked?’

Over another cup of coffee, Evelyn said she thought it was a matter of feeling. You felt something or someone was wicked.

‘Even a child? I shouldn’t have been so sharp with those two. Not professional. Gentle does it.’

‘You mean Billy, I suppose?’ said Evelyn, crunching a biscuit. ‘The wicked bit?’

‘Yeah.’

‘He’s a mite young to get the full judgement, but he’s coming on nicely.’

‘They all know about the parcels of limbs on the steps. When they asked, I said I had no idea. But they know. They know there wouldn’t be all that police activity for just a dead dog.’

‘Probably making guesses who it is.’

‘Oh God, yes.’ Good accurate guesses too. On such a subject they would be well-informed.

‘Phoebe Astley will know how to handle it, she’ll assess what they say, work out if there is anything in it.’

‘They’ll say plenty.’ Mary continued to be gloomy. ‘Make it up if they have to.’

‘Phoebe . . .’ began Evelyn.

‘Yes, she’ll know how to weave her way through it. If she does it herself. You know how it goes.’ They were not without experience in police visits. ‘Uniformed branch first, then CID, it’ll be women because of what we are, and then, if it’s important, we shall get the top brass. Or toppish. Remember how it was when Jodie Spinner hid the stuff her husband had stolen in her bedroom?’

Evelyn nodded. That had brought Chief Inspector Astley in sharpish.

‘She’ll check on the really interesting stuff . . . if any.’

‘I wouldn’t mind asking her a few questions myself.’

The interesting thing was that Phoebe Astley had been round here so speedily that morning, even before the first SOCO team had finished photographing the front steps. Off again now.

She had not had much to say, even to Mary. Police business, her expression said.

Evelyn said: ‘Do you think it could be Henriette?’

‘The dead woman? Etta? Oh no, she went home to France.’

‘We’ve never heard from her. No one has.’

Henriette Duval had worked with Mary and Evelyn in the Serena Seddon for about eighteen months to earn her keep while doing an English language course at the University of the Second City. Then she had said her farewells and gone home to Versailles.

‘Oh, but that’s not so surprising.’

‘She said she would keep in touch. We liked her, everyone did, and she was marvellous at cleaning the kitchen, a real eye for dirt.’

‘People always say they will keep in touch; they hardly ever do. Doesn’t make her a candidate for being chopped up.’

Evelyn was quiet for a minute, then she said: ‘Thought I saw her in Drossers Lane Market. Tried to catch up with her but she disappeared.’

Mary shrugged. ‘A mistake, the girl just looked like Etta.’

‘Not many like Etta . . . red hair, tall and thin, skirts up to her thigh. No, I thought it was Etta.’ She added: ‘With a man, of course.’

‘Well . . . Etta . . .’ said Mary. ‘If it was Etta . . .’

‘She would be with a man.’

‘Still doesn’t make her a candidate for killing.’

‘You know the sort she went with: either villains or policemen. Both the type that might kill and cut up a girl.’

Mary wondered what Phoebe Astley would make of this comment, then realized she would raise an eyebrow and laugh, half accepting the judgement. It was true, the police did deal in violence.

Some truth in what Evelyn said then; violence was part of their life for the police. For some of them, not necessarily the worse, just the more vulnerable, perhaps because of something inside, it rubbed off on them.

‘Just because you saw Etta alive in Drossers Lane Market doesn’t mean she’s going to turn up dead on our doorstep.’

Evelyn looked unconvinced.

‘You can’t even be sure it was her.’

Evelyn looked even more unconvinced, and Mary remembered that you could never argue Evelyn out of anything: she just got more stubborn.

‘Have another cup of coffee,’ she said instead. ‘Swimming in it already.’ But Evelyn held out her cup. ‘Should I say anything about it when I am interviewed. I suppose we
are
being interviewed?’

Mary nodded. ‘Bound to be. Especially you, you found the bundles.’

‘I’ve already told them about that.’

The police noises about the house were becoming quieter; Mary sensed that they would be leaving. And others coming.

‘We’ve all answered a few questions. It’s just a beginning. We will have to go through it again, and perhaps again.’

‘Even if we don’t know anything?’

‘They have to be convinced of that.’

‘You seem to know a lot about it.’

Yes, thought Mary. I once went to bed with a policeman. In fact, quite often. It lasted about six months. I learnt a lot.

I learnt that you could lie to him, and get away with it, or thought you had, but somehow in the end, and sometimes not too much later, you found the truth came out.

Not that I ever had much to lie about, she added to herself. If I did it at all it was in self-protection because otherwise I would have gone up in smoke.

A uniformed sergeant appeared at the door. ‘Just off, Miss Arden. Anyway for the moment, but there is a constable on the door and the forensic team would like to come in, if that’s all right?’

Mary nodded assent.

‘Try saying no,’ growled Evelyn as he left.

‘You go home. If you are wanted, I’ll telephone you. Don’t go out to eat a quick curry with Peter though, just in case.’

Evelyn swung her shoulder bag on. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it. Peter doesn’t eat curry. But I’d like to get back. Miss Pinero has two new contacts who might be putting together a show: Freedom and Gilchrist, sound like a stand-up comedy team, don’t they? And they have this driver and handyman who aids and assists. All means business, which as you know has not been brisk lately. But you can always trust Miss Pinero to bring it in, I say.’ Having said this, at the door, she turned. ‘Look after yourself, and do ring me if there is anything I can do.’

