‘Who took it?’
In addition to that of Colette Orme, there were four other names ticked by Simon Wilder. Taking two each, the detectives split up and tracked down the young dancers. When they later met up again at the police station, Keedy announced that he’d drawn a blank. Neither of the women he’d interviewed had the slightest idea why they had been singled out. One of them, in fact, had made such little progress that she’d abandoned her dance lessons altogether. Marmion had also returned empty-handed. The first person on whom he called was so distraught at Wilder’s death that she could barely speak. His second call produced a different result.
‘Her name was Grenda Hayward,’ he explained.
‘I remember that name. It’s so unusual.’
‘She thought it was Anglo-Saxon but she wasn’t certain. Anyway, I got her chatting about her sessions with Wilder before I sprung the question on her and her manner changed in a flash. She went from being quite open with me to the very opposite. Grenda guessed what that tick was for, Joe. The problem was that she refused to tell me what it was.’
‘That’s more or less the reaction I got from Colette Orme.’
‘Why did Wilder rub out those ticks, I wonder?’
‘It’s too late to ask him now,’ said Keedy.
There was a tap on the door and Gibbs entered to tell them that they had a visitor. When he heard that it was Gillian Hogg, Marmion asked for her to be shown straight in. She soon appeared.
‘Perhaps you can enlighten us, Mrs Hogg,’ said Marmion after he’d introduced Keedy to her. ‘I have Mr Wilder’s appointments book in front of me. He ticked five names, all of them young female dancers. Why do you think he’d do that?’
‘Perhaps they showed exceptional promise.’
‘That’s not the answer,’ said Keedy. ‘I talked to a girl named Rosie Hilton and she admitted straight away that she’d been hopeless on the dance floor. All five ticks were rubbed out, by the way.’
‘Whatever Simon had in mind,’ she suggested, ‘he decided against it. That’s the only thing I can think of.’
‘That had occurred to us.’
‘Was he a person who tended to change his mind?’ asked Marmion.
‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘Simon made instant decisions and stood by them. That’s how we came to get married, after all. However,’ she continued, ‘that’s not what I came here to discuss. I’ve been wondering how you got on with God, Inspector.’
‘I’m glad I came to you beforehand. It prepared me.’
‘Was he as crafty as ever?’
‘I wouldn’t like to share that office with him, I know that. Mr Noonan is an ebullient character and doesn’t let you get a word in. I’d hate to talk business with him. People must offer his clients work just to shut him up.’
‘Did you mention my name to him?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘You must have said something that made him think of me, Inspector.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘He paid me a courtesy visit at the flat.’
Marmion was staggered. ‘Mr Noonan walked all the way up those stairs?’
‘He sent a messenger to tell me that a man wanted to speak to me. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, the man turned out to be God, as in Godfrey. He grabbed me by the throat and demanded to know what I’d told you.’
‘I’m sorry if I landed you in trouble, Mrs Hogg.’
‘Did he threaten you?’ asked Keedy.
‘Oh, yes, he told me to keep my mouth shut in future, only he used more decorous language. I’ve never seen him so riled up like that. It’s the reason I wanted to report it,’ she said. ‘He frightened me.’
Evening found Godfrey Noonan relaxing in the one chair big enough to accommodate him at the home of a client. After adjusting his wig, he downed the best part of a glass of whisky then smacked his lips.
‘This is good stuff,’ he said, approvingly. ‘It’s the best thing ever to come out of Scotland – but that may not be saying much.’
‘You’re being unfair, God. I have a soft spot for Scotland.’
‘Then you can keep it.’
‘By right, we should be drinking vintage champagne.’
‘We’ll do that after the Championships. We’ll have something to toast then.’
‘It’s a foregone conclusion.’
‘It is now, anyway.’ Noonan sniggered. ‘Simon Wilder is unavoidably detained elsewhere.’
‘I’d have beaten him even if he and Odele had competed. I had a secret weapon to deploy.’
‘Yes, I’ve met Naomi many times.’
