‘I’m not surprised,’ said Marmion. ‘It must have been a cruel blow. What about her husband? Has he withdrawn from competitive dancing as well?’
‘Oh, no – he’s found himself another partner.’
‘And who’s that?’
‘I’ve no idea but her name will be in this appointments book somewhere.’ He put it on the desk and opened it at the page that referred to the previous day. ‘I had a look at this on the drive back here. It’s the list of classes he had yesterday.’
Marmion studied the page. ‘There were six of them in all.’
‘Two involved couples but four ladies came for individual tuition.’
‘So he was dancing for all of six hours. I could never do that.’
‘He always kept himself very fit, apparently,’ said Keedy. ‘I wondered how he’d managed to avoid conscription but Mrs Chambers, the neighbour, explained that as well. Wilder was forty-two when it was brought in earlier this year. If he’d been twelve months younger, he’d have been in uniform at the front.’
‘That might have saved his life.’
‘Or it might have shortened it just as brutally.’
‘Too true!’
Marmion picked up the book and flicked through it. He was impressed both by the number of would-be dancers who’d come for instruction and by the amount of money they were prepared to pay out.
‘Four pounds an hour! No wonder he could afford a lovely house like that.’
‘That’s almost as much as we get,’ joked Keedy.
‘I wish it was.’ They shared a hollow laugh. ‘I reckon that Mrs Wilder looked after this,’ he went on, tapping the book. ‘It’s so meticulously kept. She was his secretary as well as his dance partner.’
‘Do we have to interview everyone named in there?’
‘That’s how we’re most likely to pick up valuable clues.’
‘But the murder may have nothing to do with his occupation.’
‘He didn’t have an occupation, Joe. He had a way of life. Artistes are not the same as lesser mortals like us. They dedicate themselves to their calling.’
‘Isn’t that what we do?’
‘Not in quite the same way,’ argued Marmion. ‘Simon Wilder lived and breathed dancing twenty-four hours a day. That’s why his death has to be connected to something that happened in the course of his work.’ He looked at the page in front of him. ‘I wonder what this means.’
Keedy looked over his shoulder. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘There’s a letter beside each name. It’s either a “p” or a “g”. Does that indicate the grade each dancer has reached?’
‘Do you mean they’re either poor or good?’
‘It’s a possibility.’
‘Well, I can make a better guess than that.’
‘Go on, then.’
‘Wilder sometimes used an accompanist and sometimes he didn’t. I think we’re looking at “p” for piano and “g” for gramophone. How does that sound?’
‘It sounds very convincing to me, Joe.’
‘His pianist was a woman named Mrs Pattinson who adored him.’
‘He seems to have surrounded himself with adoring women. What’s more,’ said Marmion, rolling his eyes, ‘he made them pay four pounds an hour for the privilege. What does that tell you about him?’
‘He was a lucky devil!’
‘Why did his luck run out?’ He turned to the page listing the most recent pupils. ‘We’ll start with these last two names.’
‘Why pick on them?’
‘The first four sessions of the day had piano accompaniment whereas the last two – both of them ladies – danced to music from a gramophone. That may not be an accident. If you took an interest in a woman, would you rather have a third person in the dance studio with you or would you prefer to keep it more private?’
‘It may be that the pianist was not available for those sessions.’
‘A moment ago, you told me that she adored Wilder. I reckon that she’d have played for him until her hands dropped off. What was her name?’
‘Mrs Pattinson – Audrey Pattinson.’
Marmion closed the book. ‘Let’s have a word with her, shall we?’
She knew that something had happened. When she got to the studio that morning, Audrey Pattinson had found Catherine Wilder in an agitated state, explaining to the woman who’d come for a dance lesson that her husband had gone missing and that the class would have to be cancelled. Having gone there to provide accompaniment, Audrey instead found herself pinning a notice on the door, warning those due for a class later in the day that all instruction had been suspended until further notice. She then returned home in a complete daze. Her husband, Martin, had made her a cup of tea and tried to stop her speculating on Wilder’s disappearance. It took him hours to calm her down. When he felt able to leave her, he went off in search of information.
