‘I’ve given you all the information I can,’ said the steward, politely.
‘How long has Mr Atterbury been a member here?’
‘He joined the club in 1907.’
‘And how often does he come here?’
‘On average, he calls in at least twice a week.’
‘Your membership, I fancy, is exclusive. Did he need a sponsor to join?’
‘Yes,’ replied the man, ‘the club is not open to any Tom, Dick or Harry. As it happens, the person who proposed Mr Atterbury was the club president, Sir Howard Legge.’ A smile threatened but never actually came. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to ask me, Inspector?’
‘There is,’ said Marmion, acidly. ‘Why is it that you can remember the exact details of Mr Atterbury’s membership from nine years ago whereas you can’t tell me what time he left the premises earlier this week?’
‘I can’t account for that, sir.’
The steward’s stony expression infuriated Marmion but he knew that his anger was futile. The man’s first duty was to the membership. Even though he was dealing with a murder investigation, his memory was deliberately selective. The visit, however, was not without its reward. When Marmion left the club, he crossed the road and looked in the window of a bookshop for a few minutes, wishing that he had the leisure to read. It was a luxury that his profession would never give him.
As he turned from the shop, he glanced across at the club and was just in time to see one of the members going in through the door. Marmion only caught a glimpse of the man but he recognised him instantly.
It was Martin Pattinson.
Alice Marmion was always ready to learn something new. When it came to police matters, she was very much the senior of the two but Iris Goodliffe had expertise that Alice could never hope to match. Her years of working in the family pharmacy had given her a knowledge of medicines and herbal remedies that was impressive.
‘What would you recommend for someone like Paul?’
‘He’s already getting medical attention, isn’t he?’
‘The army can only do so much. He’s been discharged from hospital and they’re calling him in for regular check-ups. But they can’t do anything about his black depression, Iris, or about his shifting moods. One minute, he boasts that he’s going back to fight at the front; the next minute, he’s saying that life isn’t worth living.’
‘It must be very trying,’ said Iris, ‘but there’s no easy cure.’
‘It’s put Mummy under terrible stress.’
‘Ah, now there are pills to relieve that, Alice.’
‘We want a pill to get rid of the cause of the problem – my brother’s despair.’
‘He may get better in time.’
‘Then again, he may not. There’s one thing that would help, though.’
‘What’s that?’
‘An end to this terrible war.’
‘That’s too much to hope, I’m afraid.’
They were enjoying a cup of tea together in the canteen. One of the reasons that Alice was questioning her about her previous job was that she wanted to keep Iris from asking her what was happening that evening. Though nothing had so far been arranged, Alice was still reluctant to let their relationship spill over into her private life. Once her new colleague was allowed to feel that she had a true friend, Iris, she suspected, would expect to spend more and more time with her.
The awkward question, however, could not be fended off indefinitely.
‘What are you doing this evening?’ asked Iris, artlessly.
‘I’m seeing a friend, actually.’
The lie popped out so easily that Alice almost believed it herself.
‘Is it someone from the Women’s Police Force?’
‘No, Iris, I try to keep my work and social life quite separate. Ideally, of course, I’d like to spend the evening with Joe but that’s not possible.’
‘How is the investigation going?’
‘I don’t know but there’s usually slow progress at the start. There’s so much information to gather and to collate. That’s the bit Daddy is so good at.’
‘What about your fiancé?’
‘Joe thrives on action. Arresting the killer is always the best part for him.’
‘Do they always manage to solve a murder, then?’
‘They’ve been lucky so far, Iris.’
‘It takes more than luck, surely.’
‘Yes, it does,’ agreed Alice. ‘Joe always says that it’s ninety-nine per cent hard work and one per cent luck.’
‘There’s another element, isn’t there?’
‘Is there?’
‘I think so,’ said Iris. ‘He’s spurred on by the thought that he won’t spend any time with you until the killer is behind bars. You’re one of the reasons he’s so good at his job, Alice. You inspire him.’
Alone at the police station, Keedy went through the list of alleged sightings of Simon Wilder on the night before he died. Some of the statements had been given at Scotland Yard then phoned through to Chingford. By putting them all together, he was able to establish that Wilder had been seen in Shaftesbury Avenue around ten o’clock at night by three different people. How he’d got back to Chingford, nobody was able to say. Nor could anyone explain how he came to be in the particular part of the district where he was murdered. Keedy spied a possible explanation. Before he became a dancer, Wilder had been an actor, a man used to putting on disguises. Having gone to the West End where he was well known, he might – Keedy surmised – have changed his appearance so that he was unrecognisable then gone back to Chingford to see someone. Secrecy was involved. That suggested a tryst.
He was still poring over a street map when there was a tap on the door. A uniformed policeman entered to say that Miss Thompson had come to see him again. Keedy was on his feet in a flash, crossing to the door to invite her in, then closing it behind her. Odele was close to tears.
‘I prayed that I’d catch you alone, Joe!’ she said.
‘Why is that?’
‘I need your help.’
‘Inspector Marmion could offer that just as well as me.’
‘I prefer to see you.’
