Dance of Death (9 page)

‘You can see why my sister was happy to change her name to Wilder,’ he said. ‘Her given name does not exactly have a theatrical ring to it, alas. Both of them were committed to a career onstage at that point. Their mutual love of dance took them in another direction.’

‘So I understand, sir.’

‘It was a big decision to make but … it was what they wanted.’

‘Did you ever see Mr and Mrs Wilder dance?’

‘No, Inspector. My taste runs to opera and orchestral music.’

‘But they were described as the nearest thing to Vernon and Irene Castle.’

‘To this day,’ said Clissold, as if taking pride in the fact, ‘those names are meaningless to me. Very little about America has a purchase on my attention.’

The roll-top desk was littered with letters and bills, some of the latter as yet unpaid. Marmion searched the drawers and found each one crammed with theatre programmes, dance advertisements or correspondence with a solicitor.

‘I assumed that
you
would handle any legal matters,’ said Marmion.

‘Clients in the family are never a good idea,’ returned the other, loftily. ‘Besides, I’m not a low-grade lawyer dealing with the more mundane issues of life. I specialise in criminal law, Inspector. I’m on
your
side.’

‘I see,’ said Marmion, concealing his dislike of the man.

He turned his attention to the two large cameras that stood on a small cabinet in a corner. Both were of good quality and partnered with a tripod. Several books on photography were piled carelessly on an oak bookcase. There were also books on dancing, one of which, Marmion noted, had been written by Vernon and Irene Castle. He could not resist thumbing through it.

‘I doubt that it’s an enthralling read,’ said Clissold with disdain. ‘I’m a Trollope man myself. You get a good story, engaging characters and some priceless humour all rolled into one.’

‘Given the circumstances,’ said Marmion, putting the volume aside,
‘you’ll understand why I’m more interested in Mr Wilder’s reading habits than in yours. Everything in this study helps to define the man. That’s why it’s important to see every bit of it.’ He reached out to take a photograph album from the bottom shelf of the bookcase. ‘Are these photographs that
he
took, I wonder?’

‘I daresay that they are. Simon was a very gifted photographer.’

Marmion opened the album and found himself looking at a photograph of Simon and Catherine Wilder at a dance contest. Striking an imperious pose, they were standing in front of a dance band. There were several other photographs of the couple and they clearly had elegance and glamour when dressed in their finery. Marmion then came to a collection of photographs taken by Wilder himself. Featuring a series of female dancers – and the occasional male – they were of noticeably better quality. The women were of varying age and build. What they shared was an obvious delight in facing a camera with Wilder behind it.

‘There’s your answer, Inspector,’ said Clissold, wrinkling his nose. ‘Look at the way they’re smiling at Simon. They’re infatuated with him. Imagine what their husbands must think. My brother-in-law was a handsome man who danced with their wives to suggestive music and had a licence for bodily contact with them. That’s enough to arouse anyone’s jealousy. Search among the husbands of Simon’s pupils. That’s where your killer is lurking.’

‘Thank you for your advice, sir,’ said Marmion, coolly. ‘I had already made that deduction but, in my case, it was tempered by caution. I never jump to hasty conclusions. They’re invariably wrong.’

They’d spent a long time searching the study and tidying it as they went along. During the remaining ten minutes, Clissold maintained a resentful silence. When they’d sifted through other albums and the last pile of correspondence, he rubbed his beefy hands together.

‘Right,’ he said, ‘that’s everything, I fancy.’

‘Not quite,’ argued Marmion, gazing around, ‘there’s one last item.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’ve been through Mr Wilder’s appointments book and had a long talk to his accompanist, Mrs Pattinson. Both sources told the same story. The dance studio was very profitable. Money changed hands on a daily basis. Your brother-in-law may have been very casual with regards to everything else but he’d surely protect the day’s takings. I sense that there’s a safe in the house somewhere – most likely, in here.’

‘You only have to ask my sister. Catherine will tell you.’

‘That would be cheating, Mr Clissold. I’d rather sniff it out myself, if you don’t mind.’ He walked across to a large and rather garish painting of Spanish dancers at some kind of festival. Lifting it gently from its hook, he swung it aside to reveal a safe set into the wall. Marmion smiled at his companion.

‘You didn’t know
that
was there, sir, did you?’

