I stood up. Click-Click jumped up. Put a restraining hand on my arm.
"Now, wait. Didn't say I couldn't help in any way. How about that cup of tea, after all?"
I glanced at the sink. "I'll pass, thank you."
"Suppose I open the van. You get first dibs on anything you need and I take the vehicle."
"How about you open the van, we take a look inside, and then lock it again without taking anything?"
"What's the point in that?"
"Information."
"Information don't pay my rent."
I reached inside my pocket and took out a pound note. Handed it to Click-Click. "Another one when the job's done," I said. "I'll contact you later about the time and the place."
The edges of Click-Click's mouth turned down in a moue of disappointment. "First time I've ever taken a fee. Next thing I know I'll be on wages and stamping my card every week."
Shirley was in a bubbly mood when I met her after work.
She looked great in red Capri pants and black tee-shirt with the slogan "On paper, you're my type…" printed on the front. On the back, it added: "…Pity you come in flesh and blood."
Her photoshoot on the pier had ended well and she'd been told she could expect more work from the magazine in the future.
That pleased me. I love seeing Shirl happy. Especially when I've got a big favour to ask. But I needed to pick my moment carefully.
We went for an early supper at the China Garden in Preston Street. I had sweet and sour pork with special fried rice. Shirley had chicken chow mein and some bean sprouts. We sipped jasmine tea from delicate willow pattern cups without handles.
Shirl scooped up some chow mein and said: "I've had a great day, reporter boy. How about you?"
"Interesting," I said. "Even lively." I told Shirley about my experience with the hunt.
"Jeez! All those hounds. They could have done some serious damage."
"Thanks for your concern."
"I was thinking about the fox."
"I'll pass on your best wishes next time I see him."
Shirl dug into the bean sprouts. "After the day you've had, we ought to have a night out."
"That's just what I was thinking. Why don't we go dancing?"
Shirley gave me a sly grin. "I know your dancing. Last time you suggested it, we ended up doing the horizontal hokey-pokey back at my flat."
"I believe we call it hokey-cokey in England."
"Only when you're doing it standing up," Shirl said. "Anyway, what's with this sudden urge to cut a rug? I don't mind if we can bop at Sherry's to that new Supremes' number, Where Did Our Love Go? It's great."
"Sure. But I was thinking something a bit more ballroom."
Shirley put down her fork and looked at me like I'd just suggested we don space suits and swim the English Channel.
I took another mouthful of sweet and sour pork and chomped at it while I thought about what to tell Shirley.
"It's all to do with this mission I've been given by His Holiness. Find Gervase. There's a dance school in Kemp Town called the Dolores Esteban Tango Academy and I think there's more to it than 'take your partners, please'."
I described how the Widow had enrolled herself at the school to find a new husband. I told how she'd started to imagine the new man in her life was Conrad Montez, the dance instructor. I explained how she'd seen Blunt at the school three times, each time meeting with Montez. I mentioned how the Widow had recognised Blunt from his picture on the front of the Chronicle. And I added that Blunt's presence made me suspicious that the Academy was a front for other activity - perhaps political, perhaps criminal, perhaps both.
Shirl grazed at her bean sprouts while I spoke. She had that tiny wrinkle in her forehead which meant she was frowning. You wouldn't have known otherwise.
She said: "If we go there, looks like we could tango into trouble." She grinned. "I'm up for it. But we'll need a good story."
I said: "We'll just say we've always been crazy about the tango and we want to learn how to do it properly. Perhaps we could say we're hoping to win a dance competition."
"Think they'll buy that?"
"Why not? I guess it's why most of their other pupils are there. The difficult bit is finding a way to snoop around while we're in the Academy. We won't be able to work that one out until we've had time to see what the place is like."
"Haven't you forgotten something, mastermind?"
"What's that?"
"Blunt is a regular. After last night, there's no way he won't recognise your ugly fizzog. What's the big plan if he blows in?"
