A Coffin for Charley by Gwendoline Butler

various bits of property around the district, more than she would admit to.
    Her stalker. Tall, thin, in a long dark coat and soft hat. A spectre, a monster.
    She didn’t have to pass the figure to get out. There was a flight of steps just at hand. She could turn and run.
    But a nervous fascination seemed to put a brake on her legs. If she moved them it would be like walking through sand. So she stood where she was.
    So did the man. In the dim light she saw he was holding a large white sheet of cardboard or something. Big black letters staggered across it.
    I LOVE YOU. I WANT TO BE YOU.
    She felt as if he had said he wanted to eat her. Stella turned and ran. As she ran she believed she could smell the man, smell his clothes, sour and stuffy as if he was made up of them and they only got into the air when he put them on.
    Letty was in the forecourt when she got there and gripped her by the arm.
    â€˜He’s back there,’ Stella was shivering. Her brave resolution to get him torn away from her was dragging skin and blood with it.
    â€˜I’ll go and get him,’ said Letty. ‘I’m not afraid.’
    â€˜I am, you might get killed.’ Stella hung on to Letty and made her go into St Luke’s Mansions with her. She hadtaken on an assailant once, had no choice really, it was that or be raped, but once was enough. She knew now you never got over it.
    She didn’t take in Letty’s white face, being too engrossed with her own state. They each had a strong drink and then another.
    When John Coffin came in they told him about the episode and he went to the telephone to send a blast down the line. Where was the watch over Stella?’
    A major bank raid had drawn all local patrol cars off, he was told.
    Annie sat over some coffee, she was tired, it had been a wearing day. She felt she had made no progress.
    Didi was late. All this auditioning was a waste of time, but if it made her happy that was something. She was happy these days.
    She poured herself some more coffee. Didi was very edgy about Caroline these days, with her question about the man in the upper flat.
    I’d better explain things to her. Tell her that the man is one of those people that have agoraphobia. Can’t bear to go out. Have to stay shut up.
    Like in a cupboard.
    Didi was still late. Too late.

CHAPTER 6
    Where the river runs
    â€˜Good,’ said the killer. ‘You’ve got it absolutely right. You’ve got a real feel for it.’ He stood back from the wall, it was dripping wet anyway and he hated getting rain on his clothes. He could see she was flattered.
    â€˜Well, I’m new to it. Never done it before.’
    â€˜I couldn’t have done it better myself.’
    â€˜Technically it’s difficult, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Technically it’s very difficult. These physical things always are, of course.’
    â€˜Mm.’
    â€˜You’ve got to think of it in terms of comedy, farce even. You’ve got to get everything in the right place at the right time or it won’t work. Not the way it should. Smooth, easy. But natural, nothing forced.’
    â€˜Play it for real.’
    â€˜That’s right. Good girl. You’ve got it.’
    She shivered. ‘It’s cold here.’
    â€˜We’re in situ. Always better to get the place correct.’
    â€˜Does the river come into it? I don’t remember the river.’
    â€˜We have to think of it as a symbol … The river is time, isn’t it? Running backwards and forwards. That’s how it is.’
    â€˜But the river flows one way.’
    â€˜The Thames is tidal,’ he reminded her. ‘It ebbs and flows, back and forth.’
    She was prepared to be awkward; her mood was always prickly when she was cold. Everyone who knew her knew that much, but he didn’t know her well enough. Some things about her he had observed well, how she walked, how she wore her clothes, her legs, good, her hands,