by T E Kinsey
‘You have my deepest sympathies,’ said the doctor, kindly. ‘I know how terrible it is when one loses a comrade.’
The ambulance came and went, followed by a police constable from Bow Street who took witness statements.
‘Why are the police involved?’ asked Eustace.
‘Nothing to worry about, sir,’ said the constable. ‘Just routine. We just need to make sure the coroner has all the information he needs. There’ll almost certainly have to be an inquest. Sudden death, you see.’
He spoke to everyone in turn, but they all told him the same thing. One minute Blanche was playing, the next minute she was lying on the floor on top of her saxophone. He offered them all his sympathies, thanked them for their time, and returned to Bow Street, leaving everyone very much at a loss as to what to do next.
Millie and most of the Alphabet Gang retired to the bar, leaving only the band and Danny in the now rather bleak ballroom.
Danny approached the stage. ‘Is everyone all right?’ he asked.
‘Thanks, mate,’ said Skins. ‘It’s all a horrible shock. But we’ll look after each other.’
‘If there’s anything I, or the club, can do, you’ve only to say. You’ve met a few of the gang. Bunch of misfits, the lot of us. But we look after each other, too. And we’ve rather taken to you all. Had a word with the other chaps. You’ve done us proud these past couple of weeks and they like the cut of your collective jib. So . . . well, as I say – anything you need. We’ll find someone else to play for these stupid classes, of course.’
The Dizzy Heights looked at each other.
‘Well,’ said Dunn after a moment. ‘The thing about Blanche is she’s – she was – a grafter. Like Elk said earlier, she never missed a day. The band always came first, and she took our responsibilities seriously. We promised we’d play, and we’ll play. Right?’
The band nodded and muttered agreement.
‘It’ll be a difficult time – we all loved her – but she wouldn’t want us to let anyone down.’
‘She wouldn’t,’ said Puddle. ‘She’d be angry with us if we did.’
‘So we owe it to Blanche to see it through,’ said Dunn. ‘We’ll get you through your dance contest with the . . .’
‘The Wags Club,’ said Danny.
‘We’ll play for you, get you ready. You beat them for Blanche.’
‘When you put it like that,’ said Danny, ‘it does sound like a fitting tribute. But don’t make any hasty decisions. We’ll understand completely if you wish to back out. And bear in mind that we’ll want to train a bit harder. We’re going to need more than one lesson a week if we’re to be ready in time. Just think about it, but don’t make any rash commitments. We’d certainly appreciate your help, but we’d understand.’
He left them to continue packing up.
‘Did she have any family?’ asked Benny.
‘A brother in Wimbledon,’ said Puddle. ‘I should tell him.’
‘The police will do it,’ said Benny.
‘But it would be better coming from one of us. No one wants a policeman standing on their doorstep telling them their sister has died. It should be a friend.’
‘You got the address?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘I’ll come with you,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t have to do it alone.’
The rest of the band agreed, and Benny and Puddle set off to take the District Railway to Wimbledon.
‘They’ve left her sax and clarinet,’ said Skins. ‘We ought to look after them in case her brother wants them. We’ll put them in the shop.’
Mickey, Elk, and Eustace helped Skins and Dunn to take their instruments out to the cart and then they all went their separate ways. The rain had stopped, but that meant the streets were crowded with all the people who had delayed their journeys to avoid the deluge. It took Skins and Dunn slightly longer than usual to get back to the shop and on to Bloomsbury, where Skins invited Dunn in for a nightcap. The bassist declined. He wanted to be alone.
Dunn kept to his room for the next couple of days and made no effort to go out, not even to his regular dinner with Skins and Ellie. The band had nothing in the diary and he just didn’t feel up to the idea of seeing people.
By Friday morning, though, he felt the need to do something, so he set off for a walk through the north London streets. He still wasn’t at all certain how he felt. Blanche’s sudden death had been a terrible blow, to be sure, but he was unsure why it had affected him so badly. Friends had died before – under more gruesome circumstances – and he had felt the same combination of shock and loss, but there was an added dimension this time. This time it was someone he . . . Someone he what, exactly? Fancied? Cared about? Wanted? Had decided to settle for? They didn’t have any sort of relationship beyond the friendly comradeship of the band and the promise of a date that could now never happen, so why had this hit him so hard?
