Dance of Death (7 page)

‘Miss Thompson,’ he said, close to exasperation, ‘I must say that you surprise me. When most people hear of a friend being murdered, they at least express some kind of sympathy. And they also want to know exactly what happened.’

‘Simon is dead. That’s what happened. I have to suffer the consequences.’

‘Don’t you feel
sorry
that he’s dead?’ asked Keedy.

‘Yes, I do, naturally. I’m very sorry. He taught me a lot. But you must understand that I have my career to consider.’

Judging by the size and comfort of the room, her career had brought her an appreciative income. Expensive ornaments stood on every surface. A silk dressing gown was draped over the back of a chair. On a table in the corner was the largest gramophone either of them had ever seen. There was a sizeable collection of records stacked neatly underneath it.

She looked from one to the other. ‘You don’t understand, do you?’

‘I’m afraid that we don’t,’ replied Marmion.

‘I first danced on stage when I was only five years old, Inspector. My parents both performed in music halls, you see. I was born to it. But I always found those audiences a trifle vulgar. What I really wanted to do was to appear in stage musicals that gave me a chance to sing and dance. Have you ever heard of
Gaiety Girl
?’ She sailed on before they could respond. ‘I had my big chance in that. I understudied the female lead and went on for five performances. Simon Wilder was at one of them. He was an actor in those days and we … knew each other.’

‘We didn’t ask for your life story, Miss Thompson,’ said Keedy.

‘But it explains the way I behave.’

‘Does it?’

‘Live theatre is a long succession of hazards. So many things can go wrong. I rehearsed for three weeks for one show and it was postponed because the principal dancer broke her leg in a fall. When I auditioned for the second production, I didn’t get a part. In another stage musical, the leading man had a heart attack and collapsed. They brought the curtain down and sent everyone home. I never even got to show the audience what I could do as a dancer. And there are dozens of other examples,’ she went on. ‘I’m inured to calamities. I’ve been the victim of so many.’

‘It’s Mr Wilder who’s the victim here,’ said Marmion with asperity.

‘I’ll write to Catherine.’

‘Have you always been so heartless?’

‘You have to develop a thick skin in my profession, Inspector.’ She sized up Keedy. ‘Have you ever thought of taking up dancing, Sergeant? You have the body and the looks for it.’

‘The only body that interests me at the moment,’ he said, levelly, ‘is that of Mr Wilder. We need to find his killer.’

‘We all want that.’

‘Did he have any enemies?’

‘He had a lot of rivals,’ she said, ‘but that’s in the nature of things. He turned the dance studio into a small gold mine and he gave lots of ladies an experience that they will treasure. Speak to Audrey Pattinson. She was his accompanist.’

‘We already have spoken to her.’

‘When she first met Simon, she was a sad, dried-up little creature who’d never had any real joy in her life. Her father had been a cathedral organist and she’d learnt to play organ and piano. But her real yearning was for dance music,’ said Odele. ‘Simon showed her a whole new world. In a sense, he resurrected her.’

‘Let’s go back to the question the inspector asked you,’ suggested Keedy. ‘If he didn’t have enemies, did he have any rivals who might go to extremes?’

She suddenly twitched and sat bolt upright in her chair. Her mouth fell open, her eyes glazed over and she began to shiver. It was as if the news of the murder had finally penetrated her consciousness. It was no longer an inconvenience to her dancing ambitions. She realised that she’d lost a dear friend and was aghast. Having been appalled at her earlier reaction, they now felt sorry for her.

‘I’ll tell you something,’ she said, querulously.

‘What’s that Miss Thompson?’ asked Keedy.

‘I was with Simon a couple of weeks ago in Shaftesbury Avenue …’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, he came to an abrupt halt and swung round sharply.’

‘Why did he do that?’

‘He thought that someone was following him.’

A working day in the company of Iris Goodliffe had cemented their friendship. Alice got on well with all her colleagues in the Women’s Police Force but had never really found a close friend. She wondered if Iris might be able to fill that gap in her life. As they came off duty, they were about to go their separate ways.

‘Will you be seeing your fiancé tonight?’ asked Iris.

‘I doubt it very much.’

‘You don’t
know
that he’s involved in that murder investigation.’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Alice. ‘When I saw that mention in the newspaper, I felt my heart sink. That’s an infallible sign.’

‘So you won’t see much of Joe
or
of your father.’

‘They’ll be working flat out, Iris.’

‘Don’t you wish that you could be helping them?’

‘No, I don’t. I know my limitations.’

‘We’re bound to have female detectives one day.’

‘That’s still a very long way off,’ said Alice with regret. ‘War has given us the chance to show that we can do most things as well as men but confronting desperate killers is not one of them. Joe has had a lot of injuries and so has my father. When someone is facing the prospect of execution, they fight like mad to resist arrest.’