Audrey sat there in utter dismay, holding the framed photograph of Wilder that he’d given her as a Christmas present. He was leaning on a piano with her beside him. Audrey felt a thrill whenever she looked at the photograph. Wilder was a brilliant dancer and she felt that it was an honour to play for him. The notion that their partnership might somehow have come to an end was terrifying. Audrey was a shapeless, grey-haired lady in her fifties with the kind of nondescript face that made her almost invisible. After leading a largely anonymous life, she’d been employed by Wilder and suddenly blossomed. Her name was printed on the poster outside the studio and she was mentioned in all of his publicity. Wilder had given her an identity and purpose in life she’d hitherto lacked.
When her husband had returned, she’d risen from her chair and rushed into the hall. One look at his face confirmed her worst fears. Martin Pattinson was a tall, straight-backed, sharp-featured man in his sixties with well-groomed white hair and a neat moustache. He’d shrugged helplessly. Then he’d simply taken his wife into his arms and held her close. Audrey had sobbed until there were no more tears left.
Simon Wilder had gone for ever. Her life was empty once again.
Marmion and Keedy sat in the rear of a car that took them in the direction of Chingford. The inspector was engrossed in the appointments book, going through page after page in the search for patterns that might yield clues. Having bought a copy of the lunchtime edition as they left Scotland Yard, the sergeant was holding it open and looking for a mention of the murder. He found it on an inside page.
‘There’s not very much,’ he complained. ‘All that it says is that the body of a man was found in Chingford in the early hours and that the police have launched a murder inquiry. They don’t even give Wilder’s name.’
‘The paper was printed too early for that, Joe. By the time Chat held his press conference, that edition was already finished. And it doesn’t worry me that we’ve been overshadowed by the Zeppelin story,’ he continued. ‘I’d always prefer to give newspapers too little information than too much.’
‘Tomorrow will be even worse. There’ll be photos galore of the wreckage. The papers will really make a meal of that. Simon Wilder is going to be hidden away on an inside page once again.’ The car slowed to a halt in thickening traffic. ‘We can’t be shuttling to and fro all the time,’ he went on. ‘It’s the best part of a ten-mile drive. We lose valuable time darting to Chingford and back.’
‘I disagree,’ said Marmion. ‘Time in transit is never wasted. We have a chance to discuss the case and read through any documents we have – such as this.’ He held up the appointments book. ‘It’s fascinating, Joe. It’s a far better read than any of those novels Ellen takes out of the library.’
‘I still think we should establish a base in Chingford.’
‘The idea is appealing, I grant you that. It would be wonderful to put ten miles between us and Chat. I hate it when he’s breathing down our necks.’
‘I hate it when the old so-and-so is breathing.’
Marmion laughed. ‘Don’t wish him dead. Chat has his fa
ults and there are plenty of them but it could have been worse.’
‘I don’t see how.’
‘What if I’d become superintendent? I might have turned into a real tyrant and you’d have been working hand-in-glove with Inspector Chatfield instead of with me.’
Keedy groaned. ‘I’d sooner be back in uniform.’
The traffic cleared, the car picked up speed and they eventually got near their destination. Since he was a stranger to the area, the driver stopped to ask directions from a passer-by. Two minutes later, the vehicle was turning into a tree-lined avenue with a series of detached houses down each side. Audrey Pattinson’s address had been found in the appointment book along with the addresses of everyone else connected to the dance studio. Marmion could see why Catherine Wilder had been so loath to part with the book. It was a detailed record of the life she’d shared with her husband and, as such, would be a treasured memento.
‘There’s one thing I couldn’t find in here, Joe,’ he said.
‘What was that?’
