Gwendoline Butler - The Coffin Tree

Phoebe made her way to the door. ‘Did Albert live here then?’

‘Always lived here, never lived anywhere else. His mother before that, and her mother. There used to be a lot of them. “Wherever you go, there’s a Waters”, Mother used to say. Not true now. Only Albert left.’

Coffin and Albert Waters had been joined by Superintendent Young who intended to keep a friendly but watchful presence on the scene. Around them in the long coach, the mobile incident room was busy setting itself up. Phones were already ringing on two desks (no one was answering them, Coffin noticed), while a young policewoman sat staring at a laptop computer. The screen woke up and started to spell out a message to her, she did not react.

Albert Waters did though. ‘I know her, she used to walk round here when she was training.’

The WPC turned her head and gave him a smile.

‘You’ve got a lot of friends,’ said Coffin.

‘Wouldn’t call Brenda Thorn a friend, she doesn’t like me. But then I don’t go a lot for her. She says I built the bonfire, well I didn’t. If she’d looked she’d have seen me at work in the garden at the back. I saw her, getting her washing in.’

‘So this confirms his story and hers,’ said Coffin, as he and Phoebe exchanged information. ‘He saw her doing what she says she did do.’

‘But she didn’t see him. I did ask, as I left, I said: “Did you see Mr Waters when you got the washing in?” and she said that no, she hadn’t seen a thing, but Albert could be invisible when he liked. And she didn’t mean it kindly, not really friends, those two.’

‘So he says.’

‘I think the really important thing that comes out is that she thought there were two people … One who climbed up on the fire and who was wearing trousers and was big, and one the other side.’

‘But invisible?’

‘That’s right,’ said Phoebe. ‘I think she was hinting at Albert.’

‘A hint isn’t evidence. Do you think she saw anything or anyone?’

‘Yes,’ said Phoebe, ‘I think she did.’

‘Can’t say who or won’t say? In your opinion?’

Phoebe shrugged. ‘I think she’s gone as far as she can.’ To herself, she added: Give her a hot, full teapot and who knows what might come out?

Coffin said: ‘I’m going to walk the ground again. See what I can see. Come with me.’

Lighting was being set up as night came on. The body was being moved under the careful eye Of the police surgeon and a pathologist; they were moving it carefully because burnt bodies are fragile.

Coffin watched for a moment, then eyes down, paced the grass. ‘It rained yesterday,’ he said to Phoebe, ‘so the ground is soft … Do you see what I see?’

‘Yes, tracks, wheel marks.’

‘Paired wheel marks, as if a trolley or some such was used. The wheels dug in, so the trolley was heavy.’

The marks, which had already been taped off by the police team, were patchy, sometimes you could see them, sometimes not.

The two of them walked back to the road where the body was about to be put in an ambulance. Archie Young was there talking to another officer.

‘Has Waters got anything to pull or push with two wheels?’

‘The tracks, you mean? I saw those. No, he says not. He says he has a wheelbarrow and a supermarket trolley that he nicked, and nothing else. Those marks were not from a wheelbarrow or a trolley, though. I know what you are thinking: a body could have been moved out to the fire on wheels.’

Coffin drew back the covering: a curled up, blackened form, head down, arms extended. It was impossible to guess the sex or age. But Coffin knew what he was looking at: ‘This person was not dead when burnt, but died while burning.’

He turned back to the road. ‘Let’s go.’

Phoebe walked beside him, just for a moment she thought she got a flash of a face she might know – or could have known if she’d concentrated – in the little crowd of onlookers, then Coffin touched her arm and she looked away.

‘Can I drive you anywhere?’

‘No, I saw a tube station not too far away. I want to walk, get some air.’ The corpse had made her feel sick. ‘And get to know the district a bit.’

‘Right.’ He hesitated. Was a warning justified or even wise? Phoebe had her prickles. ‘Look after yourself.’

‘Oh, I will, don’t worry. I know how to watch my back. And nobody knows me.’

Phoebe had her own reasons for not wanting to be driven home by the chief commander. She needed to think.

That night as Phoebe got into bed, not in the flat of a mate as she had told Coffin (God, the lies she had told that man), but in the rented room in a small guest house which was all she could afford, she thought about the day.

She had the position she wanted, she was back in London, but she was broke till she sold her house, sensationally unhappy and now she was anxious.

Frankly, after today, she wondered what she was getting into.

She rolled over in the narrow bed and considered. Now I must do something highly sensible. And also a good career move.

For a start, she would call on Eden Brown and see if she could join up as a lodger. I don’t think she’d want me if she knew what I was working at. Bad for trade.

Don’t tell her, said another voice inside her.

Had it been Eden watching the bonfire? No, probably one of those mistakes.

She touched her cheek which was tender, the pain was still there. Was it worse? She reached out for the bottle of painkillers.

Some pains you could exorcize, but others not.

As soon as Coffin got back to his home in the tower of the old St Luke’s church, the telephone rang. He considered ignoring it but it might be Stella with a change of plans.

‘Hello.’ He kept his voice cautious.

‘Geraldine here.’

‘Ah.’

‘You made a good appointment today.’

‘The committee did.’

She laughed. ‘Your choice, though.’

‘I was open minded. Didn’t want to influence things one way or another.’

‘Not what I thought. She was the best person for the job, you thought so and I thought so. I’d like to meet her. What about coming round for a drink?’

‘She’s still based in Birmingham; she’s got to find a place to live.’

‘Oh, no trouble there, plenty of empty flats and houses; one benefit of the recession if you aren’t a property owner.’

There was a note in her voice that made Coffin wonder if she had his sister Letty in mind; Letty had invested in a lot of local property and was now suffering some pain. He said nothing, Letty could look after herself in his opinion and would certainly break back.

‘I’m entertaining on Sunday morning from midday onwards … my At Home. My little salon.’

Geraldine’s salon was famous. She lived in a large, early nineteenth-century house where top Customs officials had held sway while the Docks were still alive.

‘When’s Stella back?’

He looked at the clock, past midnight. ‘Today,’ he said, ‘today.’

He was there early, having been woken by a telephone call he would rather never have had, but Stella’s flight was early too, a wind behind them, and as he walked in, Stella walked towards him.

She was wearing a full pale yellow skirt and a white shirt and she looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her.

She ran towards him, cheerful and full of energy, not at all as if she’d just been travelling all night. She threw her arms round him. ‘Lovely to be back, heaven, heaven.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘I’ve brought you a present. Well, several … Oh, you smell of smoke … it’s in your hair.’ She drew back and looked at him. ‘You look peaky … What’s wrong? Bad time?’

‘I’ll tell you in the car.’