Iris sighed. ‘There’s so much violence in the world.’

‘You’ll see some of it yourself if you’re ever on night duty. That’s when you realise how dangerous policing can be. Mind you,’ she went on, ‘I’d sooner take on a drunken hooligan than face Gale Force when she’s in a bad mood.’

They came out of the building and into the street. The sense of being off duty was invigorating. Both of them felt it. Iris was sad to part with her friend.

‘What are you doing this evening?’ she asked.

‘I need to go back home.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘I promised my mother I’d call in when I had the chance. And I haven’t seen my brother for weeks.’

‘I’d like to meet him some time,’ said Iris, angling for an invitation.

But Alice was not yet ready to introduce her to the family. Though she and Iris had passed a pleasant day together, she felt that she had to keep some space between them. Iris was very needy. Alice didn’t wish her friend to become too dependent on her. That would limit her freedom. And there was something else that made her draw back from taking Iris home with her.

‘Paul is not very hospitable at the moment,’ she explained.

‘Oh – what’s wrong with him?’

‘He prefers his own company.’

Holding the letter beside the window in his bedroom, Paul read it yet again, searching for something between the lines that was not actually there. After all this time, he knew the words off by heart but he still wanted to see Mavis Tandy’s neat, looping handwriting and take pleasure from the sentiments expressed. It was a letter primarily about his friend, Colin Fryatt, but he was slowly persuading himself that she really wanted an excuse to see him. The thought was exciting. When he’d finished reading it, he slipped it back into the envelope and put it under the pillow.

Then he reached for the mouth organ and started to play.

Sir Edward Henry had planned to retire in 1914 as Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police Force but the outbreak of war prompted his innate patriotism and he agreed to continue in his extremely demanding role. While he had a wide range of duties and responsibilities, he always showed especial interest in the progress of any murder investigation. It was the reason he summoned Claude Chatfield to his office. The superintendent delivered his report crisply.

‘Thank you,’ said Sir Edward. ‘It seems that we have a monster in our midst.’

‘We’ll catch him.’

‘That’s why it was important to assign the case to Inspector Marmion. He and Sergeant Keedy have an uncanny knack of getting their man.’

‘Marmion also has an uncanny knack of holding things back from me,’ said Chatfield, testily. ‘That’s why I don’t approve of his request to establish his headquarters in Chingford. I prefer him where I can see him, Sir Edward.’

‘You have the use of a telephone.’

‘It’s not the same thing.’

‘You should learn to trust your officers.’

‘I want them to trust
me
enough to pass on all relevant information as soon as it’s available. Marmion hides things from me.’

‘Come now, Superintendent,’ said the other with a smile. ‘Let’s not be melodramatic. Marmion may seem slow and methodical but that’s only because he doesn’t want to make any mistakes. I can’t believe that he’d deliberately
conceal
anything from you.’

The commissioner’s gaze shifted to the newspaper on his desk. He was a tall, slim, immaculately dressed man with wavy grey hair and a twirling moustache.

‘You’ve seen the lunchtime edition, I take it.’

‘Yes, Sir Edward.’

‘The Zeppelin raid is on the front page.’

‘I was bewailing the fact earlier. Of far more concern to me is the public reaction to the shooting down of an aircraft. It’s induced a collective madness. People are descending on the crash site in thousands.’

‘It’s reprehensible, I know, but one can’t arrest mobs like that.’

‘The army should be deployed in larger numbers.’

‘They’re somewhat preoccupied by the small matter of a war,’ said the older man, drily. ‘Army and police alike lack resources for something on this scale.’

‘From what I hear, they’ve been fighting over souvenirs.’

‘A piece of a Zeppelin is a rare trophy for any collector.’

‘It shouldn’t be allowed, Sir Edward.’

‘How can we stop it? Besides, souvenirs are not in themselves bad things. I have several of my own, as it happens. Oddly enough,’ said the commissioner, opening a drawer in his desk, ‘I came across one only this morning. It’s in the nature of an historic document now.’

‘What exactly is it?’

‘You can see for yourself, Superintendent.’

Taking the notice from the drawer, he passed it over. Chatfield was quick to recognise its significance. Issued by the Great Western Railway, it was the timetable for a train journey made by His Royal Highness, the Archduke Ferdinand of Austria from Windsor and Eton to Paddington.

‘According to this,’ said Chatfield, ‘it took exactly thirty minutes.’

‘I can vouch for its punctuality because I had the privilege of being on the train at the time. It was one of the perquisites of office.’ He took the notice back and looked at it. ‘Friday, 21st November, 1913,’ he said, mournfully. ‘The poor man had less than a year to live.’

‘Given what later happened, that souvenir has great significance.’

‘I’d never dream of parting with it.’

