‘She’s good fun, sir, without being silly, if you know what I mean, and as sharp as a tack, but you never quite know what’s going on in that little head of hers. I don’t think Clare knows what to make of her either, though they’re great pals.’
‘Who met her first,’ asked Felix, ‘you or Clare?’
‘Me. I introduced them. I’ve known Jane since she was at school.’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t marry her,’ said Yardley. ‘Before you met Clare, I mean. She’s a very pretty girl.’
Nash smiled and shook his head. ‘Not my type. I like the quiet sort. Jane would wear a man out. And I like to know what they’re thinking. With Clare I usually do.’
‘Does anyone ever know what a woman’s thinking?’ grumbled Rattigan.
◆◆◆
Figgy bolted their dressing room door and leaned against it. ‘All right, let’s have it. You’ve been wicked, haven’t you? I always know when you’ve been wicked. I can read you like a book.’
‘If I were a book,’ said Jane, ‘they’d have banned me. Now listen, this is urgent. Take my dressing case, empty it out, put something fairly heavy in it – a bag of sugar or some lumps of coal or something – and bring it up to me in the dress circle foyer. Don’t let anyone see you.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Bag of sugar or coal. Are you sure you’re feeling quite well?’
◆◆◆
Disguising its workaday origins with dark red paint and cheap plush-covered seating, the Folies Bergère bore no resemblance whatever to its Parisian namesake, being merely a converted cellar about forty feet by sixty. There was a tiny stage, a miniscule dance floor and a rudimentary bar that would scarcely have attracted the painterly interest of an Édouard Manet. It was theoretically open but as it was Sunday there would be no cabaret until after twelve midnight. A drum kit and a few musical instrument cases sat below the stage but the band had yet to appear. A thin-faced barman was polishing glasses and a couple of young women in evening dresses were sitting on barstools at the counter. There was no-one else.
‘Police,’ said Felix, showing his card. ‘Is the boss in?’
The barman nodded to one of the girls, who rose and sashayed through a curtain. ‘He won’t be a minute,’ he said. ‘Haven’t seen you here before.’
‘You wouldn’t do,’ said Felix, dryly. ‘I’m not with the vice people.’
‘Ooh, mind you don’t cut yourself duckie! What are you drinking?’
‘Nothing, thank you.’
‘No? Your pals always do.’
A sallow, fat man in a dinner suit, probably Egyptian or Levantine, came back with the girl. He looked worried.
‘Did you wish to see me? I am Mr Faisal, the manager.’
‘Chief Inspector Felix. There’s no trouble. I just want to ask you about a former employee. I believe her stage name here was Vladlena Ossipova.’
‘That’s Betty,’ said one of the girls.
‘Is she alright?’ said the other. ‘We haven’t seen her since she left.’
‘She’s well, as far as I’m aware. She’s a possible witness to a crime and I’m checking details. Can you give me the dates that she arrived and left, Mr Faisal?’
‘Come through, Chief Inspector.’
The tiny office smelled of damp and foreign cigarettes and was lit by a single, low wattage bulb. A certain amount of searching on a very cluttered desk evinced the information that Betty had left their employ only in November, having arrived some four months previously.
‘She was very, very good,’ said Mr Faisal regretfully. ‘I offered her more to stay but if they find a gentleman friend they usually leave. Often, of course, they return. I am hoping.’
‘Where did she work before she came here? Do you know?’
‘A thousand apologies, no. We do not take up references. They are good or they are not. An audition is enough.’
‘Do you suppose she’d done this sort of work before?’
‘That is hard to say. She danced with the fans, which is new. It is not hard to do but requires a certain panache, and that, alas, cannot be taught.’
‘You don’t happen to know who the gentleman friend was?’
‘I do not know his name. You could ask the girls.’
The young women at the bar turned out to be two of the Folies’ “dancers.” They would, it seemed, take their turn gyrating onstage and the rest of the time entertain the club members at their tables, persuading them, no doubt, to buy them overpriced drinks.