‘There’s no record of payment to the accompanist.’
‘Perhaps she played for nothing.’
‘I can’t believe that he’d exploit her like that.’
‘You have to be ruthless in business.’
The car stopped at the kerb and they got out. Marmion led the way up the little path and rang the doorbell. A moment later, Martin Pattinson opened the door and identified them from press photographs.
‘I’ve seen you two gentlemen before, I fancy,’ he said.
‘Then you’ll know our names, sir. Are you Mr Pattinson?’
‘I am, indeed. You must have come to interview my wife.’
‘Is she aware that …?’
‘I’m afraid so, Inspector Marmion. Be gentle with her, please. She’s in a very delicate state. Working with Mr Wilder meant a great deal to her.’ He ushered them into the living room. Audrey was in a chair, staring blankly ahead of her. ‘There are some detectives from Scotland Yard who wish to speak to you, my dear.’
‘What?’ She came out of her reverie. Seeing the visitors, she became flustered. ‘Oh, I wasn’t expecting anyone to call.’
‘We were hoping you might be able to help us, Mrs Pattinson.’
‘I’m sure that she will, Inspector,’ said her husband. ‘May I stay or would you rather not have me in the way?’
‘The choice is yours, sir. I suspect that Mrs Pattinson would prefer you to remain and we’re very happy with that.’
Audrey nodded and beckoned for her husband to sit beside her. Marmion and Keedy were waved to an armchair apiece. While the inspector held the appointments book in his hand, Keedy took out his notebook and pencil. As they settled down, they each stole a quick look around the room. A third of the space was taken up by a grand piano. On the mantelpiece was a large, framed photograph taken at the Pattinsons’ wedding. He was wearing an army uniform and his wife was in a white bridal dress. Both of them looked to be well into their thirties.
‘What would you like to know, Inspector?’ prompted Pattinson.
‘Well, we really want to find out where Mr Wilder went yesterday evening. That’s our starting point. When did you last see him, Mrs Pattinson?’
Audrey leant forward. ‘I played for him at a class in the afternoon and left there about three o’clock. That was the last time I …’ Tears threatened but she made an effort and kept them at bay. ‘That was the last time I saw him alive.’
‘Do you have any idea where he went after that?’
‘Well, he had two more classes, of course, and that would have taken him on to five o’clock. Mr Wilder used music from the gramophone for those.’
‘Why did he do that, Mrs Pattinson?’ asked Keedy. ‘Were you too exhausted after playing the piano for four hours?’
‘Not at all,’ she replied, huffily. ‘I’ve played for five or six hours on many occasions. It’s not continuous accompaniment, you see. Mr Wilder gives instruction first. It’s only when certain figures are perfected that he’s ready to dance to music. When some of the beginners come to a class, I sit on my hands most of the time.’
‘Did Mr Wilder tell you where he was going that evening?’ asked Marmion.
‘No, Inspector, and it wasn’t my place to ask.’
‘His wife said that he’d gone off on business somewhere.’
‘Then that’s what he did.’
‘He was an extraordinary man,’ said Pattinson. ‘I’ve never met anyone with that amount of energy. He was indefatigable.’
‘We’ve gathered that, sir.’ Marmion tapped the book then switched his gaze to Audrey. ‘I see that you’ve had a long association with him, Mrs Pattinson.’
‘Audrey joined him soon after he opened the dance studio,’ said her husband on her behalf. ‘He tried another accompanist before her but the man could not compete with my wife.’
‘How would you describe him?’
‘He was a man of the utmost charm and had a good business sense.’
‘Actually, sir,’ said Marmion, pleasantly, ‘the question was for your wife.’
‘I do beg your pardon.’
‘Mrs Pattinson?’