She had been a remarkable woman, to be sure. Funny, talented, excellent company. Was it regret at what might have been? Had he left it too late? Had happiness been right under his nose all this time? Had she felt the same? Had she just been coolly waiting for him to do something about it? Waiting for him to realize that his philandering wasn’t ever going to get him what he wanted?
He wandered for quite some time until he found himself outside a station, where he decided to hop on the tube to Russell Square to see Skins and Ellie. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, but now he thought about it, that was probably where he’d been heading all along.
Mrs Dalrymple showed him in to the drawing room and said she’d let the Maloneys know he was there. He sat at Ellie’s piano and began to play a few melancholy chords. A melody suggested itself almost at once and he picked out a few phrases before improvising around the new tune.
Ellie had been standing in the doorway listening for a few minutes.
‘That’s pretty,’ she said. ‘You should play more often.’ She walked over and hugged him warmly. ‘Hi, sweetheart. How are you? I’m so sorry about Blanche.’
He stood and hugged her back. ‘I’m all right. How’s our boy?’
‘He’s putting a brave face on it,’ she said. ‘You know what he’s like. If there’s a choice between showing his feelings and making a dumb joke, he’d always rather make the dumb joke. Is that an English thing? Is that your stiff upper lip?’
‘Something like that,’ said Dunn. ‘We just find emotions a bit . . . you know . . . embarrassing.’
‘Well, it gets my nanny, I can tell you. Just say how you feel.’
‘I feel fine.’
She pulled back and hit his chest. ‘You’re as bad as Ivor.’ She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
Skins appeared at the door. ‘Who’s as bad as me? Oh, hello, mate. You staying for tea?’
‘Oh, do,’ said Ellie. ‘We could do with the company.’
‘That would be nice,’ said Dunn. ‘But on the way over here I had another idea.’
‘Go on,’ said Skins.
‘Well, no one’s said anything official about Blanche.’
‘No one at all?’ said Ellie. ‘Not even Blanche’s brother? How is he – does anyone know? And what about poor Puddle? She and Blanche were close, weren’t they?’
‘They were. Tight as anything, those two. But as far as I know, no one’s heard a dicky bird. So I was thinking we could ask Superintendent Sunderland.’
‘I sent him a wire on Wednesday to let him know what had happened, but I’ve not heard anything back from him,’ said Skins.
‘What would he know about it?’ said Ellie.
‘Not much, I don’t suppose,’ said Dunn. ‘But he’d know who to ask, wouldn’t he?’
‘He would. Why don’t you call him?’
‘Now?’
‘Why not? It’s obviously been on your mind. You know where the phone is. Go and call him.’
Dunn smiled and went out to the hall.
He returned a few moments later. ‘This tea you offer
ed me – is it anything as would spoil if we went out instead?’
‘Just some sandwiches and cake,’ said Ellie. ‘The staff can eat them. Why? Where are we going?’
‘Nowhere fancy. Sunderland wants to meet us at Lyons Corner House on the Strand in half an hour. His treat, apparently.’
‘We’d better get our skates on, then,’ said Ellie.
The three friends hailed a cab and made it to the large café opposite Charing Cross station with a few minutes to spare. Sunderland was already waiting for them.
He greeted them warmly and, once the introductions were done, made no secret of the fact that he found the presence of a young American woman rather exotic. This entertained Ellie no end, and she managed to throw a few made-up American phrases into the polite chit-chat to help reinforce the impression that she and her home country were, indeed, somewhat exotic and mysterious.
Once the smartly uniformed Nippy (as the waitresses were affectionately known) had taken their order, Sunderland got down to business.
‘Thank you for coming over,’ he began. ‘I’m most grateful for your reports from the Aristippus Club, and I was most terribly sorry to hear the news about your friend, Miss Adams.’
