Dance of Death

by Edward Marston

  ‘Oh, she was far superior in my view,’ said Atterbury. ‘Catherine was a natural dancer whereas Odele is a manufactured one, if you understand my meaning. That’s not to say she isn’t extremely competent – but you need more than competence to excel on a dance floor. Catherine could float. Odele will never do that.’ His eyelids narrowed. ‘Why exactly are you here, Sergeant?’

  ‘I’d like to put a few routine questions to you, sir.’

  ‘Ask anything you like.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘I’m not a suspect, surely?’

  ‘Where were you two nights ago?’

  Atterbury was stung by the implication. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’ he demanded. ‘Look, who gave you my name in the first place? Is someone trying to make trouble for me?’

  ‘A moment ago,’ Keedy reminded him, ‘you said that I could ask anything I liked. And what I’d like to know is what you were doing two nights ago.’

  ‘I was not killing Simon Wilder, I can assure you.’

  ‘Then what were you doing, sir?’

  ‘That’s my business.’

  ‘In the circumstances, we have to make it our business as well.’

  Atterbury glared at him but Keedy remained calm and absorbed his hostility with ease. He’d already taken a dislike to the man, not least because Atterbury wore a much more expensive suit than he could afford. The dancer wore accessories – spats, a cravat, a carnation in his buttonhole – that would have looked absurd on a detective. On Atterbury, however, they reinforced the impression of a vain man with an eye for the latest fashion. He was impatient.

  ‘I hope that this won’t take long, Sergeant,’ he said, irritably. ‘I was just about to go out when you called. In answer to your question, I dined with some friends and got back here around midnight. And yes, I will happily give you the name of those friends if you refuse to take my word for it.’ He spat out his question. ‘Is that a sufficient alibi for you?’

  ‘I’m afraid that it isn’t, sir.’

  ‘Why not, damn you?’

  ‘Can anyone vouch for your return here?’

  ‘Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘We always like corroboration, sir.’

  ‘I’ve given you my word as a gentleman – isn’t that enough?’

  ‘To be candid,’ said Keedy, ‘it isn’t. I’ve met too many gentlemen who’ve committed unspeakable crimes, so I take nobody’s word at face value.’

  ‘You’re being very offensive, Sergeant.’

  ‘And you’re evading my question.’

  After an attempt at bluster, Atterbury controlled his temper.

  ‘I came back here around midnight,’ he said, slowly, ‘so it’s more than possible that one of the other residents will have heard me letting myself into the building. My wife is away at the moment, visiting sick parents, so I can’t ask her to confirm that I went to bed shortly after my return. What she will tell you, however, is that I’m a heavy sleeper. Once my head hits the pillow, I drift off into oblivion very quickly.’

  ‘When did you last see Simon Wilder?’

  ‘It was certainly not two nights ago, Sergeant.’

  ‘Was it at some kind of dance competition?’

  ‘No,’ replied Atterbury, ‘it was at the theatre, actually. I bumped into him as he was coming out of the stage door at the Haymarket. We exchanged a few words and that was that.’

  ‘Were any of the words spoken in anger?’

  ‘They were icily cold. We’ve never been friends.’

  ‘Why was that, sir?’

  ‘I’d rather not speak ill of the dead.’

  ‘I daresay you spoke ill of him when he was alive. Did you accept that he was a better dancer than you?’

  Atterbury blenched. ‘He was not better,’ he retorted. ‘He was just very clever at persuading people that he was. Simon was a flashy dancer. He favoured style over substance and I deplore that.’

  It was a strange remark for a man to whom style clearly meant so much but Keedy didn’t point that out to him. He kept on prodding until Atterbury let out some of the bile simmering inside him. For all sorts of reasons, he had despised Wilder. Having said he would not disparage his dead rival, he summed him up in a way that showed his deep dislike of the man.

  ‘The truth about Simon Wilder is this,’ he declared. ‘He was ruthless, selfish, single-minded, disloyal, dishonest, prone to steal ideas from others like myself and thoroughly loathsome. Does that answer your question, Sergeant?’

