Dance of Death (13 page)

‘Yes,’ said Colette, wincing, ‘but you’re hurting my wrist, Mrs Pattinson.’ Audrey released her. ‘Thank you … what will happen now?’

‘My guess is that the studio will close and the hall will be put up for sale. I can’t believe that Mrs Wilder will have the interest or the energy to continue.’

‘But it
must
stay open. Think of all the people who depend on it. I’m not the only person who lives to dance. There are dozens and dozens of us. When we hold a dance there, we get almost a hundred couples.’

‘With luck,’ said Audrey, ‘someone may take it over and run it in much the same way. In the meantime, you need to find yourself a new dancing partner.’

‘There’ll never be anyone as good as Mr Wilder.’

‘He taught you very well but you must find someone closer to your own age. A pretty girl like you should be able to do that.’

‘All the young men have been called up,’ complained the other.

‘Not all of them. Look at Mr Redmond, for instance,’ advised Audrey. ‘He’s still in his twenties. I’m not suggesting that you’re ready to partner him, of course, because he already has someone to dance with. But there must be other young men who have somehow escaped conscription. Search for another Allan Redmond.’

The death of Simon Wilder preyed on her mind. Whatever she did, Odele Thompson could not stop reflecting on it and on its implications for her. Deprived of a chance to win a national dance championship, she would have to tell her agent to get her an audition for the next available stage musical. Even if she succeeded in finding work, she would be one dancer in a company rather than someone with an award that lifted her above the herd. She went for a walk in the park to clear her head. Wilder had been an irreplaceable part of her life. The only thing that could bring any solace was the arrest and conviction of his killer. As she eventually headed for home, she was thinking about all the things she’d like to do to the man before he was executed.

When she let herself into her flat, she was still musing on a suitably drastic punishment for the killer. Odele was quite unaware that she had a visitor.

‘Hello, darling,’ said a man’s voice.

She let out a squeal of surprise and backed away in alarm. Perched
nonchalantly on the arm of the sofa, Allan Redmond drew on his cigarette then exhaled the smoke.

‘How on earth did you get here?’ she demanded.

He held up a key. ‘Before I returned the other one,’ he explained, ‘I had a duplicate made. I had a feeling that it might come in useful one day.’

‘Get out!’

‘We need to talk first, Odele.’

‘Get out or I’ll call the police.’

‘That’s exactly what I wanted to discuss with you,’ he said, getting up and crossing over to her. ‘Thanks to you, I had a Sergeant Keedy treating me as a murder suspect. What exactly did you tell him?’

Though he doubted if he would hear a contradiction of Tom Atterbury’s alibi, Marmion went to the man’s club and sought out the head steward. Dressed in a smart uniform, he was a short, stubby, middle-aged man with a gleaming bald pate and a face of permanent impassivity. Since he had been on duty on the night of the air raid, he was in a position to confirm what Marmion had been told.

‘Yes, Inspector, Mr Atterbury was here that evening.’

‘At what time did he depart?’

‘I couldn’t be specific about that, sir.’

‘Just give me a rough time. Was it early or late?’

‘Mr Atterbury is the best person to ask.’

‘I’m asking you,’ said Marmion, forcefully, ‘and I’m sure that you’re aware that withholding information from the police is an offence.’

‘I’ve given you all the information I can,’ said the steward, politely.

‘How long has Mr Atterbury been a member here?’

‘He joined the club in 1907.’

‘And how often does he come here?’

‘On average, he calls in at least twice a week.’

‘Your membership, I fancy, is exclusive. Did he need a sponsor to join?’

‘Yes,’ replied the man, ‘the club is not open to any Tom, Dick or Harry. As it happens, the person who proposed Mr Atterbury was the club president, Sir Howard Legge.’ A smile threatened but never actually came. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to ask me, Inspector?’

‘There is,’ said Marmion, acidly. ‘Why is it that you can remember the exact details of Mr Atterbury’s membership from nine years ago whereas you can’t tell me what time he left the premises earlier this week?’

‘I can’t account for that, sir.’