The prettier of the two answered to the name of Salome, which perhaps gave a clue to her act. She looked about nineteen. ‘That’d be, Charlie Sullivan,’ she said. ‘He was besotted, wasn’t he, Jem? But the funny thing was, he never touched her. Just sat making sheep’s eyes at her. We used to laugh about it.’
‘Was there anyone else, do you know? That she went with, I mean.’
Her companion rolled her eyes. ‘Was there! Have you seen her? Bloody gorgeous! She just had to snap her fingers, that one. Mind you, she was fussy; but then she could afford to be.’
‘But all that stopped after she met Charlie?’
‘Yes. Then she left.’
‘What did she do before she came here? Do you know?’
‘She didn’t talk about herself much,’ said Salome. ‘She did once say her father was in the Army and they’d lived in India for a while, and I think she was posh.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because I’ve heard her talking posh, like you. It was just to this one fellow, though. I think he knew her and had just called in to see her because he didn’t take liberties with her, like the others. He’d wait until she was free and then they’d chat. And sometimes there was another one. Dark-haired he was, an Indian fellow.’
‘How do you know he was Indian?’
‘Because he sounded Indian.’
‘Big? Small? Tall? Short?’
‘Quite well-built. Not as tall as you. The posh fellow was, maybe.’
‘Were they together, these two men?’
‘No, not together.’
‘Could you hear what they were saying, either of them?’
‘Not properly, no. It’s always pretty noisy, with the band.’
‘Did she go with them, like the others?’
‘She left with them sometimes but I don’t think she sold them anything.’
‘Except herself!’ said the other girl, and they giggled companionably.
◆◆◆
‘Ought to be closed down, in my view,’ said Felix. ‘We don’t want that sort of thing in this country. The manager is agreeable enough but scared of the police, as well he might be. He confirmed that Betty worked there, but only for a few weeks and left before Christmas. Claimed he had no knowledge of what she did before, which I’m inclined to believe.
‘I had a chat with two of the girls, both surprisingly decorative. The man knows how to pick ’em, I’ll say that, though one of them looks distressingly young. They knew about Sullivan. “Besotted,” they said. As we suspected, Betty was perfectly capable of using the King’s English when she wanted to and seems to have had her regulars before Sullivan. It’s none of our business how she lives her life, of course, as long as she stays within the law. She, at least, is over twenty-one, but I’m bound to admit I’m curious.’
‘Known to us?’
‘She might be.’ He reached for the telephone. ‘Hello, that sounds like Dolly’s dulcet tones. How are you today? Can you give me Records please?’ He put his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Then I think we’ll go for a drive.’
◆◆◆
‘So that, Mrs Green, is what we found, and soon, of course, the newspapers will know too.’
‘How truly awful, Chief Inspector! The poor man. And how on earth can it have come about? Have you found Andy?’
‘No,
we haven’t. Has he been here, do you know, since my inspector called earlier?’
Mrs Green didn’t think so. ‘I’d have heard his little car,’ she said. ‘Shall we go in there?’ Locking her front door, she opened Mr Sullivan’s immediately adjacent one, stooping to pick up the post. ‘I expect you’ll be wanting these? It’s only circulars, I think. Brrr! Strikes cold, doesn’t it? As you see, he kept it nice, and had quite good taste; except, I’m sad to say, in women. See that photo? That’s the Russian girl. Vladlena Ossi-thingy. There’s no fool like an old fool, is there? Anyone could see she was on the make, except Charlie. There’s one in the bedroom as well.’
‘Did she come here often?’
‘Quite a lot, I think. She didn’t live with him though, because he used to take her home at night. Or sometimes he got Andy to do it. Do you think she might have been involved? In the murder, I mean.’
‘We’ve no evidence of that, Mrs Green. What did Mr Haigh think of her?’
‘Not much! “If he marries that creature,” he used to say, “I’m off!”’
‘Did they get on all right with each other, Haigh and Sullivan?’
‘Oh yes, I think so. Andy was always very respectful of him. In front of me, anyway. It made me smile sometimes because he was better-dressed and better-spoken. You expected him to be the boss somehow.’