Though he would have preferred to accompany the inspector, Keedy accepted that someone had to stay at the police station for the routine task of taking statements from potential witnesses. The murder had been given a measure of prominence on the inside pages of the newspapers and there was an appeal for people to come forward if they had any information that might be of value to the police. As was so often the case, Keedy had to put up with spurious witnesses who invented stories in order to feel a sense of importance they lacked in their normal lives. Keedy was brusque with them and threatened to make an arrest for wasting police time. The duty sergeant at Chingford police station saw three or four people scuttling out of the room with
their tails between their legs. Keedy had seen through them at once.

A team of detectives had been going from house to house in the area where the murder had taken place but none of them had found any useful intelligence. Those who had been out late that night had been watching the Zeppelin raid and it had been an irresistible distraction. Keedy was realistic. Nobody was going to walk into the police station with positive evidence regarding the killer’s identity because the crime had taken place in a dark alley. He and Marmion would have to beaver away until the clues began to emerge. During a long gap when he was left alone, Keedy was pleased when a young police constable brought in a cup of tea.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘It’s much appreciated.’

‘There’s a lady outside, sir. She’s asking to see you.’

‘Is she drunk or sober?’

‘Oh, she’s very sober, Sergeant.’

‘That will be a welcome change. Two of the so-called “witnesses” I had the misfortune to interview came in here stinking of beer.’

‘This lady wears perfume, sir – a very nice one, actually.’

‘Did she give a name?’

‘Yes, sir – it’s Miss Thompson. She claims to have met you.’

‘Send her in, Constable.’

When the man went out, Keedy forgot about his tea and rose to his feet. He smoothed down his hair with the flat of his hand and straightened his jacket. Odele Thompson was then shown in and the door was closed behind her. She seemed pleased that Keedy was alone. For his part, he noticed how much attention she’d paid to her appearance. When they’d called on her the previous day, she’d worn little make-up and was dressed in a blouse and a loose skirt. Odele had now used her cosmetics liberally and put on a navy-blue suit that
accentuated her figure. On one lapel was a gold brooch in the shape of a dancing couple.

After an exchange of greetings, she accepted the seat he offered her and adjusted her skirt. Keedy sat down again. She held his gaze for a moment and, before he could stop it happening, he felt a frisson of pleasure.

‘What can I do for you, Miss Thompson?’ he asked, politely.

‘To begin with, you can call me Odele.’

‘If that’s what you prefer.’

‘What’s
your
first name, Sergeant?’

‘I’d rather you call me by my rank.’

‘At least I can know your Christian name, can’t I?’

‘It’s Joseph, actually, but I’m Joe to most people.’

‘I’m not most people,’ she said, tossing her hair. ‘Joseph is a nice name. And it’s about as Christian as it could be.’ She laughed, then became businesslike. ‘But I didn’t come here to discuss names. I’ve thought of something that may be relevant to the investigation.’

‘Oh – what was that?’

‘I was too dazed even to consider it at the time but it hit me this morning as I was looking through the programme for the British Dance Championships.’

‘I’m listening, Miss Thompson …’ He corrected himself. ‘Odele, I should say.’

‘Well, that’s it – the championships.’

He was bewildered. ‘What about them?’

‘Don’t you see?’

‘Frankly, I don’t.’

‘That’s because you don’t know what a cut-throat business the world of dance can be. We may look graceful as we glide around the dance
floor but most of us are intensely competitive. We have to be, in order to survive.’

‘Is there a big reward for the winner of this dance championship?’

‘It’s not the money that matters, Joseph, and it’s not the gold medal or the cup. It’s the kudos. To be able to say that you are British Champions lifts you above the herd. Simon won the title on two occasions with Catherine,’ she said, ‘and he promised me that our turn would be next.’

‘I’m sorry that Fate robbed you of it, Odele.’

‘It wasn’t fate who stabbed him to death. It was someone who’d stop at nothing to prevent us winning the title.’

‘Do you have any particular person in mind?’

‘I have two possible suspects to offer you.’

‘Which of the two is the prime suspect?’

‘That would have to be Allan Redmond. No, no,’ she went on as he started to write the name down, ‘there’s no need for that.’ She opened her bag to extract a piece of paper. ‘I have both names here and the addresses where you’ll find them.’ She gave him the paper then clasped his hand before he could move it away. ‘Don’t tell them that I put you on to them, will you?’

‘There’s no need for you to be mentioned at all.’

‘If it’s known that I’m behind this, there could be repercussions.’