Without warning, she flung herself into his arms and he tried to soothe her with soft words while patting her back. Eventually, he lowered her into a chair and sat opposite her, making sure that there was some distance between them. Her fear was genuine and he had to resist the temptation to comfort her again.
‘As calmly as possible,’ he said, ‘tell me what happened.’
‘He threatened me.’
‘Who did?’
‘Allan, of course,’ she replied. ‘He was so angry that I’d mentioned his name to you that he came to frighten me.’
‘He obviously succeeded,’ said Keedy. ‘Why did you let him in?’ She lowered her head. ‘All you had to do was to refuse to speak to him.’
‘Allan Redmond doesn’t take refusal seriously. But the main reason I couldn’t shut the door in his face was that …’
Odele paused and searched his eyes as she tried to decide if he’d be shocked or sympathetic. Sensing that he was a man of the world, she pressed on.
‘He was already inside the flat,’ she explained. ‘There was a time – a very brief time, I should add – when he had a key. Before he gave it back to me, he had a duplicate made.’
‘Is that why you gave us his name?’ asked Keedy in annoyance. ‘Did you simply want to cause him embarrassment?’
‘No,’ she cried, ‘I’d hate you to think that. I mentioned Allan because I really thought – and still think – that he has to be a possible suspect. He loathed Simon and, by nature, he’s a violent man.’
‘He didn’t seem very violent when I met him, Odele.’
‘That’s because he pulled the wool over your eyes.’
‘I’ve had a lot of experience at sizing people up.’
‘And what was your opinion of Allan?’
‘I thought he was one of t
hose privileged young men who get the kind of chances that never come near the rest of us. He’s as glib and self-assured as any confidence trickster but I didn’t sense that he’d resort to violence.’
‘Then how did I get this?’ she asked.
Thrusting out an arm, she pulled up her sleeve to reveal an ugly bruise. Keedy was taken aback. When she displayed a matching bruise on the other arm, he accepted that she’d been held exceptionally hard.
‘Do you want him charged for assault?’
‘No, I want him arrested for murder.’
‘We have no evidence that he was anywhere near the scene at the time.’
‘Find it.’
‘Mr Redmond has an alibi. I checked it myself.’
‘Someone is lying on his behalf.’
‘There’s no proof of that.’
‘Find it,’ she demanded, on her feet. ‘Find it, find it, find it!’
‘What I can do,’ he conceded, getting up from his chair, ‘is to make sure that he’s arrested and charged with assault.’
‘That’s not enough.’
‘It’s all I can do at the moment, Odele.’
‘The charge will be denied.’
‘How can it be? You have visible signs of the attack.’
‘So does Allan,’ she confessed.
‘Are you saying that you provoked him?’
‘That’s what he’d argue in court and I don’t want my name in the newspapers. If you get into trouble with the police, theatre managers won’t touch you with a barge pole. Dancers are ten a penny. If I’m seen as a difficult woman who’d resort to violence, my reputation will turn to dust.’
He took a step closer. ‘What exactly did you do?’
‘It doesn’t matter now.’
‘I need to know, Odele.’
She tried to brush the question aside but Keedy insisted on an answer. In the end, she took a deep breath and told him the truth.
‘I hit him with a flower vase.’ He gaped in astonishment. ‘But it was only in self-defence. Allan was trying to molest me, Joe. I had to do something.’
‘Did you draw blood?’
‘Only a little – that’s what upset him. He grabbed me by the arms and shook me like a rag doll. I thought he was going to kill me.’
‘What is it that you actually want?’ he asked, torn between impatience and a growing attraction towards her. ‘If I can’t arrest him for assault, do you wish me to issue a warning? Is that why you’re here?’
‘No,’ she replied, ‘it isn’t. Allan and I have … known each other in the past, though it was always on his terms, unfortunately. In order for you to understand, I’d have to explain what actually went on and I’m not sure that I can rely on your discretion.’
‘Anything you tell me of a private nature will remain private.’
‘I’m afraid that you’d tell the inspector.’
‘I’d only tell him things that are related to the murder.’
‘Allan Redmond is related to the murder,’ she insisted. ‘How many times do I have to tell you that? If you knew what he’d done to me in the past, you might start to believe me.’
‘I do believe you, Odele,’ he said, glancing at the bruises on her arms. ‘You have my sympathy.’
She stepped forward and put both hands on his shoulders.
‘I want more than that.’
‘Do you?’
‘I need police protection. Allan could come back. I need police protection,’ she repeated with emphasis, ‘and I want you to provide it, Joe. I want you to stay overnight in my flat to look after me.’
Before he could stop her, Odele kissed him full on the mouth.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ellen Marmion felt completely isolated. Though her son was upstairs, it was as if she were the only person in the house. Her husband was still at work and her daughter was either with a friend or on her way back to her flat. Ellen did have the option of inviting one of her neighbours in but, when she’d done that before, Paul had been so unpleasant to the visitor that it had become a positive embarrassment. It was rather like having an uncontrollable dog that kept barking at anyone who crossed the threshold. At least for the moment, the dog was quiet and that afforded Ellen some relief. Adjourning to the living room, she tried to escape into the latest romantic novel she’d borrowed from the library but it failed to hold her interest for more than a few minutes. All she could do was to sit there in a daze.