‘Did Mr Sullivan have a car?’
‘Yes, a Talbot, very nice. It’s not here. He’ll have taken it with him to the theatre, I expect, which he should never have got involved with. What did Charlie know about the theatre? He was a bookmaker! I used to think, you know, they weren’t quite respectable – bookmakers, I mean – but you couldn’t find anyone more respectable than Charlie Sullivan. He spoke a bit common but he had a heart of gold. He was such a good neighbour, and you never know what you’ll get next, do you?’
‘I know what you mean, Mrs Green. You don’t happen to have contact details for the next of kin, I suppose?’
‘Yes, I’ve got them here, in my little book. His brother and sister and Archie, his grown-up nephew. His brother lives in Scheveningen, wherever that is. He was in shipping but he’s retired now, like Charlie. Archie lives in Surrey. He’s something in the City.’
‘Did they visit very often, do you know?’
‘High days and holidays, it seemed to be. I shouldn’t think they were what you’d call close. I mean to say, my daughter practically lives here since she had the baby but they weren’t like that. Mind you, it’s a long way to come. From Holland, I mean.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Green. You’ve been most helpful. And lastly, the obvious question, can you think of anyone who might have meant Mr Sullivan harm?’
‘I really don’t think I can, Chief Inspector. I don’t think he dealt with racing people directly any more, it was all done through Andy, and he didn’t seem to have many friends. Only that girl!’
Free of Mrs Green, they set to work on the flat, finding nothing of interest for their pains. Searching a bedside drawer, they found his car details and a spare set of keys for same. Business matters seemed to be restricted to a single, unlocked, filing cabinet.
‘Seems to be lay betting and the like,’ said Felix, stuffing papers back in their folders, ‘I’ve never really understood that sort of thing.’
‘And Haigh to run around for him.’
‘If only the darned fellow would show himself, I think we could wash out the racing aspect, which I hadn’t much hope for anyway.’
‘Think he might be involved?’
‘Well, it’s a thought, isn’t it? He’s certainly doing his best to make us think so. If he doesn’t turn up tomorrow, I shall begin to wonder.’
Chapter Nine
Monday morning
‘Tilda,’ said Andrew, patting his stomach, ‘that is what I call a blow out! Do you always live this well?’
‘Not hardly,’ chuckled Ruben, contentedly packing his pipe. ‘We’re getting expenses. D’you want to lead the horse again this morning, since you like it so much? We’ll be in easy distance of a railway halt by about nine, and you can be home by eleven or twelve very likely. Or you can strike out on your own now if you want. I’d prefer to see you onto the train, though, and you won’t lose much time by staying.’
‘I’ll hang on,’ said Andrew. ‘It’s so peaceful, plodding along with Dobbin; I wish it could never end. Can’t I pay you to be kidnapped permanently?’
‘You might not be so keen on the loading and unloading,’ observed Ruben cynically, ‘or when the cut’s frozen solid, or living in a six by twelve cabin with three lively kids.’
◆◆◆
‘Hello, what’s this?’ said Felix, spotting an envelope on the desk. ‘“Attention Chief Inspector Felix.” Typed, I see.’
‘It’s just appeared,’ said Nash. ‘It wasn’t here earlier.’
‘Hmm a note, also typed, “Please collect asap,” with some sort of ticket and a key. A case key by the look of it.’
‘Looks like a left luggage ticket, sir,’ said Yardley helpfully.
‘And so it is,’ smiled Felix. ‘Charing Cross. I wonder what it can be? Too late for a Christmas present surely?’
The telephone rang.
‘Good morning, sir,’ said Rattigan, answering it. ‘He is, I’ll pass you over. Chief Superintendent Polly, sir.’