‘In that event, you’ll be offered complete protection.’

‘Thank you.’ Realising that she was still holding his hand, she let it go. Keedy was a trifle disappointed. ‘I could be wrong, of course, but I’ve seen the lengths people will go to. Both of the people I’ve named there were close rivals of ours. Question them, Joe.’

‘We will, don’t worry.’ He glanced down at the first name. ‘Do you really believe that Allan Redmond is capable of a savage attack?’

‘I know only too well that he is.’

‘Why is that?’

She rose from her chair. ‘Let’s just say that we used to be … acquaintances,’ she said, evasively. ‘Please keep me informed of any developments.’ She held his gaze once more. ‘You know where I live.’

Paul Marmion had only ever seen her through the prism of Colin Fryatt’s eyes. His friend had described her in glowing terms and – because of his impaired sight – that was how Paul now viewed her. He truly believed that Mavis Tandy was beautiful. Through his milky vision, he couldn’t see that she was, in fact, a rather plain, thin-lipped young woman with an ugly mole on her cheek. She, however, had been given a far more accurate description of Paul and had been able to pick him out instantly. Until she got close to him, he seemed to have survived action at the front without any visible injury. It was only when she sat beside him on the bench that she saw the telltale scars on his face and the constant fluttering of his eyelids.

‘What happened, then?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know, Mavis. The explosion knocked me senseless. I’ve no idea how long I must have been there. I felt like death. I had shrapnel wounds all over.’

‘Where was Colin?’

‘He was quite close. I was able to crawl to him.’

‘In his last letter, he told me that the two of you had agreed that, if you had to die, you’d rather do it together.’

‘That’s true,’ said Paul, ‘we did agree that. To be honest, there’ve been
times when I wish I
had
been killed alongside him at the Somme.’

‘No!’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s a terrible thing to wish for.’

‘It’s like hell some days.’

‘Why is that?’

‘You wouldn’t understand, Mavis.’

‘Do you feel guilty?’

‘That’s part of it.’

‘What else is there?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Yes, it does. You can tell me, Paul.’

Some children were playing with a ball nearby and making a lot of noise. One of them kicked the ball and it bounced off Paul’s shin. He flinched slightly.

‘Can we go somewhere else?’ he suggested.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘There’s a cafe not far away. We can have a cup of tea.’

‘I’d like that, Paul.’

‘I don’t want to hold you up.’

‘You’re not.’

‘If you’ve got somewhere to go …’

‘I want to stay with you as long as I can,’ she said, taking him by the arm and easing him off the bench. ‘I can’t tell you how much this means to me. Let’s have that cup of tea, shall we? I want to hear a lot more about Colin.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘Can you manage?’

‘It’s easier if you hold me, Mavis,’ he said, relishing her touch and warming to her with each second. ‘It’s very kind of you.’

When Marmion returned to the police station, he found that Keedy was interviewing a man. He did not have to wait long. The door soon
opened and Keedy more or less propelled his visitor towards the exit, thrusting him out into the street.

‘Who was that?’ asked Marmion.

‘It was someone who came to confess to the murder.’

‘That was obliging of him.’

‘All he had was a ridiculous cock-and-bull story.’

‘We usually get one or two fantasists.’

‘This idiot gave himself away completely,’ said Keedy. ‘He claimed to have stabbed the victim once in the chest because of an unpaid gambling debt.
You
saw him. A skinny little runt like that wouldn’t have the strength to do what the real killer did. That’s why I threw him out.’

‘Did I catch a whiff of alcohol as he went past?’

‘He was reeking of it.’

In order to compare notes, they went into the room that had been set aside for them. After hanging his hat on the back of the door, Marmion sat down and talked about his search of the victim’s study.

‘Mrs Wilder’s brother stood over me all the time,’ he said, bitterly. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t give me a bill for his services afterwards. You know what solicitors are like.’

‘I avoid them like the plague.’

‘We uncovered some interesting things but nothing that gave me an idea of who the killer could possibly be. My hopes rose when I discovered the safe but we were unable to open it. Mrs Wilder didn’t know what the combination was or where her husband kept it hidden.’

‘In the safe, perhaps?’ joked Keedy.

‘In the end, I had to send for a locksmith. He’ll be there this afternoon so I’ll go back then. All in all,’ he added, ‘it was rather disappointing. I expected to get some kind of lead.’