After a considered pause, she began to speak, measuring her words carefully. It was almost as if she’d been gathering material for a biography of Simon Wilder because she knew so much about him. The detectives were not surprised to find out that, before he turned to dancing, he was an actor. He’d had a fairly successful career onstage but there were inevitable lulls. During periods of unemployment, it transpired, he had a second string to his bow. As the son of a photographer, he’d learnt the trade at his father’s knee and become so proficient that he was able to make a good income by taking photographs.
‘They were mostly of other actors,’ said Audrey. ‘A lot of them still choose Mr Wilder’s portrait of them to put on display at the theatre in which they’re working. That shows how good they are.’
‘Actors are very vain,’ added her husband. ‘Look at those photographs and you’ll see that they were usually taken years ago. Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said, drawing back, ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’
Audrey continued her monologue, explaining that Simon Wilder was a stage name. He’d been christened Stanley Hogg but felt that it was not the ideal name for an ambitious young actor. He’d met Catherine when they appeared together in a play by Bernard Shaw. She’d been trained in ballet and the couple shared a love of dance. Once married, they devoted all their spare time to dancing until they reached a level where they began to win competitions and garner good publicity. Abandoning the stage, Audrey told them, they bought the hall and converted it into a dance studio.
‘That must have cost a lot,’ observed Marmion.
‘Mrs Wilder had private wealth,’ said Pattinson, butting in again. ‘Not that I’m suggesting Wilder married her for her money. Heaven forbid! No, they’re very well matched. They worked around the clock to get where they are now and deserve every ounce of success.’ He touched his wife’s hand. ‘I do apologise, Audrey. You know far more about them than I do. Please go on.’
But the interruption had served to stem the flow of her reminiscences. After a few more sentences, she sat back and folded her arms to show that she’d finished.
‘Thank you, Mrs Pattinson,’ said Marmion. ‘That was enlightening.’
She smiled for the first time. ‘He and his wife were the personification of grace on the dance floor.’
‘But I was told that she is no longer able to partner him,’ said Keedy. ‘Since her accident, she’s had persistent back problems.’
‘Fate was so cruel to the poor woman. She can’t even take classes.’
‘Who replaced her as Mr Wilder’s dancing partner?’
‘Odele Thompson.’
‘She was the person in the final class yesterday afternoon,’ said Marmion, remembering the name he’d seen in the appointments book.
‘That was usually the case, Inspector. They wanted practice
time. Mr Wilder didn’t need to instruct Miss Thompson. She’s a professional dancer, you see. After a day with less talented dancers, he loved to work with someone who was his match on the dance floor.’
‘Yet he didn’t make use of you as an accompanist.’
‘He had the gramophone. They were able to dance to a full orchestra. Is that all?’ she asked, wearily. ‘I’m very, very tired.’
‘Then we won’t tax you any more, Mrs Pattinson,’ said Marmion, getting to his feet. ‘I’m sorry to intrude at a time like this. We’ll leave you in peace.’
‘One last question,’ said Keedy, rising from his chair. ‘When the inspector went through that book earlier on, he couldn’t find any mention of payment for the accompanist. How do you explain that?’
Audrey was so shocked by the question that she began to tremble. It was almost as if Keedy had hurled an insult at her. Pattinson glared at him with something akin to outrage. He crossed to the door and held it wide open.
‘Good day, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you out.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Since she knew how busy her brother-in-law was, Ellen was very grateful that he’d been able to make time to call at the house. She gave him a kiss of welcome and took him into the living room. Raymond Marmion was a few years younger than his brother but he had the same solid frame and the same pleasant features. What set them apart was that Harvey Marmion had far more hair and an almost permanent look of concentration. His brother, on the other hand, had a spiritual quality that seemed to shine out of him like a beam of goodness. He had a big, friendly, open face and a high, domed forehead. In his Salvation Army uniform, with its silver crest denoting his seniority, he was an imposing figure. As he sat on the sofa, he put his peaked hat down beside him.
‘It’s wonderful to see you again, Raymond,’ she said.
‘Your telephone call worried us.’
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