‘Felix here, sir . . . Alas, that’s true . . . Oh, I see. Yes, I’m sure he can. He’s an excellent officer. I’ll be here for a while if he needs me. It’s only doors away, as it happens . . . How much? Good God! Maybe I should get along there, then . . . Heavens! I see what you mean, sir — a veritable cloudburst. Dead? . . . Well, that’s a blessing anyway . . . Yes, one of their dancers. A van, you say? Any witnesses? . . . Yes, I’ll send someone along.’ He turned to the others. ‘We’re going to be busy, gentlemen. ‘Firstly, Charles Tillotson the jeweller was broken into over the weekend.’
‘The one on the corner?’
‘Yes. The missing loot – here I quote Polly – is conservatively priced at no less than four thousand pounds.’
‘Crikey! What was it, the Crown Jewels?’
Nash’s face had drained of colour. ‘It’s not Jane is it, sir, the accident?’
‘What? No. Sorry, John; it’s Sam Snow. Someone pushed him in front of a builder’s van. He’s pretty knocked about and is presently unconscious. Not much we can do about him at the moment. Polly has sent Hilliard to Tillotson’s as he was already working for me. I’d best look in there, given the value of the haul. Not that he isn’t perfectly capable.’
‘What about the left luggage?’ said Rattigan. ‘The note said as soon as possible.’
‘We could fetch it in your car, sir, whatever it is,’ suggested Yardley, ‘Nash could wait while I nip in.’
‘All right, but make it quick. Hilliard will probably want you at Tillotson’s. Now, where do we find someone for the van driver?’
‘Cribb?’ suggested Rattigan.
‘Yes, if he’s back. Ah! Speak of angels. Good morning, Cribb. Does this mean Miss Bagshaw has graced us with her presence again today?’
‘Yes, sir. She was late rising but she’s here.’
‘Any nocturnal activity?’
‘Not that we could see, sir.’
‘Probably best for the blood-pressure, eh? Next task: one of our witnesses, Sam Snow, has been run over by a builder’s van. He’s out cold but we need witness statements, including from the driver. He claims Snow was pushed in front of him. He’s at Camberwell nick.’
‘On my way, sir.’
‘Never rains but what it pours,’ grumbled Rattigan.
‘That’s what Polly said. I’m wondering if he knows something. Snow, I mean.’
‘Might have tried a little amateur extortion, do you mean?’
‘He’s the type, isn’t he? And there was a question ma
rk over when he left on Friday, if you’ll remember. Let’s hope they keep him alive, if so. However, I’d best get along to Tillotson’s. You hold the fort.’
◆◆◆
Charles Tillotson, Jewellers, was a handsome, double-fronted shop, catering to the well-heeled West End crowd. It sported every possible security feature, including the latest in burglar alarms, toughened glass in the windows and sophisticated night-shutters. None had been disabled or broken into and nothing, as far as the sales staff could ascertain, was missing. Situated above the shop, however, was a workroom for the creation of bespoke jewellery, much of it of high value. At the time of the burglary, they’d been working on a special order for a middle-eastern potentate — a matching set of earrings, bracelet and necklace for one of his wives. It was these that were missing, together with a random assortment of stones, apparently quite knowledgably selected for their saleability. This floor contained no street windows, only skylights of wired glass, also undamaged. One side of the building’s roof, however, proved to contain a small hole where the tiles and battens had been neatly removed, the burglar-alarmed loft hatch having been circumvented by sawing through the lathe and plaster ceiling.
It was, the two detectives agreed, a professional piece of work.
‘Chalky White?’ Suggested Hilliard.
‘Looks like him, doesn’t it?’ agreed Felix, ‘but I have an idea he’s on remand.’ He crouched and peered through the hole. ‘Can’t see anything from this angle, and I’m too big to get through.’
‘Me too, I’ve tried. Send for Rattigan?’
‘You’d need the roof off! However, a disturbing thought occurs.’
‘I know what you’re going to say. How many doors along are we?’
‘Five, I think. No, six. All the same block though.’
‘There’ll be other points of access, I daresay.’
‘Yes, but we know it’s that one, don’t we? There’s probably some law of nature says so.’
The manager, Mr Hindmarsh, joined them. ‘What do you think, Chief Inspector, now that you’ve seen the mess?’
Death and Cinderella (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 11) Page 8