‘I’m not talking about my wife,’ said Atterbury. ‘My secret weapon was a man named Martin Pattinson. We belong to the same club. I learnt by chance that his wife was Simon’s accompanist.’
‘What a wonderful discovery that must have been!’
‘There’s more to it than that. Pattinson loathed him almost as much as I do because his wife was besotted with Simon, so much so that she kept a notebook in which she recorded all the routines he created.’
‘That was Simon’s strength – his choreography.’
‘It was masterly. I know that because Pattinson stole his wife’s book and let me copy out whatever I wanted. Let’s face it,’ he went on, ‘Simon is never going to put those clever figures into his waltzes, quicksteps and foxtrots, is he? So I might as well make full use of them. That’s the way to ensure you win,’ he boasted. ‘You put a spy in the enemy camp.’
‘You’re a man after my own heart, Tom.’
‘Rumour has it that you don’t possess one.’
Noonan rocked with mirth. ‘Then rumour, for once, is right. Oh,’ he went on, ‘isn’t this as close to perfection as we’re likely to get? Simon has been deprived of his crown and his bollocks, so the field belongs to Tom and Naomi Atterbury. All the effort we made together is at last paying off.’ He emptied his glass and held it out. ‘Since you ask, I would like another.’
Whenever she spent time in church, Audrey Pattinson was, as a rule, at once calmed and inspired. This time it was different. She left the building in a state of rising anger. Having played her way through a dozen or more hymns, she should have felt the warmth of an inner faith. Instead she felt determined and combative. Deprived of precious aspects of her life, Audrey had nothing left to lose. For the first time in their marriage, she would have the audacity to challenge her husband.
He was doing the crossword in the newspaper when she stormed in and didn’t even bother to look up. Furious at being ignored, she struck out at once.
‘Why did you take my notebook?’ she demanded.
He lifted his head. ‘What’s that?’
‘You stole the notebook from my satchel.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ he retorted. ‘You let it go astray somehow.’
‘I never lose things, Martin, and you know it. I’m very punctilious. It’s an article of faith with me. That notebook went into my bag on the day that Mr Wilder was murdered and it came into this house.’
‘You have it back now, Audrey, so there’s no need to make a fuss about it.’
‘You took it, didn’t you?’
‘No,’ he replied, putting the newspaper aside, ‘of course, I didn’t.’
‘There’s nobody else in the house.’
‘It must have dropped out of your bag.’
‘You’re lying.’
He was roused. ‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that!’
‘I want the truth,’ she said, undaunted.
‘The truth is that you lost it.’
‘You can say that until you’re blue in the face but we both know it’s a lie. The only way that notebook could disappear was if you took it so that you could accuse me of being careless.’
‘This is laughable,’ he said, now on his feet. ‘Why should I want a notebook filled with squiggles and numbers?’
‘There you are – you obviously looked inside it.’
Pattinson blustered and gesticulat
ed for a few minutes but his wife refused to back down. Ordinarily, they never had arguments because his authority was never even questioned. This time, however, Audrey was no longer afraid of him and he couldn’t understand why. Piqued at her resistance, he eventually changed his story and even produced a faintly apologetic smile.
‘Calm down, my dear. This is not worth getting so upset about. As it happens,’ he went on, pretending to recall something that slipped his mind, ‘I may have borrowed it a couple of days ago. I was interested. I’d never looked inside it before and wanted to know why you always had your nose in that notebook.’ He forced a laugh. ‘I still don’t know because I couldn’t understand all those symbols and abbreviations. It was like a book on algebra to me. There,’ he added as if pacifying a small child with a piece of chocolate, ‘now we can forget the whole thing. I borrowed it, forgot that I had it then found it again. You know the truth of it now, Audrey.’
‘I’ve known the truth of it for years, Martin,’ she said, still simmering. ‘But I never had the courage to do anything about it before.’
Spinning on her heel, she went out of the room and climbed the stairs with an urgency that belied her age and her normal passivity.
When they returned to central London, it was too late for Marmion and Keedy to call on Godfrey Noonan. They therefore went straight to Scotland Yard and presented themselves to the superintendent. Marmion gave an account of developments during the day and elicited little more than an occasional nod or sniff of disappointment from Claude Chatfield. Remaining silent, Keedy was rehearsing his apology.