  Keedy took out his notepad. ‘Could I have the names of those friends with whom you dined two nights ago, sir?’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  When he left Catherine Wilder and her obnoxious brother, Marmion only had to go a few hundred yards before he reached his next destination. He was calling at the home of Colette Orme, the woman who’d had the dance lesson immediately prior to Odele Thompson two days earlier. In answer to his knock on the door, he heard someone coming slowly along the passageway. The door was then opened by a fresh-faced young man leaning heavily on a walking stick. When Marmion introduced himself, the man smiled with relief.

  ‘Thank heavens you’ve come, Inspector!’ he said. ‘Colette has been in despair since we heard the news. I’m her brother, Dennis, by the way. Come in.’

  He stood aside to let Marmion into the house. As they went into the cramped living room, he could see how awkwardly Orme moved and how his left arm hung limply by his side. He indicated a chair for his visitor.

  ‘I’ll fetch my sister,’ he said. ‘I may be a little while.’

  Left alone, Marmion was able to take his bearings. The house was much smaller than the one he’d just left and it had none of the comforts of the Wilder residence. But it was clean, tidy and relatively cosy. Either side of the clock on the mantelpiece were two framed photographs. One was of Colette Orme, taken at a dance, looking radiant in a long taffeta dress and beaming at the camera as she stood beside Simon Wilder. He had his arm around her waist and wore an almost proprietary smile. Yet it was the other photograph that interested Marmion because it showed Dennis Orme in uniform somewhere at the front. Tall, proud and with a touch of arrogance in his expression, he looked very different from the wounded soldier who’d let Marmion into the house.

  Colette had also changed from the slim, attractive and happy young woman in the photograph. When her brother showed her into the room, she was morose and stooping. After he’d introduced her to their visitor, Orme lowered himself gingerly onto the sofa and she sat beside him.

  ‘How could something so terrible happen, Inspector?’ she wailed.

  ‘It’s our job to find out,’ said Marmion.

  ‘Simon was the most wonderful person in the world. He believed in me.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said her brother, loyally. ‘You’re very talented.’

  ‘What use is that now?’

  She snatched a handkerchief from her sleeve and held it to her eyes to stem the tears that gushed out. After consoling her, Orme looked across at Marmion.

  ‘Mr Wilder changed my sister’s life,’ he said. ‘In fact, he changed all our lives because Dad and I were both part of it.’

  It had all begun, he explained, when Simon Wilder had attended an amateur production of a play that featured young female dancers. He’d been so impressed by Colette’s talent that he’d spoken to her afterwards and recommended that she took instruction at his studio. At first it had seemed an impossible dream because the cost of the lessons was too high. Her widowed father earned only a modest wage as a plumber and her brother was not well paid as a store man in a factory. Yet both of them were determined to help her afford the lessons because they’d been told that Colette might one day be good enough to be a professional dancer. To help the family finances, Wilder found her a job selling programmes at a West End theatre. The lessons started and she learnt quickly. Her talent burgeoned accordingly.

  ‘Then I joined up,’ continued Orme, ‘but I made sure that some of the mo
ney went to Colette. She took on all sorts of other jobs in order to buy the right dresses and shoes. Mr Wilder said that he’d had to make the same sort of sacrifices when he first started.’ He chuckled. ‘Not that he had to buy dresses, mind you. Anyway, he never stopped encouraging my sister.’

  ‘He told me that I could be as good as Miss Thompson one day,’ she said, reviving slightly. ‘That’s his dancing partner.’

  ‘Yes,’ Marmion told her. ‘We interviewed the lady.’

  ‘She’s a wonderful dancer, Inspector.’

  ‘So are you, Colette,’ insisted her brother. ‘That’s why you must go on.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that without Mr Wilder.’

  ‘There are other dance teachers.’

  ‘Nobody could compare with him.’

  Marmion was touched by the tragedy of her situation. Bolstered by her father and brother – both men of limited means – she’d worked hard to develop her skills on the dance floor. Having been through the appointments book, Marmion knew how often she’d had lessons with her mentor. Clearly, she was dedicated to her art. The high hopes of the whole family had now been more or less extinguished. Wilder was dead, Colette was distraught and her brother, once an army corporal, was now a limping shadow of his former self. It was impossible not to feel sympathy for them.