‘Thank you,’ said Dunn. ‘Actually, that’s why we wanted to speak to you. We’ve heard nothing from the police since it happened and we were wondering if you’d heard anything.’
Sunderland frowned. ‘I’m afraid I have,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you that the news isn’t good. Given the location of her passing and its connection to my case, I was able to pull some strings and get the post-mortem carried out urgently. Cases of obvious foul play take priority so there’s usually a delay with other unexplained deaths, you see. Anyway, the results came through this morning and the police surgeon has confirmed that she was murdered.’
‘Murdered?’ they said together, slightly too loudly.
Diners at nearby tables turned to stare.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Dunn, much more quietly.
‘Quite sure,’ said Sunderland.
‘But how?’ said Skins. ‘No one touched her.’
‘Poison,’ said Ellie. ‘It must be poison.’
‘I’m afraid it was,’ said Sunderland. ‘And a nasty one. Massive failure of all her internal organs. Never stood a chance, poor woman.’
‘But how?’ said Skins again. ‘When? Was it at the club? We all ate the same sandwiches, drank beer poured from a jug.’
‘The inspector in charge of the case will want to know all that,’ said Sunderland. ‘No idea who it is yet, but it’ll be one of the C Division lads. Someone from Bow Street, I should think. We’ve only just had it confirmed as suspected murder so someone will be assigned today. He’ll be calling on you all in due course, I’m sure.’
‘Right you are,’ said Skins.
‘Make sure he brings a couple of uniformed coppers with him,’ said Dunn. ‘It’ll give my neighbour a treat.’
Sunderland gave him a puzzled frown but decided not to ask. ‘Given my interest in the club,’ he said instead, ‘I’ve asked if I can oversee the investigation, but you know what the politics of these things is like – everyone’s got one eye on serving the public and the other eye on serving their career. But I’ll definitely be poking my nose in.’
‘Do you think they’re connected?’ said Ellie.
‘The two cases? It’s not obvious at the moment. Our man Grant isn’t likely to want to draw attention to himself by murdering innocent musicians, but I’d be stupid to rule it out. I’d prefer to proceed as though it’s possible and keep an open mind. It could be a coincidence, but I’m not keen on those.’
‘But why Blanche?’ said Skins. ‘She didn’t even know about us helping you out and she’d never done anything to anyone. Who would kill a saxophone player?’
‘Who indeed?’ said Sunderland. ‘Look, are you two sure you want to carry on with all this? I’d quite understand if you didn’t. You can’t possibly be playing at the club any more, after all, not after that.’
‘Actually, we are,’ said Skins. ‘We talked about it and we’re sort of doing it for Blanche. The dance contest thing, I mean, not looking for your deserter. We said we’d see it through for her. She wouldn’t want us to let them down. She was like that. Very professional.’
‘The show must go on, and all that.’
‘Something like that,’ said Dunn. ‘Get them through their contest for her.’
‘Sounds like a nice tribute, as a matter of fact,’ said Sunderland. ‘How are you finding them?’
‘The club members?’ said Skins. ‘It’s difficult to convey it in a telegram, but . . . How can I put it? You never said – were you in the army?’
‘Not I,’ said Sunderland. ‘I wanted to sign up, but the Bristol CID wouldn’t release me. We’d lost too many youngsters to the war already and they insisted on us old hands staying behind to hold it all together.’
‘Makes sense. But you’ve met young army officers in your time?’
‘I have, yes,’ said Sunderland. ‘There were some fine men among them.’
‘Undoubtedly. But there were some right idiots, too – rich as you like, more money than they knew what to do with, and not a chin nor an ounce of brains between them. It can be difficult not to think of this lot like that. One of them is a cunning thief – maybe even a murderer – but they all seem to enjoy playing the affable-idiot card. It can be hard to take the Alphabet Gang seriously sometimes.’
‘The what?’
Skins explained the overly complicated system that had given the group of friends their name.
‘So at least you’ve only got A, B, C, D, and E to remember. That must make it easier, surely?’