‘Miriam and Ally will be quiet now, they like each other, you only quarrel like that with friends. I’m on their side, or I wouldn’t be here. But they don’t like to feel I am kind of a social doctor treating a disease, so in a way they feel better
when I lose my temper. It puts us on a level.’ She added: ‘You have to be a bit tough sometimes, of course.’

‘Yes, sure,’ said Evelyn. With a wave, she was gone.

After the front door banged behind Evelyn, and she heard her speaking to the constable outside, Mary tidied up the coffee pot and cups, then went up the stairs to see Miriam and Ally.

She passed one of the other occupants on the way up. ‘Everything all right, Fanny?’

‘Fine, Mary. I’m just off to get my prescription from Dr Meener. The police girl said it was all right.’

‘You do that then.’

Fanny nodded towards the sitting room door. ‘They all right, then?’

‘I think so.’

‘Do they know who it is outside? Whose bits, I mean?’

Mary said, No, not as far as she knew.

‘I just wondered . . .’ Then Fanny stopped. Mary waited. ‘Just wondered if it was that foreign girl who helped here for a bit.’

Mary said in a careful way: ‘I think she went home.’

‘Only I saw her around in Poland Street.’

Poland Street was close, very close to Drossers Lane Market. In fact, Drossers Lane Market was virtually in Poland Street.

‘The other day . . . She did put it about a bit.’

‘You’d better tell the police when they ask questions. If you think it’s important.’

‘Might be, mightn’t it?’ and Fanny took herself down the stairs and out the front door.

Mary made her way to the communal sitting room where Ally and Miriam were sitting companionably side by side, smoking and watching TV. The boy, watching too, no longer looked evil, but just like any unsettled child who had seen too much of life for his age.

Someone, Miriam probably, had made the room tidy, picking up the knocked-over furniture and restoring the cushions to the sofa. Someone else, again probably Miriam, had made a pot of tea and yet another person, and this time probably the boy, had managed to get a bag of chips which they were
now passing from hand to hand in a peaceful and friendly fashion.

They had been joined by one of the new arrivals, Betty, who had come in last night and was still nervous. She seemed to have been welcomed into the group and was certainly getting tea and a sympathetic chip.

‘You shouldn’t be eating chips, Miriam,’ Mary reminded her. ‘You know what the doctor said.’

No one bothered to answer this comment, although Betty looked even more nervous.

And who could blame her, Mary thought. What a welcome to the Serena.

The chip bag was waved in her direction, and absently she took one. The vinegar and salt were harsh and strong but somehow it was tasty. The programme they were watching didn’t look bad either.

At this point, Billy slipped off the sofa and, ignoring his mother’s request to sit still and stop being a regular nuisance, went to the window.

‘There’s men out there in white suits like ghosts,’ he announced loudly.

‘Scientists, forensic ones,’ growled his mother. ‘Seen on the telly.’

Mary went to the window to look. Three men in hooded white cotton outfits were on their knees.

‘What are they doing round the side of the house?’ demanded Billy acutely. ‘The bits were found on the steps.’

Mary had been wondering this herself. ‘They have to study the ground all around.’

A sudden burst of laughter from the sofa drew the boy back to the television screen, muttering that it was a waste of time out there.

Mary, who had been thinking this herself, moved away from the window and towards the door.

As she touched the handle, Miriam said, over her shoulder and not looking at Mary, not taking her eyes off the television screen: ‘They found a handbag there, round the side of the house.’

Mary swung round, walked over and deliberately planted
her body between them and the television screen. Impolite, pushy, irritating, but essential, as experience had taught her.

‘Where’d you get that from?’

Miriam gave a little nod of her head sideways. ‘Betty told me.’

Mary looked at Betty, who shifted her shoulders uneasily – alarm came promptly to her.

I must be gentle, Mary reacted at once, I am not always gentle enough here.

No, perhaps gentleness isn’t right. What is needed is to give to each what they need, and that is harder, because you have to be intelligent and responsive.

Words, she said to herself sadly, you use too many words, girl. ‘Where did you learn that, Betty?’

Betty looked down and fidgeted again. ‘The copper told me,’ she whispered.

‘The one on duty outside?’ said Mary doubtfully. It didn’t sound likely.

‘I was at school with him,’ Betty whispered. ‘We lived next door. My brother was his best mate.’

‘Right . . .’ Mary hesitated, wondering whether to say anything. ‘Perhaps he didn’t mean you to tell anyone else.’

Betty was silent. ‘Only told Miriam. She asked.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Miriam, again without turning her head. ‘You can trust us: we won’t tell our stories to the newspapers or TV. Unless they pay us.’

‘Ha, ha.’ A mirthless comment from Mary as she left the room; she never found it easy to know when Miriam was joking. No doubt Miriam could have said the same of her. We don’t understand each other, that’s the truth of it, she thought, giving Miriam a last look: an enigma wrapped up in a thick cosy cover of flesh, and inside not cosy at all.

That helped explain the boy. And probably why she was here in the refuge.

From the policeman to Betty, from Betty to Miriam, and from Miriam to me, this was the channel of communication.

Mary walked down the stairs wishing she could talk to Phoebe Astley. Phoebe always gave a straight answer to a
question. If asked if the dead woman was Etta, Henriette Duval, who had worked in the refuge, she would answer Yes or No.

If she could. Answers did not always come easy.

And if asked further if it was possible her killer could be a member of the Second City Force, Phoebe would answer that too. But with circumspection.