The Coffin Lane Murders by Alanna Knight Page A

I was always writing to her, persuading her to come to Edinburgh, telling her how grand it would be for her to have a change of scene and a proper wee holiday-'
    Remembrance was too much. 'Oh, oh - I could kick myself, really I could. If only I'd left well alone, she'd still be alive-'
    Sobs threatened for a moment, then straightening her back with effort, she said, 'I was just remembering how angry I was when she didn't arrive. Oh, I wish I hadn't been fuming, but anyone would, waiting at the Pleasance for an hour in that awful weather. It gets dark early and I was getting scared. You know, this woman we read about being murdered. And I started wondering whether I'd walk up to Waverley, whether she'd missed the train or got the day wrong.'
    She sighed. 'I'd decided at the last minute to surprise her, take the train to St Leonards and meet her. You know what it's like when someone doesn't turn up, you're torn between anxiety and anger at being kept waiting. And I was frozen. When the last train for Musselburgh arrived I had to take it. I told the guard if he saw anyone like my friend waiting around to tell her. I felt terrible then and now I feel much worse than terrible, when I think of sitting in that train with my wicked thoughts.' She stopped and looked at Faro. 'Carriage accident, was it?'
    Faro nodded vaguely. 'You say she had no other friends in Edinburgh, no contacts?'
    Mrs Fittick seemed to think this an odd question but she shook her head. 'No, she's hardly been out of Glasgow in her life before and this was to have been her first sight of Edinburgh. Oh, she was looking forward to that.'
    'You mentioned that her husband was killed in an accident. Did they have any family?'
    Mrs Fittick pursed her lips. 'Only the one lass and they never got on well. Miss High and Mighty, Ida called her. Oh, she did well for herself, went to work in a big house and married her boss, a wealthy old man three times her age.'
    She sniffed disapprovingly. 'Once she had money and a social position Ida felt that she didn't want her poor ma and da any more and that was why Mr Simms took to the drink. She came to his funeral, though. Things might have got better between her and her ma except that Ida didn't like her second man either.'
    She paused and Faro said gently: 'She will have to be told. Do you have an address?'
    Mrs Fittick shook her head. 'I do not. But I dare say Ida's neighbour could tell you. They were very friendly - she'll be shocked to hear this terrible news-'
    Before leaving he had to tell her the truth was even more terrible than she had thought: her friend had been attacked and stabbed in Coffin Lane.
    He left her being consoled by her young sister, assuring them, although it was cold comfort, that her killer would be found and brought to justice.
    He returned to Edinburgh very thoughtfully having decided that informing the daughter wasn't a job he would delegate to the Glasgow City Police after all. He would go himself tomorrow, sum up the situation and talk to Ida's neighbour, although he was doubtful that would yield any clues to the murderer's identity.
    Were there too many coincidences about these cases? And why should the two women have both been killed in Coffin Lane within yards of each other?
    Almost against his will he remembered its evil history, how once on the city outskirts it had earned its name from the gibbet that was used to hang criminals, political and otherwise.
    Murderers and highwaymen were carried out in carts to be strung up, their last earthly vision the heights of Arthur's Seat, their sightless eyes picked out by ravens as flesh rotted in chains until the bones fell apart and shared dust with the earth beneath.
    Coffin Lane it became when the suburbs of Newington sprang up; presumably the nearness of a small burying ground conjured up less gruesome imaginings for the owners of those handsome villas.
    But the change of name could do little to alter a bad reputation, of hanged men and the ghost of a