‘So,’ said Chatfield, ‘the solution to this crime is hanging from the slender thread of a man with a dog who may or may not have seen Mr Wilder on the night when he was murdered.’
‘You’re being too pessimistic, sir,’ said Marmion.
‘Well, you can hardly expect me to dance around the office with undiluted joy. I’ve spent most of the day fending off awkward questions from the press about the nature of Wilder’s injuries and why we seem to have made no visible progress in this investigation.’
‘I’m sure you handled them with your usual expertise, sir,’ said Keedy in a gesture of appeasement. ‘We’re very grateful for the way that you keep the press off our backs so that we can get on with the important job of detection.’
Chatfield ignored him. ‘What about this agent, Inspector?’
‘We’ll call on him tomorrow morning, sir,’ said Marmion.
‘He sounds like a credible suspect, working in conjunction with Atterbury.’
‘That’s a line of inquiry we’re pursuing with gusto.’
‘I didn’t hear much gusto in your report.’
‘Keep listening, sir.’
After grilling Marmion for a few more minutes, Chatfield dismissed him then turned a glaucous eye on Keedy. The sergeant had his apology ready but was unable to deliver it because of a salvo of stinging questions.
‘Why did you join the Metropolitan Police Force?’ asked Chatfield.
‘I wanted to be involved in the fight against crime.’
‘And what were you taught from the very start?’
‘I was told that obedience to a superior officer was essential.’
‘Would you call yourself obedient?’
‘Yes, I would, Superintendent.’
‘Do you understand the importance of a structure of command?’
‘Of course, I do.’
‘You are answerable to those above you. Is that agreed?’
‘It is, Superintendent.’
‘Is it your place to contradict them?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Is it your right to walk away from one of them without permission?’
‘It’s wholly wrong and reprehensible, sir,’ said Keedy, getting in what he thought was the best sentence he’d devised. ‘It was unacceptable.’
‘That’s why I refuse to accept it. You are in trouble, Sergeant.’
‘I realise that, sir.’
‘But so is this investigation,’ said Chatfield. ‘Before I subject you to the appropriate disciplinary procedure, therefore, I intend to let you continue until this case is solved. After that …’
Keedy pursed his lips. ‘I’ll accept whatever punishment you choose, sir.’
‘You’ll have no choice. Don’t you dare insult me again with an act of gross disobedience. Find yourself a dictionary and look up the word “contrition”. That’s what I want to see – true contrition.’ He pointed to the door. ‘Clear off, man!’
Cowed and chastened, Keedy was out of there in a split second.
Marmion returned home earlier than expected. Ellen gave him a warm hug then told him about the events of the day. Up in his bedroom, their son was playing a medley on the mouth organ. It was almost plaintive. Ellen had supper ready for her husband but he decided to postpone the meal.
‘I’ll have a word with Paul while I get the chance,’ he said.
‘Try not to have an argument.’
‘I want to stop him arguing, Ellen.’
‘So did I, so did Alice and so did your brother but he didn’t pay attention to any of us. Tread carefully.’
‘Leave him to me.’
Fatigue was starting to set in after a long day at work but Marmion shrugged it off and went upstairs. When he knocked on his son’s door, the music stopped at once.
‘What do you want?’ yelled Paul.
‘I want to talk to you, son.’
The door opened. ‘Oh, I didn’t realise it was you, Dad.’
‘Can I come in?’
‘Yes, yes …’
Clad in his pyjamas, Paul stepped back so his father could enter the room. Marmion looked at the souvenirs on the wall, mostly dating from the time when his son had played football. On the mantelpiece was a photograph of the whole team.
‘How many of you are left?’ he asked.
‘If you count me, there’s only five.’
‘I’ll certainly count you, Paul, because you were the captain.’
‘We’d never win a match with only five players.’
‘Do you miss the game?’
‘I miss it like hell.’