  ‘The inspector has come to ask questions, Colette,’ said Orme, a steadying hand on her arm. ‘You must help him all you can.’

  She was despondent. ‘What can I do, Dennis?’

  ‘You may be able to do more than you think,’ said Marmion, taking over. ‘First of all, tell me what happened the last time you saw Mr Wilder.’

  ‘It was magical,’ she said. ‘He put on some records and we danced for a whole hour. From time to time, he’d stop and adjust my posture or explain what I was doing wrong but I felt as if I was … well, as if I was getting somewhere.’

  ‘Did you leave when Miss Thompson arrived?’

  ‘No, Inspector, she came a little early and watched us. When we finished dancing a tango, she actually applauded me. A tango is a very difficult dance, you see, and a lot of people frown on it. They say it’s too … indecent to be seen in public.’

  ‘They’re narrow-minded,’ said Marmion. ‘The same people condemned the waltz when it was first introduced because they thought dancers got too close to each other. I’ve heard of the tango, Miss Orme, but I’ve never had the opportunity to see it performed. I expect I’m far too old ever to dance it.’

  ‘I’ll never get the chance either, Inspector,’ said Orme, sadly. ‘My dancing days are over. But I did see Colette and Mr Wilder give a demonstration of it once. It was very dramatic.’

  ‘And so it should be, Dennis,’ she said. ‘It’s telling a story.’

  Marmion let her ramble on, throwing in the occasional question whenever she flagged. He was learning a great deal about her and about Wilder’s teaching methods. As he looked at Colette, he was bound to contrast her with Odele Thompson. One was a talented amateur while the other was a seasoned professional, able to cope with the pressures and disappointments that such a life would inevitably bring. There was still a faint air of innocence about Colette and he was not at all sure that she’d be able to cope with the rough and tumble of a precarious profession.

  ‘You said earlier,’ Marmion recalled, ‘that you and Mr Wilder danced to gramophone records. Was that always the case?’

  ‘Oh, no – at the start, when I was learning, we had a pianist, Mrs Pattinson.’

  ‘We’ve spoken to her.’

  ‘She was very kind to Colette,’ said Orme.

  ‘Dennis!’ scolded his sister. ‘There’s no need to mention that.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now. He’ll never find out, will he?’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘He probably knew, anyway. Audrey told him everything.’

  ‘But she didn’t – it was our secret.’ She looked balefully at Marmion. ‘We weren’t doing anything wrong, Inspector.’ After a silent conversation with her brother, she decided to confess. ‘Mrs Pattinson is a good friend, you see. She knew that I didn’t have any money so she let me into the studio for free when there were no lessons. She even played the piano for me. If you want to be a real dancer, Mr Wilder told me, you have to practise every day.’

  ‘That was very kind of Mrs Pattinson.’

  ‘She’s a dear old lady,’ said Orme. ‘And I think she liked to get out of the house to escape that husband of hers. I didn’t like him at all.’

  Marmion was curious. ‘Why not?’

  ‘It was the way he treated her, Inspector. He made all the decisions in the house. And he was nasty to me as well,’ he went on. ‘Since he’d been in the army, you’d have expected him to take pity on someone wounded in action but he looked straight through me as if I wasn’t there. I’ve met other officers like that.’

  ‘Let’s go back to Mr Wilder,’ said Marmion. ‘Did he ever talk about his professional rivals?’ he asked.

  ‘He did mention one or two,’ she replied. ‘He said that they’d try any trick to win a dance competition. Allan Redmond was one of them, I think. I never met him but I’ve seen an article about him in the paper. It said he’s a very good dancer. Mr Wilder always complained that Mr Redmond had an advantage because was so much younger than him.’

  ‘Why wasn’t he conscripted?’

  ‘I asked him that once. Mr Wilder said that he had connections.’

  ‘What did he mean by that?’ asked Orme.

