Free Coffin Knows the Answer by Gwendoline Butler

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. ‘What did he say?’
    â€˜Didn’t speak to him. Always hard to get through Josephine.’ Joe and Josephine, thought Mercy. Is that why they married? ‘His wife said he was having a bad day.’
    â€˜Having one myself,’ said Paul. He stood up as Coffin came in. ‘Morning, sir.’
    Gus had come with his master.
    â€˜And how is Miss Pinero?’ This was Jack Miller who never minded asking questions, which made him a good detective, if a difficult friend.

    â€˜Gone into the theatre, but she is going to see a doctor,’ said Coffin with decision. ‘Might go myself. It’s been a bad time.’ He looked around at the team, assessing their mood. ‘You all know what happened to Stella and the photograph she came back with.’
    â€˜Do you think she was allowed to escape on purpose?’ This was Miller again.
    â€˜Not 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.
    â€˜She 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.
    â€˜She’s a brave woman,’ said Phoebe, who had known what it was to be in awe of Stella.
    â€˜She’s an actress,’ said Coffin. ‘I think she’s frightened enough which is why I want these two men caught.’
    â€˜If 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.
    â€˜The man could never have been a genuine, licensed cab driver.’
    â€˜That 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’.
    â€˜An actor, do you think?’
    There was a silence.
    â€˜Worth thinking about,’ said the Chief Commander. ‘Capable 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