‘What I’d enjoy,’ said Chatfield, fussily, ‘is a souvenir from Marmion about the current investigation. Why doesn’t he get in touch? What on earth is he
doing
?’

‘He’s doing what he always does – patiently gathering evidence.’

‘Well, I wish he’d pass it on to me, Sir Edward.’

‘He’ll do so in due course, Superintendent. And when he does, you can tell him that I endorse his suggestion. He must, of course, operate from somewhere in Chingford. It would be foolish to have him popping back here all the time.’

Chatfield spluttered. ‘But I like to question him face-to-face.’

‘The decision has been made. Please pass it on to the inspector.’ He put his souvenir away and closed the drawer. ‘Was there anything else?’

Having started his shift early that morning, Denzil Parry went back home while most of London was still at work. He was surprised to see a car parked outside his house and even more surprised to find two men enjoying a cup of tea with his wife. When he learnt that they were from Scotland Yard, he was delighted. Once he had his own cup of tea, he
told his story. Having done so many times at work, he’d embellished it a great deal and had to be warned to restrict himself to the facts. Parry was a fleshy man in his fifties with a bald pate and a weather-beaten face. Like his wife, Megan, he had a sing-song Welsh accident.

‘Strong drink is the devil’s brew!’ he said with puritanical zeal. ‘That’s why I signed the pledge years ago. When I see a man stretched out on the pavement, more often than not he’s drunk. That’s what I thought when I tripped over the corpse. Then I tried to shake him awake and found my hand covered in blood.’

‘He came straight back in here to wash it off,’ said Megan, a roly-poly woman with a practical air about her. ‘I told him to go looking for Constable Bench.’

‘We’ve heard
your
version of events earlier, Mrs Parry,’ Marmion reminded her. ‘We’d like to hear what your husband has to say. He, after all, discovered the body.’

Keeping to the facts, Parry gave his statement with due solemnity and Keedy took notes. When it was all over, the postman drank his tea and thanked his wife with a sly wink of the eye. Marmion then told him the name of the victim. The postman’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

‘Simon Wilder, the
dancer
?’

‘That’s him, I’m afraid.’

‘But he’s quite famous in these parts, Inspector.’

‘Did you know him?’

‘Well, no, but I’ve delivered letters to his house. He has a very pretty wife, I can tell you that. But then,’ he added quickly, ‘so do I.’ Megan beamed. ‘Simon Wilder’s name was always in the local papers.’

‘It’s going to be in the national newspapers now,’ said Keedy. ‘You must know this district very well, Mr Parry.’

‘I know it like the back of my hand.’

‘Is there much crime in Chingford?’

‘We don’t have all that many dead bodies, if that’s what you mean, Sergeant. Most people around here are decent and law-abiding. We have our share of crime but it’s gone down a bit since the war because most of the young men who committed it are now in the army.’

‘It’s the same everywhere,’ said Keedy.

‘Adult crime may have gone down,’ Marmion pointed out, ‘but juvenile crime is on the rise. Lots of fathers signed up. Without a strong man in the house, children can sometimes get out of control.’

‘Our boys are both in the navy,’ said Megan. ‘We were living in Swansea when they were born. The smell of the sea got in their nostrils.’

‘Tell us about this area, Mr Parry.’

The postman seized on the invitation. He gave them a lilting lecture on the history of Chingford and listed all buildings of note. He and his wife, it emerged, were keen walkers so they visited Epping Forest on a regular basis. By walking the streets of the area for ten years or more, Parry had got to know it intimately. He began to reel off the names of the public houses where most trouble occurred.

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Marmion, politely interrupting. ‘We can get all those details from the local police station. We may be camped there for some while.’

‘Drop in for a chat any time you wish,’ urged Megan. ‘There’s always a cup of tea and a biscuit waiting for you here.’

The detectives thanked her and got up to leave. Keedy remembered someone.

‘Have you ever delivered mail to the home of Mr and Mrs Pattinson?’

‘Oh, yes,’ replied Parry. ‘I certainly have.’

‘How do you get on with them?’

‘Mrs Pattinson is a very nice woman. She plays piano at the dance
studio so the news about Mr Wilder will come as a bombshell.’

‘What about her husband?’

Parry emitted a grunt. ‘He’s a different person altogether.’

‘You sound as if you don’t particularly like him.’

‘I don’t like him one little bit, Sergeant,’ said the other. ‘There’s something odd about that man. Don’t ask me what it is because I don’t rightly know. All I can tell you is that … well, he’s a bit weird.’

Ellen was so pleased to see her daughter that she hugged Alice for a full minute. There was no need for the visitor to ask where her brother was. Strains of ‘The Long, Long Trail’, as played on the mouth organ, came wafting downstairs. There was a haunting note to the music.

‘How is he, Mummy?’ asked Alice.

‘The truth is that he’s getting worse.’