  ‘Friends in high places,’ said Marmion, disapprovingly. ‘If you know the right people, you can always get an exemption. It’s very unfair because it lets able-bodied young men evade their duty. But let me ask you one last question, Miss Orme,’ he continued. ‘Was there any occasion when Mr Wilder seemed to think that someone might be following him?’

  ‘Why, yes,’ she said. ‘There was one time. He picked me up one night at the theatre where I’d been working. As we strolled towards the bus stop, he swung round sharply as if someone was directly behind him.’ She hunched her shoulders. ‘But nobody was there.’

  ‘Thank you for being so helpful, Miss Orme,’ he said. ‘I won’t press you any further. If you can think of anything else that Mr Wilder said about his rivals, you can get in touch with me at the local police station.’ As he rose to his feet, he glanced at one of the photographs on the mantelpiece. ‘What was your regiment?’

  ‘East Surrey,’ replied Orme, proudly. ‘8th Battalion. I was glad to fight for my country, Inspector. It cost me a shattered knee at the Somme but I have no regrets. I’ll be able to go back to work in time.’

  Marmion felt a pang of envy. His son, Paul, had also been a casualty of the Battle of the Somme. Rather than adapting to his disability, he was instead causing the family huge problems. Dennis Orme had set a good example. Marmion wished that Paul could follow it.

  ‘My son was in the Middlesex Regiment,’ he said. ‘He’s back home now, suffering from shell shock. But,’ he went on, trying to cheer himself up, ‘there’s every chance that he may make a complete recovery one day.’

  A cup of tea turned into a meal then evanesced into a stroll around the park. Paul Marmion and Mavis Tandy walked arm in arm and continued their discussion. When he finally prised her away from the subject of her dead boyfriend, he asked her about the sort of home life she enjoyed.

  ‘Do you mind having a vicar for a father?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘Daddy’s very sweet and he works so hard. I help out in the church sometimes.’

  ‘What do you do?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing important. I’m on the cleaning rota and the flower rota, that’s all. And I do house visits sometimes.’

  ‘House visits?’

  ‘Some of our parishioners are too ill or decrepit to get to any of the services. Daddy likes them to feel that they’re not forgotten so we give them small gifts now and again – things that other members of the congregation have donated
.’ She looked at him. ‘Do you ever go to church, Paul?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Didn’t you want to thank God for letting you survive a fierce battle?’

  ‘I was lucky, that’s all.’

  ‘Yes, but who provided that luck?’

  Paul felt embarrassed. Religion had never played a large role in his life and his years in the army had considerably weakened his belief in the existence of God. He was not about to admit as much to Mavis. If he wished to get closer to her – and the desire to do so had been getting stronger all the time – he would have to find some way of reconciling her faith with his lack of it.

  ‘We had a chaplain at the front,’ he said. ‘He talked a lot of sense.’

  ‘It was very brave of him to join the army.’

  ‘He heard a call – that’s what he told us.’

  ‘What did you learn from him?’

  ‘I can tell you the main thing,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I learnt never to play cards with him for money because he had the luck of the devil. Either that or God was dealing the cards for him. Anyway, he was always there if you wanted a chat and, when some of the lads made fun of him, he just put up with it.’

  ‘Christians are taught to turn the other cheek, Paul.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘Colin told me that he loved attending services on a Sunday.’

  ‘Did he?’

  Paul was surprised. His friend had been even less of a believer than he was but he was clearly ready to invent a faith that he didn’t, in fact, hold. Paul didn’t want to upset Mavis by telling her the truth. He simply followed his friend’s example.

  ‘Colin loved music of all kinds – especially hymns.’

  ‘He played one for me on his mouth organ.’

  ‘I’ve still got it,’ he said, taking it from his pocket. ‘I get hours of pleasure with it. We learnt so many songs in the trenches.’

  ‘It was “Onward, Christian Soldiers”.’

  ‘My uncle’s band plays that all the time. Uncle Raymond is in the Salvation Army. They’ve adopted that hymn as their own. My uncle says that it’s a rousing piece to march to. Before I went in the army, he was always trying to get me to join his band but I was like Colin. When we did have some spare time, we always wanted to go to the park and kick a football about.’