A Coffin for Charley by Gwendoline Butler

his world to rights, to be, for once, a boy in good repute.
    Darren walked away. It was all nothing to do with him. They had said so and it was the case.
    No one had asked him, but he did know her. He had seen her around with Eddie Creeley and she was called Didi.
    In Stella’s flat the telephone rang and rang. But Stella was asleep upstairs in her husband’s bed.
    Upstairs in Caroline’s flat Charley put the telephone down.

CHAPTER 8
    The day continues
    Didi was soon identified. One police officer knew her face; thought she came from Spinnergate but couldn’t put a name to her. But that was soon cleared up because Didi had her name with her, almost as if she had guessed it might be wanted.
    Her handbag rested in the mud beside her. In it together with a lipstick and piece of tissue was a diary with her name and address in it. With carefully protected hands, an officer opened it, then quietly showed it to the Chief Commander. If the Boss was there, then he had better see.
    Diana Dunne, 6, Napier Street. She had signed her name, given her date of birth, and provided her telephone number.
    Coffin nodded. Just at that moment, he did not connect her with Annie Briggs, his mind was on the girl herself.
    She had been strangled, but there were bruises on her face which might indicate she had also been smothered. Like Marianna.
    John Coffin waited, silent but observing, as the police surgeon worked. Dr Foss was a wiry, youngish man. He nodded at the Chief Commander, whom he knew by sight.
    â€˜Well, she’s dead.’
    â€˜And?’
    â€˜Strangled manually.’
    â€˜Yes, it looked like that. Hand over her face too. I’d say.’
    A protective shield had been set up around Didi’s body which was not yet readied for removal to the police mortuary down in Swinehouse, a new building opened only this year. Photographs were still being taken while otherpolicemen walked carefully with eyes down examining the ground all around her. The full police investigating team headed by a detective-inspector had arrived. They were very aware of the presence of the Chief Commander among them.
    The police surgeon, being an independent professional, felt more relaxed: he had his own territory in which he was lord. Accordingly, he felt comfortable enough to take out a cigarette in Coffin’s presence and light it.
    â€˜I thought you people were against smoking.’
    â€˜I am. But it helps.’
    The two men moved away a few yards into the shelter of the arch. This area too was being examined and they were careful where they trod.
    â€˜How long has she been dead?’
    Dr Foss was professionally cautious. ‘Matter of hours. Last night sometime, I’d say. But when they get her on the slab and open her up they will know better.’
    Coffin winced slightly, making a note that delicacy was not a feature of Dr Foss’s working life. What sort of bedside manner did he have?
    The second young woman strangled in the Second City within weeks. A repeat of this sort was something nobody liked. Marianna Manners and now Diana Dunne. ‘The second one this month,’ he said.
    â€˜Yes, the Manners girl. She was one of mine.’ Dr Foss took a proprietary interest in the victims whose death he was paid to certify. The more important and interesting work on them might be done later by forensic pathologists but he was one who saw them first. ‘Same MOD as the other girl. Manual, neat job.’ He sounded almost admiring.
    Coffin said nothing, Dr Foss did not grow on him.
    â€˜She didn’t struggle.’ He added: ‘I had a quick look at her hands. Unmarked. Even the varnish isn’t chipped. Of course, she chewed her fingernails so there wasn’t much scratch in them.’
    Nasty way he had of putting things, thought Coffin. ‘So the killer probably won’t be marked?’ Marianna Manners hadn’t struggled either.
    â€˜No. Pity.’
    â€˜A willing