‘Oh dear – I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘He even managed to be rude to your Uncle Raymond.’

‘Has
he
been here?’

‘I rang Lily and told her what was happening. She said that Raymond would come over as soon as he could.’

‘What exactly did Paul say to him?’

‘They had a row about the Salvation Army uniform.’

‘Why ever did that happen? He’s always liked Uncle Raymond in the past.’

‘Things have changed for the worst. Paul takes against any and everybody. It was
my
turn earlier on. I found it very hurtful.’

Ellen went on to describe what had happened when she and her son were walking to the post office. Alice was upset on her mother’s behalf. She pressed for more details of her brother’s aggressive behaviour. The two of them were so deep in discussion that they didn’t notice the music
had stopped. The next moment, Paul came into the living room.

‘I thought I heard voices,’ he mumbled.

‘Paul,’ said Alice, planting a kiss on his cheek, ‘it’s lovely to see you again.’

‘Is it?’

‘We heard you playing the mouth organ earlier. You’re a real musician.’

‘I’ll never be as good as Colin.’

‘Why don’t we all sit down?’ said Ellen, moving to the sofa. ‘Come on, Paul,’ she went on as she saw his reluctance. ‘You don’t get to see your sister that often.’

‘Oh, all right, then,’ he said as if making a major concession.

When they were all seated, Alice conjured up a friendly smile.

‘How
are
you, Paul?’

‘I’m no better and no worse,’ he replied.

‘There must be some improvement.’

‘I can see at last. That’s the main thing. Being in the dark was frightening.’ He squinted at her. ‘You’re in uniform.’

‘I came straight from work.’

‘Have you had a good day?’ asked Ellen.

‘Yes, I did, Mummy. We had very few incidents to deal with and it was a lovely day to be out on patrol. I had to shepherd a new recruit.’

‘That shows how much the inspector trusts you.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

‘Are you still having trouble with that woman you call Gale Force?’ said Paul.

‘I’ve learnt to live with it.’

‘That’s what we had to do with this pig of a sergeant. He was always throwing his weight around and nobody was allowed to answer
back. That’s one thing I
don’t
miss about the army – all that blooming discipline.’

‘Those days are over, Paul.’

‘No, they’re not. You never know what might happen.’

‘That’s true,’ said Ellen, relieved that her son was in such a subdued mood.

In spite of their bickering during childhood, Paul and Alice had always got on well together. Each had taken a pride in the other’s achievements. As the two of them chatted away about old times, Ellen relaxed for the first time that day. Alice’s visit was turning out to be a tonic for her and for her son. A sense of family had returned. She only wished that her daughter would live at home so that she could help her cope with Paul’s outbursts but Alice had her own life now.

Just as the conversation was flowing easily, a sour note intruded.

‘Why did you want to go into the police?’ he asked his sister.

‘I felt drawn towards it, Paul.’

‘We don’t need two coppers in the family.’

‘Learn to count. We’ve got three now. There’s Joe as well, remember.’

‘I’ve been meaning to speak to you about him, Alice.’

‘Why?’

‘You’re making a big mistake in marrying him.’

‘Paul!’ exclaimed Ellen.

‘Let him give his opinion, Mummy,’ said Alice, calmly.

‘He’s not the right man for you,’ he resumed. ‘Joe Keedy is too old and too fond of women. He’s not the marrying type.’

‘Well, I think he is.’

‘And so do I,’ added Ellen, stoutly. ‘Now let’s talk about something else.’

‘But I’m trying to help Alice,’ he argued.

‘All that you’re doing is upsetting her.’

‘No, he isn’t,’ she said. ‘Paul’s only saying what others have said behind my back. Joe
is
much older but that’s made him more mature. He really wants to settle down. In any case,’ she went on, pointing a finger at her brother, ‘you were all in favour of it when I first wrote to you to say that we were getting engaged.’

‘I only told you that,’ he said, ‘so that I didn’t hurt your feelings.’

‘Then why are you hurting Alice’s feelings now?’ demanded Ellen.

‘I’m just telling her the truth.’

‘You always liked Joe Keedy.’

‘Yes, I did and I still do. He’s just not the right man for Alice.’

‘It’s my choice,’ said his sister, anger rising.

‘Then it’s a bad one.’

‘It’s the best one I ever made in my life.’

‘Don’t blame me if he never even gets as far as the altar,’ he said, almost taunting her. ‘I’ve met dozens of happy-go-lucky lads in the army. They just want to have their fun and move on to the next girl.’

‘I won’t hear any more of this,’ said Ellen, jumping to her feet.

‘What am I supposed to do – button my lip and let Alice suffer? What kind of brother would I be if I did that? She needs to be warned.’

‘I’m grateful for the warning,’ said his sister, icily, ‘but that’s all I want to hear on the subject. Do you understand, Paul?’