The steward’s stony expression infuriated Marmion but he knew that his anger was futile. The man’s first duty was to the membership. Even though he was dealing with a murder investigation, his memory was deliberately selective. The visit, however, was not without its reward. When Marmion left the club, he crossed the road and looked in the window of a bookshop for a few minutes, wishing that he had the leisure to read. It was a luxury that his profession would never give him.

As he turned from the shop, he glanced across at the club and was just in time to see one of the members going in through the door. Marmion only caught a glimpse of the man but he recognised him instantly.

It was Martin Pattinson.

Alice Marmion was always ready to learn something new. When it came to police matters, she was very much the senior of the two but Iris Goodliffe had expertise that Alice could never hope to match. Her
years of working in the family pharmacy had given her a knowledge of medicines and herbal remedies that was impressive.

‘What would you recommend for someone like Paul?’

‘He’s already getting medical attention, isn’t he?’

‘The army can only do so much. He’s been discharged from hospital and they’re calling him in for regular check-ups. But they can’t do anything about his black depression, Iris, or about his shifting moods. One minute, he boasts that he’s going back to fight at the front; the next minute, he’s saying that life isn’t worth living.’

‘It must be very trying,’ said Iris, ‘but there’s no easy cure.’

‘It’s put Mummy under terrible stress.’

‘Ah, now there are pills to relieve that, Alice.’

‘We want a pill to get rid of the
cause
of the problem – my brother’s despair.’

‘He may get better in time.’

‘Then again, he may not. There’s one thing that would help, though.’

‘What’s that?’

‘An end to this terrible war.’

‘That’s too much to hope, I’m afraid.’

They were enjoying a cup of tea together in the canteen. One of the reasons that Alice was questioning her about her previous job was that she wanted to keep Iris from asking her what was happening that evening. Though nothing had so far been arranged, Alice was still reluctant to let their relationship spill over into her private life. Once her new colleague was allowed to feel that she had a true friend, Iris, she suspected, would expect to spend more and more time with her.

The awkward question, however, could not be fended off indefinitely.

‘What are you doing this evening?’ asked Iris, artlessly.

‘I’m seeing a friend, actually.’

The lie popped out so easily that Alice almost believed it herself.

‘Is it someone from the Women’s Police Force?’

‘No, Iris, I try to keep my work and social life quite separate. Ideally, of course, I’d like to spend the evening with Joe but that’s not possible.’

‘How is the investigation going?’

‘I don’t know but there’s usually slow progress at the start. There’s so much information to gather and to collate. That’s the bit Daddy is so good at.’

‘What about your fiancé?’

‘Joe thrives on action. Arresting the killer is always the best part for him.’

‘Do they always manage to solve a murder, then?’

‘They’ve been lucky so far, Iris.’

‘It takes more than luck, surely.’

‘Yes, it does,’ agreed Alice. ‘Joe always says that it’s ninety-nine per cent hard work and one per cent luck.’

‘There’s another element, isn’t there?’

‘Is there?’

‘I think so,’ said Iris. ‘He’s spurred on by the thought that he won’t spend any time with you until the killer is behind bars.
You’re
one of the reasons he’s so good at his job, Alice. You inspire him.’

Alone at the police station, Keedy went through the list of alleged sightings of Simon Wilder on the night before he died. Some of the statements had been given at Scotland Yard then phoned through to Chingford. By putting them all together, he was able to establish that Wilder had been seen in Shaftesbury Avenue around ten o’clock at night by three different people. How he’d got back to Chingford, nobody was able to say. Nor could anyone explain how he came to be
in the particular part of the district where he was murdered. Keedy spied a possible explanation. Before he became a dancer, Wilder had been an actor, a man used to putting on disguises. Having gone to the West End where he was well known, he might – Keedy surmised – have changed his appearance so that he was unrecognisable then gone back to Chingford to see someone. Secrecy was involved. That suggested a tryst.

He was still poring over a street map when there was a tap on the door. A uniformed policeman entered to say that Miss Thompson had come to see him again. Keedy was on his feet in a flash, crossing to the door to invite her in, then closing it behind her. Odele was close to tears.

‘I prayed that I’d catch you alone, Joe!’ she said.

‘Why is that?’

‘I need your help.’

‘Inspector Marmion could offer that just as well as me.’

‘I prefer to see you.’