‘You’ll be able to play it again one day, Paul.’ His son shook his head. ‘Yes, you will. You were far too good to give up – too good and too young.’ He glanced at the mouth organ. ‘We heard you practising. It was “Take Me Back to Dear Old Blighty”, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, it was one of our favourites.’
‘Are you happy to be back in Blighty?’
‘It’s better than dodging the Boche. At least,’ said Paul on reflection, ‘that’s what I thought at the time. I’m not so sure now.’
‘Your mother tells me you’ve made a new friend.’
‘She was Colin’s friend, really. Mavis wrote to me.’
‘I’m glad you were able to offer her some comfort. I’m only sorry,’ said Marmion, pointedly, ‘that you can’t manage to do that for your own family. Why do you think that is?’
Paul needed a full minute to assemble his thoughts into words.
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘I try to say something nice to people but it comes out really nasty. I can’t seem to stop myself. There’s all this anger inside me and it just takes over.’
‘Are you angry with us, Paul?’
‘No, no, you’re my family. I wanted to come back from France as a hero but you’ve had to put up with this half-blind curmudgeon who doesn’t fit in any more.’
‘You’ll always fit in here,’ his father assured him.
‘Thanks, Dad …’
Marmion crossed the room to study the photograph. Paul was seated in the front row with a football on his lap. Beside him, chest inflated, was his best friend.
‘Colin was not much of a player, was he?’
‘He tried his best.’
‘He was only in the team because of you, Paul. Whatever you did, Colin Fryatt had to do. That’s no bad thing for a lad like him. You we
re a leader and he was just a follower. Without a friend like you, he’d have struggled.’ Marmion grinned. ‘The one thing he could do better than you was to play that mouth organ.’
‘It’s not as easy as it looks.’
Marmion turned away from the photograph. ‘I’m sorry, Paul.’
‘What for?’
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give you more of my time. Your grandfather was a policeman, yet – even when he was on night shifts – he always found an hour to spend with me and my brother. I never managed that with you and Alice.’
‘You’re a detective,’ Paul reminded him. ‘Grandad was never more than a bobby on a bicycle. He didn’t have the responsibility you have. Catching dangerous criminals is more important than kicking a football about in the park.’
‘I wonder about that sometimes.’
‘It is, Dad. The whole country is watching you so you have to concentrate on your work. I read the morning’s paper for once today. It’s not very kind to you and Joe.’
‘We’re only human. We can’t work miracles.’
‘Is it true that the victim lost his …?’
‘Yes,’ said Marmion, sadly, ‘it is. Both eyes were gouged out and his testicles were lopped off. What sort of man would do that?’
‘I reckon he must be an angry husband with an unfaithful wife.’
‘That was our thinking as well but it raises another question.’
‘What’s that?’
‘If a jealous husband is roused to that pitch of fury,’ argued Marmion, ‘why would he stop at killing the lover? Surely, he’d want to murder the wife as well.’
Though Paul was baffled, he was also curious. While he pressed for no details of the investigation, he offered various theories about the crime. He made sensible comments. Marmion enjoyed the simple pleasure of chatting at ease to his son. It was the longest they’d spent alone together since Paul returned from France. Only when he realised that supper was waiting for him downstairs did Marmion finally break off. Yet some kind of link between them had been established again. Unexpectedly, it had taken a murder in Chingford to bring them together.
Before the war, Alice would never have dared to go into a public house on her own or even with a female companion. Women who haunted pubs unaccompanied by a man were, for the most part, either prostitutes or habitual drunkards. The situation had changed dramatically. When a huge army was formed in 1914 to fight the Germans, hundreds of thousands of jobs were suddenly available. Since there were not enough men to fill them, women took their place, proving that they could do most things equally well and – for the first time in most of their lives – earning a proper wage for doing so. Old barriers disappeared and social conventions were revolutionised. The sight of two women drinking alone in a bar was no longer so shocking. When, after leaving the cinema, they went into a pub together, therefore, Alice Marmion and Iris Goodliffe hardly earned more than a glance from the men there. They were simply two more working women with money to spend.
Dance of Death Page 28