I took a final mouthful of the sweet and sour pork and chewed.
"I don't think he will. For starters, he'll still be nursing a few painful bruises after I tripped him up in New Road. I guess he won't fancy dancing. But, most important, I think after the rally fiasco, Maundsley will be riding him hard. He won't like a security chief who fouled up so spectacularly. And, besides, he'll want to keep Blunt away from the press. Especially yours truly. The last thing Maundsley wants is more bad publicity. I don't think Maundsley will let Blunt stray far from his mansion."
Shirley leaned back on her chair. She had a sly smile.
"And how will you explain it away to your landlady if she turns up. I thought you said she had the hots for the dance instructor."
"She had, but it cooled after he stood her up during the Kiss of Fire. Besides, tonight's the night when her friend Mrs Blagg from the Beauregard Hotel comes round. They share a bottle of cream sherry and talk about how to bilk their tenants."
"So, I guess there's nothing to stop us," Shirley said. "Except one thing."
"What's that?" I asked.
"Neither of us knows anything about the tango."
"It's a dance," I said. "All you need is two feet and a floor. How hard can it be?"
Chapter 15
It was half past seven when I pulled the MGB into a parking space a few steps from the Dolores Esteban Tango Academy.
The place occupied a converted church hall in a street just off the seafront at Kemp Town. It was a single-storey building at the end of a terrace of neat houses with white stucco frontages. The Academy had been painted a shade of grey which made it stand out from the terrace like a rotten tooth.
The old church hall would have been the kind of place where pensioners gathered for a game of bingo. Or wolf cubs mustered for lessons in tying knots. Or the mother's union swapped recipes for Victoria sponge cake.
I wondered what we'd find inside now.
I turned to Shirley. "Are you ready for this, Twinkletoes?"
She grinned. "And I suppose you're the original cobber with the dancing feet."
"That's the word down at the Palais."
Shirley rolled her eyes.
We climbed out of the car.
The front of the Academy had a pair of double doors. There was a small window to the right of the doors.
I stepped up and peered through it.
I turned to Shirley. "Look at this. There are bars behind this window. Impressive security. Surely they're not worried about Burglar Bill breaking in and pinching their dancing pumps."
"The bars could have been installed when the place was a church hall," Shirley said. "Perhaps they stored valuable church stuff here."
"Perhaps," I said. "But in my experience the most valuable thing you'd find in a church hall is an old tea urn." I shrugged. "Anyway, let's get into the dancing mood."
We pushed the doors open and stepped into a small foyer lit by a couple of low-wattage lamps. There was a rush mat on the floor and a couple of upright chairs pushed up against the wall. There was a noticeboard with information about forthcoming classes, dancing competitions and second-hand records of tango music ("in good condition") for sale. Beside the noticeboard was a large print of Eva Peron. Her blonde hair was tied back in a bun. She wore a large pink flower like a gardenia on her black dress. She had a woman-of-the-people smile on her lips which faded when you looked at her eyes
.
I said: "I guess they're trying to summon up the Argentinian atmosphere as soon as you step through the doors."
"Yeah, like a night on the Pampas with only your horse for company," Shirley said.
I pointed to a door off the other side of the foyer. "That must lead into the room with the barred windows," I said.
I tried the door. Locked. "There's something in there they don't want anyone to know about," I said.
"Probably just their personal bits and pieces. A girl's got to have somewhere to park her handbag while she bops," Shirley said. "Trouble with you is that you've got a suspicious mind."
"The best kind for a reporter. It's what helps me get front-page stories."
Shirley was about to say something. But before she could get any words out, music started up from further inside the building. A couple of violins began a mournful tune. Like a woman wailing over something sad. Perhaps the loss of a lover. Perhaps a ladder in her stockings. And then a man began to sing in Spanish. He had a soft tenor voice, loaded with sorrow. The kind of voice you'd hear at a nightclub. In the early hours, when the air is fogged with cigarette smoke and the punters are drowsy with drink.