Without warning, she flung herself into his arms and he tried to soothe her with soft words while patting her back. Eventually, he lowered her into a chair and sat opposite her, making sure that there was some distance between them. Her fear was genuine and he had to resist the temptation to comfort her again.

‘As calmly as possible,’ he said, ‘tell me what happened.’

‘He threatened me.’

‘Who did?’

‘Allan, of course,’ she replied. ‘He was so angry that I’d mentioned his name to you that he came to frighten me.’

‘He obviously succeeded,’ said Keedy. ‘Why did you let him in?’ She lowered her head. ‘All you had to do was to refuse to speak to him.’

‘Allan Redmond doesn’t take refusal seriously. But the main reason I couldn’t shut the door in his face was that …’

Odele paused and searched his eyes as she tried to decide if he’d be shocked or sympathetic. Sensing that he was a man of the world, she pressed on.

‘He was already
inside
the flat,’ she explained. ‘There was a time – a very brief time, I should add – when he had a key. Before he gave it back to me, he had a duplicate made.’

‘Is that why you gave us his name?’ asked Keedy in annoyance. ‘Did you simply want to cause him embarrassment?’

‘No,’ she cried, ‘I’d hate you to think that. I mentioned Allan because I really thought – and still think – that he has to be a possible suspect. He loathed Simon and, by nature, he’s a violent man.’

‘He didn’t seem very violent when I met him, Odele.’

‘That’s because he pulled the wool over your eyes.’

‘I’ve had a lot of experience at sizing people up.’

‘And what was your opinion of Allan?’

‘I thought he was one of those privileged young men who get the kind of chances that never come near the rest of us. He’s as glib and self-assured as any confidence trickster but I didn’t sense that he’d resort to violence.’

‘Then how did I get this?’ she asked.

Thrusting out an arm, she pulled up her sleeve to reveal an ugly bruise. Keedy was taken aback. When she displayed a matching bruise on the other arm, he accepted that she’d been held exceptionally hard.

‘Do you want him charged for assault?’

‘No, I want him arrested for murder.’

‘We have no evidence that he was anywhere near the scene at the time.’

‘Find it.’

‘Mr Redmond has an alibi. I checked it myself.’

‘Someone is lying on his behalf.’

‘There’s no proof of that.’

‘Find it,’ she demanded, on her feet. ‘Find it, find it, find it!’

‘What I can do,’ he conceded, getting up from his chair, ‘is to make sure that he’s arrested and charged with assault.’

‘That’s not enough.’

‘It’s all I can do at the moment, Odele.’

‘The charge will be denied.’

‘How can it be? You have visible signs of the attack.’

‘So does Allan,’ she confessed.

‘Are you saying that you provoked him?’

‘That’s what he’d argue in court and I don’t want my name in the newspapers. If you get into trouble with the police, theatre managers won’t touch you with a barge pole. Dancers are ten a penny. If I’m seen as a difficult woman who’d resort to violence, my reputation will turn to dust.’

He took a step closer. ‘What exactly did you do?’

‘It doesn’t matter now.’

‘I need to know, Odele.’

She tried to brush the question aside but Keedy insisted on an answer. In the end, she took a deep breath and told him the truth.

‘I hit him with a flower vase.’ He gaped in astonishment. ‘But it was only in self-defence. Allan was trying to molest me, Joe. I had to do
something
.’

‘Did you draw blood?’

‘Only a little – that’s what upset him. He grabbed me by the arms and shook me like a rag doll. I thought he was going to kill me.’

‘What is it that you actually want?’ he asked, torn between impatience and a growing attraction towards her. ‘If I can’t arrest him for assault, do you wish me to issue a warning? Is that why you’re here?’

‘No,’ she replied, ‘it isn’t. Allan and I have … known each other in the past, though it was always on his terms, unfortunately. In order for you to understand, I’d have to explain what actually went on and I’m not sure that I can rely on your discretion.’

‘Anything you tell me of a private nature will remain private.’

‘I’m afraid that you’d tell the inspector.’

‘I’d only tell him things that are related to the murder.’

‘Allan Redmond is related to the murder,’ she insisted. ‘How many times do I have to tell you that? If you knew what he’d done to me in the past, you might start to believe me.’