‘But the cupboard was bare.’

‘And I had Nathan Clissold breathing down my neck. He was worse than Chat. The result is that we still have no suspects.’

‘Yes, we do,’ said Keedy with a grin. ‘In fact, we have two.’

‘Where did they come from?’

‘I had a visit from a helpful member of the public – Miss Thompson, though she asked me to call her by her first name.’

‘Be careful, Joe. You’ve been warned about that. Keep her at a distance.’

‘I will, I promise you.’

‘What did she have to say for herself?’

Keedy gave him a brief account of the conversation with Odele Thompson, omitting any mention of the pleasure he’d taken in her company. He was confident that she might have opened up a productive new avenue in the investigation. Marmion was more sceptical.

‘I’m not convinced, Joe.’

‘It all sounded very plausible to me.’

‘Why kill a man when he could easily have been disabled in some way? The level of violence was quite unnecessary.’

‘Both of the men hold grudges against Wilder, apparently.’

‘You and I hold grudges against our dear superintendent. Does that mean we feel impelled to stab him repeatedly?’

‘I have been tempted, Harv.’

‘Seriously, you have to remember the nature of the injuries. They were put there by someone with more than a desire to win a dance competition.’

‘It’s the British Championship.’

‘I never even knew that such a thing exists.’

‘According to Odele – Miss Thompson, that is – dancers would kill to win it.’

‘She was speaking metaphorically.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Keedy. ‘These men are worth talking to, especially Allan Redmond. He and Miss Thompson obviously knew each other at one time and she regrets it.’

‘So she’s getting her own back by naming him as a murder suspect.’

‘There’s more to it than that.’

Marmion sat back in his chair and thought about the new development. It aroused his curiosity more than his suspicion. Talking to the two men would at least give them insight into the world of dance and that would be helpful.

‘Very well,’ he decided. ‘Speak to them.’

‘Who will man the barricades here?’

‘One of our lads can do that. They’d much rather be sitting in here, meeting exotic dancers like Miss Thompson – Odele to you – than pounding the pavements and knocking on doors. You talk to Redmond and this other chap. What’s his name?’

‘Tom Atterbury.’

‘See if there’s any substance in what she told you.’

‘Meanwhile,’ said Keedy, ‘you could do something for me.’

‘What’s that?’

‘When you go back to Wilder’s house this afternoon, mention those two names to his wife. She’s bound to know them. I’d be interested in her reaction.’

‘Prepare to be disappointed.’

‘Why?’

‘Mrs Wilder has had time to absorb the shock of her husband’s death by now. If she thought for one moment that Redmond or Atterbury had anything to do with it, don’t you think she’d have been urging us to go after them? I’m sorry, Joe,’ he went on. ‘When two suspects pop up
out of nowhere, then it’s usually too good to be true. I fancy that Odele may be leading you up the garden path.’

Keedy came dangerously close to blushing.

Seated on the sofa, Catherine Wilder looked down the list of things that had to be done in preparation for the funeral. It had been prepared by her brother and typed out carefully by his secretary. Since her husband had died an unnatural death, there would be a post-mortem and an inquest. She had no idea when the body would be released to her. Meanwhile, there were lots of people who had to be informed of the tragedy. Some might find out about it reading the newspapers, but others would not. Catherine and her brother had never been close but she valued his presence now, even though he’d disapproved of her marriage to Wilder.

He watched her intently and saw more resignation in her face than evidence of bereavement. She had always been a strong-willed woman with a tendency to ignore the advice of others. Nathan Clissold was pleased that she was now in a position where she was prepared to rely on his counsel.

‘What did you think of Inspector Marmion?’ he asked.

‘He seems very competent.’

‘It’s not his competence that’s in question, Catherine. I took exception to his manner. He came within inches of being sarcastic.’

‘Did you provoke him in some way?’

‘Of course I didn’t. You know better than to ask such a thing.’ He sat forward in his armchair, corrugating his jacket and waistcoat. ‘Why didn’t Simon give you the combination to that safe?’

‘It was his. Why would I need to look in it?’

‘Didn’t you keep your jewellery in there?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘I have an even larger safe in the bedroom. It needs a key as well as a combination. Simon wasn’t able to unlock it. We guarded our privacy, you see.’

‘I find that strange in a married couple who always showed a front of mutual dependence to the general public. What they saw were two people who appeared to live in each other’s pockets.’