Sounds from above eventually told her that Paul was on the move and she soon heard him coming downstairs and going into the kitchen. Unsure whether to join him or leave him alone, Ellen dithered. In the end, her son made the decision for her.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ he called.
‘Yes, please,’ she answered, getting up. ‘I’d love one.’
She got to the kitchen in time to see him lighting the gas under the kettle.
‘You still haven’t eaten anything, Paul,’ she said.
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘At least, let me make you a sandwich.’
‘I had a big meal earlier on. I’m fine.’
‘What about a biscuit?’
‘I’m fine, Mum.’
He spoke with enough force to bring the conversation to an end for a couple of minutes. Ellen put the crockery on the table then reached for the milk and sugar. She eventually plucked up enough courage to ask him how he’d spent his day.
‘Did you see Mavis?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where did you meet?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he mumbled.
‘What was she like?’
‘Mavis was just as Colin said she’d be.’
‘Did she talk about him at all?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did she ask you about …?’
‘That’s private.’
‘I just didn’t want you to dwell too much on …’
Paul fell silent and she was afraid to say anything else. She watched while he made the tea then poured two cups before adding milk and sugar to one of them and stirring it. Without a word, he headed for the door. Ellen found her voice again.
‘Paul …’
‘Yes?’
‘Bring your tea into the living room.’
‘Why?’
‘We could have a proper talk.’
‘What about?’
He looked at her as if she’d just made the most ridiculous suggestion. Ellen felt utterly rejected. She made one last attempt to engage him in conversation.
‘I heard you playing the mouth organ earlier on.’
‘So?’
‘It was “Onward, Christian Soldiers”.’
‘What about it?’
‘Your Uncle Raymond would love to hear you play that.’
‘It wasn’t for him,’ he said, disdainfully. ‘It was for her.’
Turning his back on his mother, Paul went quickly upstairs.
It was uncanny. As soon as they got back to Scotland Yard and entered the building, Claude Chatfield knew they were there. When they reached Marmion’s office, the superintendent was waiting for them. After an exchange of niceties with the two detectives, Chatfield demanded the latest intelligence. Marmion went first, describing his visit to Tom Atterbury and his subsequent discovery that the man was a member of the same club as Martin Pattinson.
‘So we can put the two suspects under the same roof,’ said Chatfield.
‘It could just be a coincidence, sir.’
‘I think you’ve stumbled on an important link, Inspector.’
‘The club has a large membership,’ argued Marmion. ‘Atterbury and Pattinson may not even know each other. Having met both men, I can’t see that they’d have much in common.’
‘I’d endorse that,’ said Keedy. ‘They’re unlikely friends.’
‘You’re both missing the obvious,’ scolded Chatfield.
‘Are we?’
‘Yes, Sergeant, you are. They may have different personalities but what un
ites them is a mutual hatred of Mr Wilder. Since they have a common enemy, they might have come together to get rid of him.’
‘I can see that Atterbury is a likely suspect,’ said Keedy, ‘because he was so shifty when I interviewed him, and the inspector had the same feeling about him. But I’m still not persuaded that Pattinson is in any way involved.’
‘He has a motive,’ Marmion pointed out. ‘Although he appeared to approve of his wife’s slavish devotion to Wilder, I fancy that he was seething with envy. You must remember those photographs of Wilder we saw at his house. Compare him to Pattinson. He’s younger, more handsome and more attractive in every way. He could bring an excitement into Mrs Pattinson’s life that her husband could never do.’
‘Then why didn’t he just stop her playing the piano for Wilder?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I fancy that that he rules the roost at home. If he hated Wilder that much, he could have forbidden his wife to have anything to do with him.’
‘Separating them was not enough,’ said Marmion, thinking it through. ‘His hatred went deeper than that. Pattinson wanted revenge.’
‘Yet on the night of the murder, he didn’t go to his club,’ said Chatfield, shrewdly. ‘That was in one of your reports, Inspector. It wasn’t his regular night there. How could he kill someone when he was lying beside his wife in bed?’
‘He couldn’t, sir. He needed someone else to stab Wilder to death. That brings us back to the curious fact that he and Atterbury belong to the same club and share the same loathing of Wilder.’
‘In short, they’re in this together. It was a conspiracy.’
‘That’s possible, Superintendent.’
‘It’s beginning to seem probable to me,’ said Chatfield, imagination roaming. ‘Atterbury did the deed but Pattinson helped to plan it. That’s why he let his wife continue to work with Wilder. She would be aware of his movements. When he wanted to know where Wilder was likely to be on any given day, Pattinson simply had to ask his wife. Unbeknownst to her, she helped to set up a heinous crime.’
‘With respect, sir,’ said Marmion, ‘you’re confusing facts with guesswork. Nobody knew where Wilder was on the night of his murder, Mrs Pattinson least of all. Her only contact with him was at the studio.’
Dance of Death Page 14