The music came from behind a door at the far end of the foyer. I looked at Shirley and nodded. We walked towards the door and opened it.
We stepped into a Buenos Aires nightclub. The kind of club where there's a spyhole in the door and the drink comes served in bottles with no labels. The kind of club where the barmen look like bouncers and the bouncers look like gorillas.
At least that's what the room felt like.
The place had black walls and no windows. It was bigger than the Chronicle's newsroom, smaller than Woolworth's in Western Road. It smelt like the perfume counter in Woolworth's on Christmas Eve, when the last-minute rush is on. The room was lit by two droopy chandeliers. A glitter ball hung from the centre of the ceiling. It reflected shards of light that circled the room, like a drunk flashing an Aldis lamp. There were small round tables, each set with two cane-backed chairs, spaced around a polished dance floor.
The music came from an old wind-up gramophone with a huge horn. It sat on a table at the far end of the room. Three couples were dancing anti-clockwise around the floor. A woman with dark hair piled in a beehive, tied at the base with a red ribbon, stood in the centre of the room.
She tapped a foot to the beat of the music.
She had to be Dolores Esteban.
In appearance, she lived up to her exotic name. She wore a red dress which Shirley later told me had a scalloped neckline and puff sleeves. The dress hugged her hips like a second skin. It was slit to the thigh and revealed a leg in a fishnet stocking. She wore a pair of stilettoes you could have used to punch holes in steel plate. She had a clutch of chunky rings on her fingers and a pair of dangling hoop earrings (thanks again, Shirley) that looked big enough to pick up the Home Service.
She was waving her arms and shouting at the dancing couples as they glided by.
"Ralph, no. Está incorrecto. Shift your weight to the left foot. And Maudie, abrazarlo. Keep in hold." This to an old bloke with white hair and a military moustache and a thin woman with worried eyes and twitchy lips.
"Humphrey, darse tono! Keep that spine straight." A tall man pushed back his hunched shoulders. "And Lavinia, look at your partner. Lo deseas. You desire him." The lady in question twizzled her head and gave Dolores a look that could have dropped a carthorse in its tracks.
A young couple swept into Dolores' view. He wore glasses with thick black frames. She had her long blonde hair held back from her face by a pink Alice band.
"Muy bien, Tom and Val. But don't play safe. Ser peligroso - try a salida." They turned together and moved forward in time to the beat. They giggled at one another, which rather spoilt the effect.
Dolores frowned.
The violins reached a crescendo and the music ended with a few soulful chords. The couples released one another from their holds and politely applauded. They moved off to the tables and sat down.
Dolores turned and saw Shirley and me standing by the door. She had an oval face with dark watchful eyes that were too close together.
She crossed the room towards us like a panther stalking its prey.
"Buenas tardes, senor. Buenas tardes, senorita," she said. "Bienvenido a la Academia de Tango Dolores Esteban. Has venido a bailar?"
She walked up to us with her arms spread as though expecting an embrace.
"Remember our backstory," I whispered to Shirley. We'd worked out what we were going to say earlier at the China Garden.
Dolores extended an elegant hand with scarlet painted nails. I took the hand and shook it. It was smooth to touch and strangely cool.
"I am sorry," she said. "When I see new people and gente tan hermosa - such beautiful people - I am so excited, I speak in my native language."
"Don’t worry about it," I said. "I have the same problem every time I walk into the office."
"You and your beautiful lady are here to learn the tango?" Dolores asked.
"That's right," I said.
"Sure, we'll give it a go," Shirley added.
"But why the tango?"
"Well, it's like this," Shirley said. "My boyfriend and me go for our holidays to Butlin's every year. They have this dancing competition and if you get through your heat, you get to go to the finals and you pick up a free holiday. Well, we think we can get into the finals with the tango."
Dolores clapped her hands. "A competition! I, too, am winning competitions for tango. In Buenos Aires, you understand. Not Brighton. The judges, they say I am unbelievable. You think I am unbelievable? You better believe it."