‘You’d think so,’ said Dunn, ‘but I’m still trying to get to grips with it all. I’ve been too distracted watching them dance most of the time.’
‘Good, are they?’ said Sunderland.
Skins and Dunn both laughed.
‘Probably not, then,’ said Sunderland with a smile. ‘But you’re getting to know them a little? Finding out about them?’
‘Bit by bit,’ said Skins. ‘And I’ll be honest, they’re not quite as dim as I like to paint them. They’re not a bad bunch, really, and I don’t like the idea that one of them’s a wrong’un. We’ll flush your man out.’
‘Will we?’ said Dunn.
‘Course we will,’ said Skins.
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘It’s my detective instinct,’ said Skins. ‘I’ve got a nose for these things.’
‘Who is it, then?’ said Dunn. He was glad not to be thinking about Blanche for a while, and he was enjoying watching his friend squirm a little.
‘Well, I mean, it could be . . . Well, there’s . . . I mean . . .’
Ellie decided to bail him out. ‘They haven’t got a clue. But they’ll be back and forth to the club a couple of times a week, maybe more, so I’m sure they’ll trip him up at some point.’
‘I see,’ said Sunderland. ‘And are you helping?’
‘I’m certainly keen to get involved, especially now. So far I’ve only been offering moral support from the sidelines, but I’m intrigued by the secret vault. I’ve got Flo Armstrong in my corner, too, so I’m going to be following her advice on how to find it.’
The Nippy arrived with their tea and buns and Sunderland pressed the men for details about the Alphabets. They ran through more or less the same observations they’d made to each other at the Lamb and Flag after the first lesson. Sunderland made notes.
‘Did you get any real names?’ he asked when they’d finished.
‘They did explain them to Millie Mitchell, but it wasn’t fantastically easy to follow,’ said Dunn. ‘Alfie is something like Cornelius Something . . . No, it’s gone. I just remember Millie saying he could have been Corny.’
‘Charlie is Bob Something-beginning-with-C,’ said Skins.
‘Oh, and Ernie is Somebody Cashmore,’ said Dunn. ‘I liked
the joke there. Earn-y. Probably the cleverest thing any of them has ever said.’
‘I’ll ask around, see if anyone has heard of any of them, but it’s not much to go on,’ said Sunderland. ‘I’ll check the deserters list, too, see if anything jumps out.’
‘Sorry we can’t be more help yet,’ said Dunn.
‘Don’t be daft. Without you I’d not even have this much.’ He waved his notebook.
The Nippy, thinking she’d been summoned, brought a fresh pot of tea and asked if they needed any more buns.
‘Not for me, thank you, miss,’ said Sunderland. ‘But you three should feel free.’
The friends politely declined.
‘We’d probably better let you get back to work,’ said Skins.
‘I better had,’ said Sunderland. ‘Thank you for coming down. And thank you for your efforts. I do appreciate what you’re doing for us.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ said Dunn. ‘Happy to help.’
‘Well, thank you anyway. And my sympathies again for the loss of your friend. You should tell the others in the band that the case is under investigation so it’s not a shock when the inspector turns up to question them.’
‘They’ll be fine,’ said Skins. ‘We’ll set them straight.’
‘I’m sure you will. Look, I know you have a lot to cope with, but please don’t forget that time is against us. There are just two weeks to the dance contest and the possible theft – we need as much information as we can get.’
He paid the bill and they parted on the Strand.
Ellie, Skins, and Dunn strolled back towards Trafalgar Square.
‘You haven’t got to rush back for anything, have you?’ asked Skins.
‘Mrs C’s bottomless teapot and a new song I’ve been working on,’ said Dunn. ‘Got a better offer?’
‘Let’s go down the park and see the pelicans.’
They allowed their stroll to take them beneath Admiralty Arch and on to The Mall. St James’s Park looked inviting in the late-spring sunshine, and the three friends followed one of the paths down to the lake. It was gone five and there were still one or two uniformed nannies pushing enormous prams, but most of the other people they saw were civil servants in their unofficial uniform of black jackets and grey trousers, scurrying home after a busy day spent running the country.