‘They saw what we wanted them to see, Nathan.’

‘You mean that you were both playing a part?’

‘Isn’t that what we all do to some extent?’

‘Not in my case,’ he said, frostily. ‘I don’t take on any role. I am exactly what you see – a highly successful solicitor with a wonderful wife and family.’

‘Children were out of the question for us. Dancing always came first.’

‘Those days are past,’ he said.

There was a long silence until she was nudged by a memory.

‘I had a visitor last night,’ she said.

‘Was it that lady from next-door?’

‘No, Grace had already given me far too much of her time. I sent her home. To be honest, her sympathy was a trifle oppressive.’

‘So who was this visitor?’

‘It was Audrey Pattinson, our accompanist. I was just about to go to bed when she turned up.’

‘What did she want?’

‘Comfort, that’s all. She just wanted to
be
with someone.’

‘Isn’t she married?’

‘Oh, yes. Her husband is a retired estate agent. After a career in the army, he turned his hand to selling property.’

‘Why couldn’t he provide the comfort?’

‘Martin Pattinson is not that kind of husband, Nathan. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t even there. It was his night for going to his club. He doesn’t come back until after midnight, apparently.’

‘He left his wife
alone
when she was in need of sympathy?’

‘That’s what she said.’

Martin Pattinson returned to find that the house was empty. Since his wife had not spoken about going out that morning, he wondered where she was. It did not take him long to work out where she might be. As a result, he lifted the lid of the piano stool and saw that several sheets of music were missing. It was decisive proof. Pattinson went straight out and walked the short distance to the dance studio. The door was closed but unlocked. As he eased it open, he could hear the sound of the piano playing a slow waltz. At the far end of the hall, filling it with lilting music, was his wife, seated at the piano up on the stage. Oblivious to the fact that he was there, she played beautifully and imagined couples circling the floor at a dance. She took immense pleasure from her work, striking the keys hard to produce more volume than she usually achieved. Tears were streaming down her face as she played a melodious requiem for a lost friend. When she finished the waltz, she needed a handkerchief to dab at her face. Only then did she become aware of her husband’s presence.

He strolled meaningfully down the hall.

‘You never told me that you were coming here,’ he said, quietly.

‘I felt the need to play the piano, Martin.’

‘You could have done that at home on a much better instrument.’

‘It’s not the same.’

‘I think you should finish now.’

Audrey was given no choice in the matter. With great reluctance, she
gathered up the music she’d brought and put it into her satchel. After closing the lid of the piano, she caressed it with her hand as if bidding farewell to a favourite pet. When she came down the steps from the stage, Pattinson was waiting for her with hand outstretched.

‘I’ll have the key, please,’ he said. ‘You won’t be coming here again.’

Mavis Tandy never tired of asking questions and Paul Marmion never tired of answering them. Though they were ostensibly talking about Colin Fryatt, they were also getting to know each other. Paul was finding out things about her that his friend had not bothered to tell him. A vicar’s daughter, she’d had a better schooling than Paul and spoke with an educated voice. When she first met Fryatt, Mavis had only been helping out in a tea shop because a friend who normally worked there had been taken ill. Since she’d got to know a soldier, she’d felt an even stronger urge to go to the front as a nurse. Hoping it would bring her closer to him, Fryatt had encouraged her to go to France.

She kept repeating one question as if she’d forgotten his answer to it.

‘Did Colin ever talk about me?’

‘He never stopped, Mavis.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He said that you meant everything to him.’ Her face lit up. ‘In fact, he said it so often that some of the other lads teased him.’

‘Did you tell him about
your
girlfriend, Paul?’

‘Ah, well …’

She was immediately apologetic. ‘Oh, have I said the wrong thing? I’m sorry. I thought that every soldier had someone back home. That’s what Colin told me, anyway. Until he met me, he claimed he was the odd man out.’

‘Yes, he was.’

‘So …’

If their friendship was going to develop into something more serious, Paul decided that he had to let her know that he was available. He therefore admitted that he’d had a girlfriend when he went off to war but that she was terrified that he would either die or come home with horrific wounds. Unable to cope with the prospect, she’d stopped writing to him. When he came home on leave, she told him that they were better apart. The picture he painted was very different from the truth. In fact, it was he who’d driven away a loyal, loving young woman by his fits of anger, his drinking and the coarse language he’d picked up in the trenches.