I said: "As soon as I stepped through the door I said to Shirley, 'That woman is unbelievable'."
Shirley nodded. "'Totally unbelievable,' I said to Colin."
"But we must dance. Your first lesson will be free. Gratis. You like, then you pay for the lessons. No?"
"Yes," I said.
"For the first lesson, I dance with the man," Dolores said. "It is good, no? My partner, Conrad Montez, dance with the lady. Also good. But not good because Conrad he is not here. So you dance together. You share the passion? No?"
"As long as there's enough to go round," I said.
"Always with the tango, there is much pasión," Dolores said.
"Same with the hokey-pokey, when Colin's around," Shirley said.
The other dancers had been chatting at the tables around the room. Dolores clapped her hands. They turned towards her.
"Atención, por favor. We have two new pupils. We are going to teach them the tango's basic eight-step move."
The other couples shuffled to their feet. Dolores hurried to the far end of the room and wound up the gramophone. Selected another record. Lowered the arm and more scratchy violin music started to play.
The other couples took one another in their holds.
Dolores swept into the middle of the room. "And so first, gentlemen, make a small back step. Ladies, right leg forward. Wait for the first beat of the bar."
We tried the move. I slipped. Shirley giggled.
Dolores shouted above the music: "Gentlemen, make a side step. Ladies, follow. Gentlemen, third step forward, fourth step forward. Ladies, third step back, fourth step cross left over right foot. Gentlemen…"
But we never found out what the gentlemen had to do next.
Because the door to the room opened and a man hurried in. He was tall and had a slim wiry body. I put him at about fifty. He had a thin face with an aquiline nose and compressed lips. His left eyelid drooped a little. When I looked closer I saw that was because he had a small scar between his eye and his ear. He wore wire-framed glasses. He had thinning brown hair combed back from his forehead. He carried a black bag which sagged heavily from his hands.
He stood in the doorway and looked around the room. He seemed flustered. Angry. He saw Dolores. He dumped his bag on one of the tables and hurried across the room towards her.
Ralph called out: "Evening, Conrad. Everything all right?"
So this was the missing Conrad Montez. The Widow's new heart-throb.
Conrad closed on Dolores.
I whispered to Shirley: "I don't think he's going to ask her to dance."
Montez grabbed Dolores's elbow and whispered something in her ear.
She shrugged. He let go of her elbow and said something sharply.
She walked towards the far end of the room. The end where the gramophone was grinding out the tango tune. The violins were giving it everything they'd got and a contralto had joined in.
Humphrey and Lavinia tangoed by as though nothing had happened. Tom and Val swayed to the music. They couldn't decide what to do. Ralph and Maudie broke from their hold and watched Dolores and Montez cross the room.
I whispered to Shirley: "Keep dancing."
"How? We don't know the steps."
"Let's do anything. Just dance towards the table where Montez has left that bag."
We shuffled across the floor trying to look like a couple of old pros.
Dolores and Montez were at the far end of the room, close to the gramophone. They were whispering to each other intensely. Not yet an argument, but it had the potential to be a big one.
Shirley and I slid alongside the table. I took a good look at the bag. It was a black holdall arrangement made from real leather. An expensive item. I wondered what it held. I ran my hand lightly over the outside. The leather was smooth. But I couldn't feel what was inside.
But wait.
At one end there was a warm patch on the leather.
Shirley and I danced a few steps on the spot while I felt the patch a little more. Yes, definitely warm. I wondered what had made that part of the leather warmer than the rest. Had it been resting against a radiator? Perhaps on a hot part of his car? Or had there been something hot inside the bag? But who would put something hot in an expensive leather bag? Unless they had no choice.
The music rose in a crescendo. A duet of a man and a woman belted out a song of passionate love. Perhaps for one another. Perhaps for their dog. I couldn't tell. They were singing in Spanish.
The Tango School Mystery Page 12
